Chapter 14

 

Xander's POV

What was I doing? I don't know.

Beatrice was in my presence, and all I could think about was having raw sex with her like the last time, but something about her reaction — maybe fear stopped me.

I inched closer, my breath unsteady, my pulse hammering in my ears. It felt as if my heart wanted to protect her, shield her from everything that had ever hurt her, but my body… my body had a mind of its own. It was like a force that pulled me toward her, a need so raw it nearly scared me.

My hands found her waist, fingers pressing into the soft curve of her body, drawing her impossibly closer until there was nothing left between us—no space, no air, no escape. The warmth of her skin seared through the thin fabric of her dress, and I felt her shudder, just slightly, before she caught herself.

Her breath hitched, and I felt it against my lips—hot, uneven, intoxicating. The scent of her wrapped around me, drowning me in something I couldn’t name, something forbidden yet inevitable. My chest tightened as I realised just how much I had craved this. 

I exhaled slowly, my grip tightening ever so slightly. My fingers traced delicate patterns against her lower back, memorising how she felt beneath my touch.

Mine.

The thought hit me hard, unspoken yet undeniable.

But then—she moved.

Beatrice stiffened, her muscles tensing against me. Her hands flattened against my chest, hesitating for just a moment before she pushed. It wasn’t rough, not yet desperate, but it was enough. Enough to remind me of the invisible line between us, the one I had no right to cross.

She struggled, twisting in my arms, her breath coming in short gasps. “Xander—let me go now!.” she screamed.

For a moment, I didn’t move.

Because everything inside me screamed no.

I didn’t want to let go. I didn’t want to lose the feel of her, the way her body reacted to mine, the way she trembled—not from fear, but from something neither of us wanted to acknowledge.

But then, as quickly as the moment had begun, reality crashed down on me like a cruel wave, drowning me in the painful truth.

She wasn’t ready.

Maybe she never would be.

So, I loosened my grip with every ounce of restraint I had left.

The moment she was free, she stumbled back, breathing hard, her lips parted as if she wanted to say something—but she didn’t. She stared at me, wide-eyed, as if she couldn’t believe what had happened. As if she couldn’t believe that after all these years, after all the pain, she could still feel this way around me.

I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to reach for her again.

“Beatrice…” My voice was low and rough, betraying everything I tried to suppress.

Her lips pressed together, her gaze flickering with emotions too complicated to name. Then, with a sharp inhale, she turned away— ready to move.

I said, " If you know you're ready to lose your job, take another step.” 

She stopped in her tracks immediately.

I didn't even wait for her to say anything; I had to relay the message quickly.

“As my secretary, I have a project to work on, and it might extend to late hours at night, so be prepared," I said. 

She nodded slightly, but her reaction was whispering something else.

"Can I take my leave now?” She asked.

Yes, you can. I smirked as long as we were in here together this evening. 

She proceeded to leave, with a loud bang following her exit.

I adjusted my seat, staring at the dim light above me. I breathed heavily and drank the whisky on my table to calm the Little storm brewing inside me.

The rays of light from the massive glass windows looked dark to me. Was it because of Beatrice? She was like every other girl I had sex with. Why was she special? The smell of her aroused me every single time. 

Beatrice had walked out of this building seconds ago, but her scent was still fresh in my nose —warm, familiar and enchanting.

She had stood before me, with fear evident in her eyes, refusing to yield, but I had seen the image of something else in her eyes —something raw, something painful.....I don't understand! 

Beatrice didn’t understand. She thought she had escaped me all these years. Thought she had built a life free from my shadow. She just felt she could leave like that without any notice. 

I should be aware, for goodness sake, she's my mate!

I didn't know what to do again; my mind was chaotic. 

I loosened my tie, exhaling sharply as I pushed aside the intrusive thoughts clouding my mind. There was work to be done, and Beatrice would have no choice but to sit through it with me, whether she liked it or not.

As the day dragged on, employees filtered out of the office individually until the building was nearly silent. The only sounds were the occasional chair creak, the rhythmic tapping of my fingers against the desk, and the steady hum of the air conditioning.

Then, like a storm brewing on the horizon, she returned.

Beatrice stepped back into my office with a stiff posture, her expression unreadable. She carried a folder in her hands, no doubt filled with documents concerning the mining project. She hesitated at the doorway, glancing at me warily as if expecting another confrontation.

I gestured toward the seat across from me. "Sit," I ordered, my voice measured.

She sat down without a word, placing the folder on the desk between us.

For the next hour, we worked in strained silence. Our only exchanges were brief discussions about logistical challenges and financial projections. Despite the tension, Beatrice was sharp, her mind quick as she laid out potential solutions to some of the issues plaguing the project.

But now and then, when she thought I wasn’t looking, her gaze lingered on me—uncertain, contemplative.

I noticed everything.

The way her fingers trembled ever so slightly when she reached for a pen. The way her throat bobbed when I leaned in too close. The way she tensed every time my hand brushed against hers, however accidental.

And I wasn’t faring much better.

Every inhale filled my lungs with her scent, making it impossible to ignore the memories that threatened to resurface.

I let out a slow breath, dragging a hand through my hair as the silence pressed around me. Her scent still lingered in the air, teasing me and taunting me. It wasn’t just her perfume—it was her. I had memorised a scent long before I knew what she meant to me. It clung to my skin, seeped into my lungs, wrapped around me like a noose.

My fingers curled into fists at my sides.

I shouldn’t have let her go, not like that.

Not when every fibre of my being wanted to reach for her, pull her back, or make her stay—make her understand that no matter how much time had passed or how much she tried to run, she was still mine.

I sank back into my chair, my muscles tense, my jaw clenching as memories clawed to the surface again.

Memories of her beneath me, her body arching, her lips parting in breathless surrender.

The soft touch of her breasts against my chest, the way her nails dug into my skin when she screamed my name.

The way her body trembled, helpless yet desperate.

How she looked at me afterwards—wide-eyed, vulnerable, as if she knew that moment had changed everything.

And yet, she had left.

She had disappeared without a word or trace, forcing me to pretend that night had meant nothing.

But it had.

Damn it, it had.

I exhaled sharply, grabbing the half-empty glass of whiskey on my desk and downing it in one swallow. The burn did nothing to dull the ache inside me.

I had spent years burying that night, convincing myself that she was just another girl, that she didn't matter.

But then she walked back into my life, and in a matter of hours, she unravelled every fucking lie I had told myself.

I could still hear how her breath hitched when I got too close.

Still see the flicker of something—fear, desire, something deeper—in her eyes when I touch her.

I rolled my shoulders, pushing the thoughts away. Thinking about her like this wasn’t going to change anything. She was gone, and I was left here, stewing in my torment.