Chapter 13 Everyone has a fated mate

Zenab just stared at him. Perhaps Red had been right after all; her defiance may have been a terrible mistake. It was too late now, though; the look in Sander's eyes made her feel like he wanted to choke the life out of her.

"Could you please turn around?" she asked politely, just realizing the bubbles had dissipated, leaving her exposed.

Not that she thought he would even glance at her or desire her. Werewolves generally had no qualms about nudity, but for some reason, she didn't want him seeing her naked. It felt too intimate.

"Ten minutes, Scarlet. If you're not dressed and out by then, I swear I'll come back and dress you myself," he said tersely before storming out and slamming the door.

Zenab's heart raced at the look on his face; he wasn't joking. It was clear: this was no empty threat.

Zenab had never dressed as quickly as she did today. Once she was ready, she stepped out of her bedroom to find Sander lounging on her couch. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, an arm resting on the back of a chair, and his phone in hand, scrolling through something she couldn't see.

Clearing her throat, she spoke up. "I'm ready. I hope this is okay." She gestured to her outfit.

She had chosen a simple yet elegant red dress paired with black heels. She wasn't trying to impress anyone, so she felt no need to go overboard.

Sander's gaze slowly traveled over her form, and Zenab could swear it felt like liquid fire wherever his eyes lingered. She shifted her weight, suddenly feeling overheated. When was the last time she had been with a man?

"A few weeks before Miles came back," Red offered unhelpfully.

There was no denying that Sander was attractive—a pure, full-blooded alpha male. Given her long drought of intimacy, it was understandable that she would react this way to him, wasn't it?

"It will do... let's go," he said flatly.

Zenab huffed silently to herself. She had hoped for at least one compliment; even though she hadn't put in much effort, she still looked fantastic.

Reluctantly, she followed him outside. After turning on the alarm system, she approached him. He stood stiffly beside his car, appearing just as unenthused about the dinner.

"Get in," he commanded, opening the door for her.

She wanted to rebel against his tone, but after putting in the effort to get ready, she refused to let that go to waste. So, she slid into the car, biting her tongue.

"At least he opened the door for you like a gentleman, unlike that rat bastard," Red remarked, referring to Dave.

Zenab stayed silent, staring straight ahead as Sander started the car. Red was right, though.

Reflecting on the past, Zenab realized that Dave had never once opened a door for her—not even when they first started dating. How had she overlooked this? Perhaps she had noticed but chose to ignore it, convincing herself he was the one.

Like every other time, they shared no conversation during the drive—not even small talk about their day. She had no idea where Sander was taking her, and he didn't seem inclined to share that information.

She turned her gaze outside, contemplating what Jaymie had told her. Could it really be true that Emerald needed her? She desperately wanted to believe it, but fear held her back. She was terrified that her efforts would be dismissed, and she wasn't sure her heart could endure any more pain.

"We're here," Sander said, pulling her from her thoughts.

Zenab looked up, surprised to find they had arrived at the Roosevelt, one of the most prestigious restaurants in the city. Sander parked the car, turned off the ignition, and stepped out. Seconds later, he was opening the door for her. As she got out, a chill from the evening air enveloped her.

She stood beside the car while he locked it, and then he guided her toward the entrance, his hand resting on the small of her back.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her breath hitching as she halted in her tracks.

The way he held her sent a rush of sensations through her body, whether she welcomed it or not was still to be determined. She attributed her reaction to her hormones.

"Just act naturally and keep walking. I think a paparazzi is following us," he whispered softly.

For a brief moment, tension coursed through her before she managed to relax. They resumed their walk, and soon they were inside the restaurant.

As soon as they entered, the manager hurried over, followed closely by a waiter. Zenab could sense that he was a werewolf by his scent; it was something innate, a way they could identify their own kind without explanation.

"Mr. Ford, it's always a pleasure to have you at our establishment. Your usual table is ready," the manager said carefully, his eyes lowered in deference to the Alpha.

Sander simply nodded and led Zenab to a table in the VIP section. She had never been to this restaurant before, and she was already charmed by it. The black and gold color scheme was stunning, exuding elegance and sophistication.

As they settled into their seats, a waiter approached with a bottle of wine. He presented the menu, and they both chose the same meal: steak, soup, and baked potatoes. Zenab added an ice cream cake to her order for dessert.

After pouring their wine, the waiter left with a polite smile.

"So, what exactly are we supposed to do on this dinner date?" Zenab asked, taking a sip of her wine.

She felt uncertain about the evening's direction. Her nerves were heightened not only by the potential paparazzi following them but also by Sander, who was seated across from her. His piercing gaze felt as though it was delving deep into her very soul, making her uncomfortable.

"We do what everyone does during a date: get to know each other," he replied, swirling his glass.

Zenab couldn't help but laugh. "I'm surprised you don't already have a full dossier on me."

He smirked. "I do, but I'd rather hear it straight from the horse's mouth."

She rolled her eyes at his comment, acknowledging it was a little childish, but she couldn't help it. It didn't surprise her that he had looked into her background; he seemed exactly like the type of man who would do such a thing.

"Fine," she said with exasperation before continuing.

"There's not much to share. I grew up in an orphanage and have no memories of my life before I found myself there around seven or eight. That's where I met Jaymie, and we became inseparable friends. I have no idea who my parents are or whether they're alive or dead. After high school, we both went to college, where I met Dave. He was in a rough place after Miles left him for someone else..."

"I know all that, Scarlet. What I want to understand is where your fated mate is," he interrupted.

Zenab felt a flicker of irritation rise at his interruption but pushed it down. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly. "I don't have one."

"What do you mean you don't have one? Everyone has a fated mate."

"Except for me. Before I started dating Dave, I consulted an Elder. I had fallen for him, but I couldn't risk our relationship progressing if I had a mate out there. When I asked her about my mate, she said she could neither see nor sense his spirit. This meant he either didn't exist or wasn't meant for this lifetime, leaving me destined to remain alone unless I chose a mate."

Both Red and Zenab still felt the sting of those words. They had mourned for weeks, gradually coming to terms with the truth that, unlike normal wolves, they would never experience the joy of having a fated mate.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I had assumed your mate had either died or rejected you," he said.

If not for the almost compassionate tone in his voice, Zenab would have lashed out at the implication that she wasn't worthy of love and was then rejected.

She opened her mouth to inquire about his mate when she noticed his expression shift to one of cold fury. His jaw clenched, and his hands curled into fists. His gaze locked onto something behind her, and a wave of dangerous energy enveloped the space, nearly choking her.

"You've got to be kidding me," he growled, glaring at whatever—or whoever—was lurking behind her.