Alarick's POV
The scent hit me first, a wave of jasmine and something uniquely Lina, before I even saw her. It was like some cosmic joke that out of all the corridors in this sprawling complex, I'd stumble upon her here. Our meeting reminded me of our first encounter.
"Mr. Lowell?" Her voice was tinged with an astonishment that matched the widening of her eyes, the unexpectedness of our encounter written plainly on her face.
"Don't you think we are close enough to address each other more comfortably Lina?" I struggled to keep my tone nonchalant as if bumping into her was no more significant than encountering any other acquaintance. "What brings you here?"
"Work," she said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear—a nervous gesture I remembered all too well. "I'm working for Rawson Lowell now."
Rawson Lowell. The name rang in my head like a discordant bell. I nodded slowly, schooling my expression into one of mild interest rather than the turmoil that threatened to surface. "Is that so? What kind of work has he entrusted to you?"
Lina's gaze held mine, and I could swear there was a flicker of something—surprise, confusion, maybe even concern—before she looked away and answered.
All efforts to avoid Lina had been meticulously planned, each move calculated to maintain a safe distance. I had delegated my inauguration responsibilities to Coco, entrusted her with silence about Lina, and even persuaded my father to deliver the introductory speech that was rightfully mine. It was an elaborate dance of evasion, but fate, it seemed, cared little for my choreography.
"Handling the associates," Lina explained, her words a casual drop into the churning sea of my emotions, setting off ripples that turned quickly to waves of outrage. I fought to keep my features composed, to hold back the tempest within. Rawson's judgement—or lack thereof—was like a slap to my instincts as the new alpha. How could he entrust someone so blissfully unaware of our intricacies, our secrets, with a task so integral to the pack's inner workings?
"Rawson really has you managing our associates?" My voice was sharper than intended, eyes narrowing slightly as I studied her reaction. Was she entirely clueless, or was there more at play here? The memory of Rawson's gaze lingering on her form during their first encounter seared through me, igniting a jealousy that I struggled to contain.
If he thought he could weave her into our world, make her his without challenge, he was gravely mistaken. I'd be damned if I let that happen. The growl of possessiveness rose from deep within, suppressed only by the sheer force of will. If I couldn't have her, neither would he. That much was certain.
Gathering myself from the maelstrom of fury and jealousy, I looked back at Lina, only to be met with the wounded shimmer in her eyes. There was a raw vulnerability there that struck me—a clear reflection of the unintended sting my words had inflicted. The sight twisted something inside me, an uncomfortable blend of regret and the persistent burn of betrayal.
"Alarick, is everything okay?" Her voice was tinged with a concern that only served to heighten the tension in my jaw.
"Fine," I clipped out, the lie so brittle it could shatter against the silent tension between us. The word hung hollow in the air, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions churning within me.
I couldn't linger on that look in her eyes any longer; it threatened to unravel the tight coil of anger I clung to for control. Turning on my heel, I strode away from her, each step fueled by a potent mix of protective instinct and indignation. How dare Rawson play such a reckless game?
The corridors blurred as I moved, a primal focus narrowing my vision to a singular endpoint—Rawson's office. My strides were purposeful, the sound of my boots echoing off the walls like a war drum heralding my approach. It was not just a walk; it was a march toward confrontation, a physical manifestation of my inner turmoil seeking an outlet.
Reaching his door, I didn't bother knocking. My hand found the handle, turning it with more force than necessary, and I pushed my way into the sanctum of the man who had dared to gamble with what was mine. The door slammed against the wall as I entered, the sound a gunshot signaling the start of the onslaught.
"Rawson!" The name erupted from me, a snarl wrapped in human syllables. He sat there, behind his desk, the picture of unpreparedness—a deer caught in the sights of a predator. But I was no mere beast; I was the alpha, defending what was rightfully under my care, my pack.
"Alarick, what is the meaning of—" His question cut off as he read the fury written across my face, a script of barely restrained wrath.
"Explain yourself!" My demand was a blade unsheathed, sharp and ready to strike. "Why is Lina handling pack business?"
The challenge was laid bare, my rage demanding answers, unwilling to leave until I had washed Rawson's head clean of whatever foolhardy notions he had concocted. This was not just about protocol or safety—it was personal, a line crossed, and I would have satisfaction.