Chapter 12: Cordella
897 Words
Cordella
The glass doors flung open with a crack loud enough to silence the entire floor.
I didn’t knock. I didn’t ask. I stormed past the receptionist and ignored her wide eyes and frantic half-stand from her desk. Nothing could stop me now. Not a secretary. Not protocol. Not the fact that I smelled like a rosemary bonfire and was halfway to full magical combustion.
I was burning, and I was going to kill Heston Blue.
Not literally.
Probably.
The office was massive. Because of course it was. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Sleek furniture. Leather and steel and power stitched into every inch and there he was. Sitting behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, collar open, blue eyes piercing.
His head snapped up the moment I burst in and he didn’t even have the audacity to look shocked. Just turned to his receptionist, calm as ever.
“Should I call security, Alpha Blue?” she asked, panicked but professional.
“It’s fine, Stephanie,” he said smoothly, his gaze never leaving mine. “I was expecting her. Please shut the door.”
Expecting me?
That smug, calculated bastard.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, I reached for the lock and flipped it. Audibly. Because no one was interrupting this.
“You think you can just go home and bulldoze my building?” I hissed, voice sharp enough to cut glass.
He leaned back in his chair, as calm as if I’d walked in to discuss lunch, not commit verbal murder.
“It’s not your building,” he said coolly. “It’s Harrington Developers’. And I thought you’d be happy with the clause.”
“Happy?” I nearly shouted, stalking closer, boots slamming against the polished floor. “You think giving me a locked-in lease while tearing apart the neighborhood I live and breathe in is something I should thank you for?”
His jaw ticked. “I made sure they kept your business intact.”
“Oh, well bless your f*****g heart, Alpha,” I snapped, eyes blazing. “Because gods forbid I get upset about you steamrolling my life while pretending it’s a favor.”
He stood, slowly, deliberately, and I hated that it made my pulse quicken. He was too tall. Too steady. Too composed. And I hated even more that I noticed.
“I was trying to help,” he said, voice lower now, all gravel and tightly held control.
“You were trying to make yourself feel better while you ruin everything I love.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being real. Something you clearly have no idea how to handle.”
We were toe to toe now.
The air between us practically vibrating.
He didn’t touch me. I didn’t back down. And in that heartbeat of charged silence, I knew this wasn’t over.
Not even close.
I didn’t even realize my hands were shaking until I slammed them on the edge of his desk. He didn’t flinch.
Of course, he didn’t.
Heston Blue stood there like he wasn't the problem, like he hadn’t been slowly unraveling my life with contracts and clauses and smug, unbearable glances.
“You don’t get to walk into my world, throw around your money, and pretend it’s charity,” I snapped, voice like a whip. “You don’t get to play savior while you gut the soul of my community and expect me to thank you.”
His jaw was tight, but he didn’t speak.
So I stepped closer. Because if I didn’t release this fire, it was going to consume me from the inside out.
“You pretend you’re doing me a favor,” I said, low and seething. “But let’s be honest, Heston. You didn’t lock me into that lease for me. You did it for you. Because deep down, you can’t stand that I make you lose control. That I got under your skin the second I walked into that bar and didn’t look away. Didn't submit to the big bad Alpha.”
His eyes flickered gold.
Good.
“I didn’t ask for this game,” I said. “But you’re playing it like your life depends on winning. So what is it? Hmm? Is it the magic? The mouth? Or are you just that desperate for my attention, Heston?”
His snarl was a crack of thunder between us.
“I’m not the one who’s desperate,” he growled, voice dropping into something primal.
His eyes went gold—wolf bright.
He stepped in again, until his chest brushed mine, until my magic rose like a tide.
“You’re the one who wants to f**k me,” he said, cruel and certain. “Admit it.”
And then he laughed, low, dark, and wicked.
And the worst part?
The worst part was that I felt it. A pulse between my thighs, sharp and hot and uninvited.
I scoffed, doing my best to look unaffected. He leaned in, mouth near my ear, breath rough.
“If I wanted to f**k you,” he whispered, “I could bend you over this desk right now, and you’d thank me.”
My breath hitched. My magic snapped at my fingertips.
I turned my face toward his, lips grazing the stubble of his jaw, and smiled.
Sharp. Unafraid. Witch-Born.
“I’d like to see you try.”
- Writer
