Not yours to reclaim , unclaimed and unbothered

Chapter4

Berlina POV

Wren had opinions about the scheduling.

""Two in one week," she said from my office doorway, tablet in hand, with that measured look, "That feels aggressive.”

"It feels efficient," I said without looking up.

"They're not board meetings."

"Wren."

She stopped.

"Schedule them," I said.

She scheduled them.

The first was on Tuesday. His name was Adler Kross.

Alpha. Thirty-one. Head of the Kross Pack territory in the Northern Basin, which was significant and well-governed and had looked genuinely impressive in Wren's summary report. Her first impression column had noted: “well-credentialed. Confident. Watch for whether confidence is the useful kind or the other kind.”

I should have weighted the second sentence more heavily.

The restaurant was Caelum on the thirty-fourth floor, my choice, because choosing the location was choosing the terms, and I always chose the terms. He arrived four minutes late. He was exactly as good-looking as his photograph suggested, which was more than could be said for most photographs. He sat down. He smiled.

"Berlina Armandi," he said, like he was reminding himself he already knew me. "When I heard about your announcement, I thought — finally, someone is doing something worth paying attention to.”

"Thank you," I said.

We ordered our food. He started talking, settling into the conversation the way some people sink into a soft chair, comfortably, confident, like the conversation was made just for him.

He talked about his territory. His expansion plans. How he had restructured his governance system and how, in his words, it had been “transformative.” He mentioned a pack challenge from three years ago and described it as a masterclass, also in his own opinion.

I listened. I asked questions.

His answers were long, detailed, and mostly about himself.

Twenty-three minutes later, he stopped mid-sentence while explaining resource allocation and said, “But enough about me. Tell me about Armandi Holdings. Your father built something impressive there.”

I gently put my fork down.

“My father founded the company,” I said calmly. “I’ve been running it for two years.”

“Right, right.” He nodded quickly, trying to fix his mistake. “It must be a lot to handle. Especially for someone at your—” He noticed my expression and quickly changed his words. “—stage in your career.”

I finished my meal. It was excellent. It deserved better company.

I placed my napkin on the table.

“Adler,” I said.

He stopped talking. My tone made it clear this conversation was ending.

“It was a pleasure,” I said politely. “Thank you for your time.”

He blinked. “We haven’t had dessert.”

“I know.” I stood up and picked up my bag. “The bill is yours. Have a good evening.”

I walked out calmly.

In the elevator, I called Wren.

“The Kross introduction,” I said.

“That bad?” she asked.

“He called it my father’s company.”

There was a pause. “I’ll send the rejection in the morning.”

“Use standard language. He doesn’t deserve the personalized version.”

“Obviously.” I could hear her writing something down. “How was the food?”

“Excellent. Book me a table next week. No guests.”

I ended the call.

The second meeting was on Saturday. His name was Coven Ashre.

He had the strongest application in the first group, detailed, thoughtful, and clearly showing he had paid attention to me as a person, not just what I represented. Wren had given him four stars. I had been looking forward to meeting him.

The restaurant was Solis. The best in Tarr by most standards. My personal choice for important dinners.

He was already seated when I arrived. A drink in front of him. His phone is face up on the table. Either he had arrived very early or he wanted to be ready before I walked in.

He stood and smiled when he saw me. It was a good smile. Practiced.

We ordered.

He was smooth — the kind of smooth that comes from years of managing how people see you. For the first twelve minutes, I almost believed he was just a polished Alpha who was good at first dates.

Fourteen minutes in, he mentioned our upcoming acquisition.

I kept talking. I lifted my wine glass and took a small sip.

The acquisition was not public. It wasn’t in any report or document outside three board members, Wren, our legal team, and me. There was no way Coven Ashre should have known about it.

I put my glass down.

I looked at him.

He was smooth—like someone who’s spent years curating how people see him. For the first twelve minutes, I almost thought he was just a polished Alpha who’s good at first dates.

For the next six minutes, I asked him questions. Not the ones he expected. Questions about his timeline, his past decisions, and his professional history over the last three years.

His answers were consistent. Well prepared. And told me almost nothing, which was its own answer.

He was too smooth. No rough edges. No real moments. People who were genuine had imperfections. Coven Ashre felt carefully constructed.

I finished my meal.

I folded my napkin.

“I know exactly who sent you,” I said pleasantly. “And I know what you were hoping to get tonight. You didn’t get it. If whoever sent you wants information about Armandi Holdings, they can submit a formal request through proper channels, where it will be declined just as efficiently as this conversation.”

I stood.

“The bill is yours. Have a good evening.”

I was at the door when I heard his chair scrape behind me.

I didn’t turn around.

Three steps from the entrance, I almost walked straight into Thorne Silverfang.

He was standing just inside, in the middle of a conversation, looking down at something in his hand. He looked up at the exact moment I stepped through the door.

His expression changed, surprise, recognition, then composure.

We looked at each other.

Solis was forty-three minutes away from Silverfang Enterprises. It wasn’t on the way to anywhere he would normally be on a Saturday night. His assistant stood slightly behind him, suddenly very interested in the architecture of the building.

“Berlina,” he said. His voice was perfect. Calm and controlled.

His eyes were not.

“Thorne,” I replied.

“I didn’t know you’d be here.”

I looked at him. Then at the restaurant. Then back at him.

“Clearly,” I said.

A pause. Slightly too long.

“How was your evening?” he asked.

“Interesting.” I adjusted my bag. “Enjoy your dinner, Thorne.”

I walked past him.

Close enough to feel his warmth. I felt the urge to turn towards him. To yell at him.

I kept walking.

I got into the car. Leaned back.

In the dark, where no one could see me, I pressed my hand against my chest and sat with that pull the entire drive home.

I didn’t know what to do with it.

So I did what I always do when I don’t know what to do.

I went home.

I took out the flour and I didn't stop until I was satisfied.