MICAELA

I told myself I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for orders.

If I wanted to survive this place, I needed to understand Barrett. Maybe even reach him somehow.

Weeks passed, but he didn’t call for me again. I saw him only from a distance, walking through the mansion’s halls with guards behind him, head always lowered like he was thinking about something.

The maids whispered that no one ate with him. Some said he barely slept. Some said he worked through the night like a man trying to outrun himself.

One morning, after another breakfast I couldn’t eat, I turned to the head maid. “Give me a flask,” I said quietly.

She gave me that same look, part worry, part pity, before sliding a polished silver flask toward me. “Alpha’s in his study,” she said.

I nodded, pretending I wasn’t nervous. “Good.”

When she started spooning soup into the flask, I reached for the ladle. “I can do it.”

“It’s hot,” she said flatly, not looking at me. “I’ll do it.”

I watched her in silence. When she was done, she set the lid tight and turned toward me again.

“Why do you always look at me like that?” I asked, crossing my arms. “Like I’m about to make a mistake.”

She sighed, folding her hands in front of her apron. “Because you’re a good girl, and this place ruins good things.”

Her words stung, but I tried to keep my tone light. “You think I’m chasing him?”

“I think you want something he doesn’t know how to give.”

I didn’t answer. I just picked up the flask and turned away.

*

The hallway leading to his office was quiet. Guards stood at both ends, motionless. My heartbeat echoed louder than my steps.

When I reached the door, I knocked once.

“Enter,” his voice said from inside.

I pushed the door open and peeked in. He sat behind his desk, eyes fixed on the papers spread out in front of him. His jacket was off, shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He didn’t look up until I spoke.

“Are you busy?”

“Always.”

“I brought food,” I said softly, lifting the flask.

His eyes flicked to it, then to me. “You cooked?”

I hesitated. “The kitchen did. I only…”

“Liar,” he said, cutting me off.

The word hit sharp. Before I could respond, he stood, walked over, and flicked his fingers lightly against my forehead. “You burned your hand earlier. There’s a small scar near your thumb. You’ve never worked in the kitchen before. Why now?”

I covered my forehead and glared up at him. “You didn’t have to hit me.”

“Then don’t lie.”

My throat tightened. “I wasn’t trying to lie. I just thought you might like it better if…”

He sighed, a long breath that sounded almost tired. “You shouldn’t be here.”

But before I could answer, his tone changed. Softer. “Does it hurt?”

I blinked, confused. “What?”

He reached out, fingers brushing where he’d flicked me. The touch was gentle this time. “Your forehead.”

The warmth from his skin spread through me before I could stop it. My breath caught, and the room suddenly felt too small.

He noticed. His eyes met mine, unreadable again. For a moment, neither of us moved.

I didn’t know what I was thinking when I lifted my hand, maybe I wanted to touch him too, to see if it was real, if he’d pull away. But before I reached him, his entire expression changed.

The shift was instant. The calm was gone.

He grabbed my wrist, then my throat, pushing me back until my spine hit the wall.

My breath caught in panic. His eyes were darker now, sharp and cold. “Who told you you could touch me?”

“I….” I tried to speak, but his grip tightened.

“Who?” he demanded again.

“I wasn’t…I just….” My voice broke, air slipping away fast. My fingers clawed weakly at his hand.

For a second, I thought he might actually kill me. The pressure built until black spots danced at the edge of my vision.

“Barrett….please,” I gasped. “I can’t….”

He didn’t react until I said the last thing I could think of. “The baby…”

Two weeks ago, we had sex. Wild and something I would never forget but it hurts to realize he only wanted a child, not me and every single day, I got tested until I found out I was pregnant.

The word snapped through the air like a whip.

His hand loosened instantly. I coughed hard, stumbling forward, gasping for air. My knees gave out, and I dropped to the floor, clutching my throat.

He turned away, pacing toward his desk like nothing had happened. “You talk too much.”

My vision blurred from tears, but I still forced the words out. “I wasn’t trying to anger you. I just….”

He looked back at me, eyes empty again. “Don’t ever touch me without permission. Don’t ever speak to me like we’re equals.”

Something inside me cracked at that.

I wiped my tears quickly, refusing to let him see me cry. “You think I wanted this?” My voice came out hoarse. “You think I asked to be here?”

His jaw tightened. “You signed the contract.”

“I signed because you left me no choice.”

He didn’t reply. He just stood there, staring at me like he couldn’t decide what I was, an enemy, possession, or something else he didn’t understand.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “Next time you defy me, I won’t stop myself.”

He left the room without looking back.

I stayed on the floor for a long time after he was gone. My throat ached, and my chest felt tight.

I told myself not to cry. I’d cried too much already, and it hadn’t changed anything.

When I finally stood, I saw the flask on the table where I’d dropped it. The food had spilled slightly, the lid hanging loose. I walked over and closed it, pressing my hand against the metal until it burned.

“Idiot,” I whispered to myself.

Maybe the maid was right. Maybe I was chasing something that couldn’t exist. But even then, I couldn’t stop. The bond wouldn’t let me.

No matter how cruel he was, part of me still wanted to reach him, to make him see what I already knew, that he wasn’t heartless, not completely.

I looked at the door where he’d walked out, my throat still sore. “You’ll see it one day,” I said under my breath.

But for now, I just needed to stay alive long enough to prove it.