The Alpha Billionaire's Rejection

Ms. Marshall

AUNIKA

I'd dreamed of this moment for months, but nothing had prepared me for the actual weight of standing outside Xylaron Tech's boardroom door. I made the change at the last minute. I didn’t want him near my company. Not yet.

My hand trembled; just barely, just enough to piss me off; as I adjusted my Hermès bag. The blocker pills I'd taken an hour ago sat heavy in my stomach, masking every trace of my scent until I smelled like nothing more than expensive perfume and sharp ambition.

Perfect.

“E.R. Marshall,” I muttered with a wide smile. I could see the confusion on his secretary’s face. Of course, everyone believed E. R. Marshall was a man.

"Mr. Lance is waiting for you. Can I offer you anything?" She questioned, before leading me to his office.

I almost laughed. Ready. Like he had any f*cking idea what was about to hit him.

The doors opened, and there he was.

Two years hadn't been kind to Marlon Lance. Still handsome; the bastard would probably be gorgeous on his deathbed but there were lines around his eyes that hadn't been there before. His shoulders carried tension like an old coat he couldn't take off.

Good. Let him suffer a little.

"E.R. Marshall.” I spoke, taking him back by shock. Of course, E.R Marshall is a woman. He suddenly stood, extending his hand across the polished conference table. "Thank you for coming."

His voice. Christ, hearing his voice made those words reverberate in my head. His rejection.

I took his hand; brief, professional, just long enough to watch his brow furrow slightly. He felt it. The pull. The same inexplicable draw that had snapped our mate bond into place two years ago but now there was a wall between us. Chemical blockers and sheer willpower keeping him from recognizing what his wolf already knew.

"Mr. Lance." I settled into the chair across from him, crossing my legs with deliberate precision. "I understand Xylaron Tech needs capital."

His jaw tightened. Pride was a funny thing; it could prop you up or strangle you, depending on the day.

"We're exploring strategic partnerships," he said carefully. "Your firm's reputation precedes you."

"Does it?" I leaned back, letting my lips curve into something that wasn't quite a smile. "What have you heard?"

The question caught him off guard. Good. I wanted him off balance, scrambling, trying to figure out why this meeting felt like standing on quicksand.

"That E.R Marshall doesn't make bad investments. That you're..." He paused, studying my face like it held answers to questions he didn't know he was asking. "Selective."

"Mmm." I opened my leather portfolio, letting the sound of papers rustle fill the silence. "Your company's hemorrhaging money, Mr. Marshall. Twelve-point stock drop this morning alone. Why should I throw good money after bad?"

His nostrils flared; just slightly, just enough to tell me his wolf was restless. Agitated. Something about me was driving him crazy and he had no idea why. My hair color was changed now. I wore large sunglasses and my outfit was nothing like I used to wear. My makeup was different and quite heavy this time. I knew he would have a hard time recognizing me, well if he did.

"The Tokyo breach was an anomaly. Our cybersecurity has been completely overhauled, and..."

"Your cybersecurity was s**t to begin with." I didn't look up from the contract I was pretending to read. "Along with your HR policies, your employee retention rates, and your general management style."

That got his attention. When I finally met his eyes, there was something dangerous flickering there. The Alpha who'd publicly humiliated me was still lurking underneath all that desperation.

"I'm sorry, do you have personal experience with Xylaron Tech's management?"

The question hung between us like a loaded gun. For one wild second, I thought about telling him. Right here, right now. Watching his face when he realized exactly who he was begging for money.

But revenge was better when it was slow.

"I make it my business to know everything about potential investments." I pulled out a tablet, fingers moving across the screen with practiced efficiency. "Including the fact that your marriage announcement caused a fifteen-percent uptick in stock value. Very romantic." I chuckled.

His hands clenched on the table. "My personal life has nothing to do with...."

"Your personal life is your brand, Mr. Lance. And your brand is what I'm buying." I looked up, letting my designer sunglasses slip down just enough for him to see my eyes. Not enough to recognize them. Just enough to unsettle him further. "The question is: how much control are you willing to give up to save it?"

He was quiet for a long moment, studying me with an intensity that made my skin crawl and burn at the same time. His wolf was pacing now ... I could practically feel it through the supernatural static that blocker pills couldn't quite eliminate.

"What are you proposing?"

"Fifty-one percent."

The words hit him like a physical blow. "That's..."

"Controlling interest, yes. I don't make partial investments, Mr. Lance. I either own something or I don't bother with it."

He stood abruptly, pacing to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. The same windows I'd once watched him through, bringing him coffee and pretending I didn't exist.

Now he was the one pretending I didn't exist. Or trying to.

"That's my company," he said quietly. "My father's legacy."

"Your father's legacy is currently worth less than a strip mall in Queens." I kept my voice steady, professional. Ruthless. "I'm offering to save it."

"At what cost?"

"At the cost of your pride." I stood, moving to join him at the window. Close enough that I could smell his cologne; still the same one, still the same scent that used to make my knees weak.

"The question is: what's more important? Your ego or your empire?"

He turned then, and we were face to face. Close enough that I could see the gold flecks in his eyes, the same ones our son had inherited. Close enough that his wolf was practically howling with recognition it couldn't quite place.

"Why do I feel like I know you?"

My heart hammered against my ribs, but I kept my expression neutral. "Maybe you do. The business world is smaller than people think."

"No, it's..." He reached up, as if to touch my face, then caught himself. "Something about you feels familiar. Can you please take off your glasses?"

“I’m here as your investor, not your employee. Try not to forget the difference.” I tapped the table lightly, then stepped back before I did something stupid.

"I have one of those faces." I moved back to the table, gathering my papers with hands that only shook a little. "Do we have a deal, Mr. Lance?"

He was still staring at me, still trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. "I need time to consider ..."

"You don't have time." I pulled out the contract, sliding it across the table toward him. "This offer expires at midnight. After that, I move on to other opportunities."

"Other opportunities?"

I let myself smile then. Sharp and predatory and every bit as ruthless as he'd once been. "There are a dozen tech companies in this city that would kill for Marshall Ventures backing. Xylaron Tech isn't the only game in town."

It was a lie, but a beautiful one. One that made his jaw clench and his hands ball into fists at his sides.

"One hour," he said finally. "Give me one hour to review terms with my legal team."

"Thirty minutes." I adjusted my bag, enjoying the way his expression darkened. "And Mr. Lance? Next time, don't say untrue things to make an investor help. It makes you sound clumsy and desperate."

I was almost to the door when it happened.

The corner of my portfolio caught on the conference chair, spilling papers across the marble floor like autumn leaves. Financial documents, contracts, business cards ... and one small photograph that had been tucked between quarterly reports. I didn’t even know it was there.

Arhzel. Six months old, golden eyes bright with mischief, that perfect little smile that could break hearts or mend them depending on your perspective.

I scrambled to collect everything, but Marlon was already moving. Already bending to help gather scattered papers with the kind of automatic courtesy that suggested he wasn't a complete monster.

His hand closed over the photograph before I could stop him.

Time stopped.

Everything stopped.

He straightened slowly, staring down at the image with an expression I couldn't read. When he looked up, those familiar golden eyes were wide with something that looked like recognition. Like understanding. Like the world had just shifted beneath his feet.

"Ms. Marshall," he said quietly, voice rough with questions he wasn't ready to ask. "Who is this child?"

I snatched the photograph from his fingers, my heart hammering so hard I was sure he could hear it. "Not another investor. You do not have to fake interest."

But it was too late.

I could see it in his eyes, in the way his nostrils flared as he tried to catch a scent that wasn't there anymore. In the way his wolf was suddenly, completely, absolutely focused on me.

"Those eyes," he whispered. "They're..."

Golden. Just like his. Just like mine when my true nature finally decided to show itself.

Just like our son's.

I turned and walked toward the door with every ounce of dignity I could manage, knowing he was watching. Knowing he was starting to put pieces together that I wasn't ready for him to find.

"Thirty minutes, Mr. Lance," I called over my shoulder. "Don't be late."

The elevator doors closed between us, but I could still feel his stare burning through steel and space and two years of carefully

constructed lies.

In my reflection in the polished metal, I looked exactly like what I was: a woman playing with fire who was about to get burned.

And the worst part?

I wasn't sure I cared anymore.