CHAPTER 006
1760 Words
~Roseline's POV~
Micheal Cornwell showed up to his therapy session three weeks late.
Three weeks after he walked into my office, took one look at me and Jeremy, mark fresh on my neck, guilt fresh on my face, pulled out his phone and smiled like Christmas had come early.
Three weeks of silence and three weeks of me holding my breath every time footsteps stopped outside my door.
And then, on a perfectly ordinary Tuesday morning, the door swung open.
No knock. Obviously.
He dropped into the chair across from my desk, stretched his long legs out like he was settling in for a nap, and looked straight at me.
"Morning, Emma."
My pen hit the floor.
He'd called me Emma. Not Roseline. Not Ms. Campbell. Emma, the name I'd buried under a forged letter and a borrowed surname and five years of running so hard my lungs still hadn't fully recovered.
He'd called me the name that existed in exactly one place in this building.
My diary. The one that vanished from my locked drawer the day after Micheal Cornwell stood in my doorway and took a photo.
I picked the pen up, set it down and folded my hands on my desk like a woman who was completely, totally fine.
"It's Roseline," I said.
"Right." He tilted his head. "My mistake, Emma."
"Mr. Cornwell—"
"You should really get better locks." He glanced around my office like he was mildly touring a museum. "That drawer took me forty seconds. Forty. I was embarrassed for you, honestly."
I looked at him the way I'd learned to look at dangerous men. Steady. Empty. Giving absolutely nothing away on the outside while completely falling apart on the inside.
"You stole my diary."
"I did."
No hesitation. No shame. Not even the basic decency to pretend.
"Why?"
"The photo was a good start," he said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "But a photo only tells one story. Your diary?" He let out a low whistle. "That's a whole damn novel, Emma. Your real name. Alpha Alex Blackwell. The contract your parents signed when you were thirteen to sell you off to settle a pack debt they owed. The forged recommendation letter. Your wild s****l fantasies. Your secret crush on Jeremy." He paused. "I hit the jackpot."
My hands were perfectly still on the desk.
My heart was not.
"What do you want?" I asked.
He smiled like that was exactly the right question.
"Two things," he said. "Simple ones."
"I seriously doubt that."
He ignored me completely, like I hadn't made a single sound.
"First — your session notes. Whatever actually happens in here, your official reports will say Jeremy is unstable and unfit for captaincy. That report will be filed with the athletics board before semester ends." His eyes didn't move from mine. "Mine will say I'm thriving."
I stared at him, shocked by his audacity.
"You want me to falsify clinical records."
"I want you to be creative with your professional opinion."
"That's the same damn thing."
"Tomato, tomato." One shoulder lifted. "Second thing. You're going to fake date me."
"I'm your counsellor,” I reminded him with a frown.
"You're also Jeremy's fated mate,” he said cynically. "Watching you with someone else is going to dismantle him completely." His eyes darkened into something that made the back of my neck prickle. "That's the whole point."
I looked at him for a long moment.
"What did he actually do to you?"
The smile slipped. Just slightly.
"We used to be best friends,” he said flatly. "I brought him onto this campus, showed him everything, the team, the game, everything. And then he looked me dead in the face and took it all." He exhaled slowly. "He knew how I felt about Evelyn but went after her anyway. Before he showed up here, I had the captaincy, the respect, the girl." He paused. "He walked in and cleaned me out in one semester without a second thought." He spread his hands. "So yeah. Lycans aren't immune to jealousy. Who knew."
Click. Click. Click.
The photo. The diary. Choosing me specifically. All of it assembled into one clean, ugly picture.
This wasn't impulsive. This was a plan. A grand revenge plan that I was getting in on by force.
"And if I say no?" I asked.
"Everything I know about Emma Blackwell goes straight to the college board." He issued his terrifying threat with a pleasant voice. "Your real name. Your fake credentials. The Alpha who's been hunting you across six cities." He tilted his head. "How fast do you think Alex finds you once this college publishes your details in a formal investigation?"
The chill that moved through me had nothing to do with the air conditioning. He watched it happen without blinking.
"You're sick," I spat.
"Yeah." He didn't even flinch. "Jeremy made me this way." He shrugged like it was genuinely out of his hands. "Are you in or not?"
I thought about every corner I'd ever been backed into.
My parents' kitchen table. The Blackwell house. Six cities. Six fake names. Running so long I'd forgotten what standing still felt like.
One more corner. Same walls. Different man.
This is my life now.
"Fine," I said.
He grinned in a very satisfied and deeply, deeply annoying way.
"There's only one rule though." He bit his lower lip and somehow made it look flirtatious. Which was honestly offensive given the circumstances. "Don't fall in love with me." He gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I can be very... addictive."
I looked at him for one long, flat second.
"I've had food poisoning more charming than you. Get out of my office."
****
Hockey practice ended at six.
I stood at the edge of the rink in my coat with my arms folded, feeling exactly as natural as a fire alarm in a library.
Micheal had been specific. Be there when it ends. Look like you want to be there.
I was still working on the second part.
The team poured off the ice in loud overlapping waves — jerseys soaked, voices overlapping, still arguing about something from the last drill. I told myself I was looking at the general area.
I found Jeremy in four seconds.
I really, truly wish I hadn't.
He was the last one off the ice. Always the last one. He cut one final lap like dry land was a personal inconvenience and the rink was the only place that made sense to him. His hair was shoved back and his jaw was set.
He was graceful. Effortlessly, unfairly, aggressively graceful.
God, I hated that.
Then Evelyn stepped up to the barrier and every bit of that grace went straight to her.
Cream jacket. Perfect hair. That smile she wore like a medal.
The second Jeremy came off the ice she was already moving toward him, already reaching and tucking herself under his arm like she'd been doing it forever.
He kissed her cheek.
My heart cracked open and I suddenly found the floor very interesting.
He rejected you, I reminded myself. You are a professional. You do not have feelings about this.
The mark on my neck burned like it had heard every word and found it hilarious.
Micheal appeared at my side.
"Smile," he said quietly. "You're thrilled to see me."
"I'm planning your downfall."
"Same energy." His hand settled on my waist. It was easy and visible to anyone who was paying close attention to us. "Lean in. Just a little."
I did.
He laughed loudly, pitched perfectly to grab almost everyone's attention. And from my peripheral vision, Jeremy's head turned once.
He looked away fast, then looked back two minutes later. He held it one second too long before he caught himself.
His jaw was tight.
Good, said the part of me I need to have a very serious conversation with.
Micheal's hand stayed exactly where it was.
"It's working already," he murmured, deeply satisfied with himself.
I smiled like I was enjoying every second of it.
I didn't look at Jeremy again. But I felt him watching me the whole way to the exit.
****
The headache started that same night.
I told myself it was stress. Obviously it was stress. I had a blackmailer, a half-mark quietly taking me apart from the inside, and approximately zero good options in any direction. Of course my head hurt.
Then the nausea came. Then food started smelling wrong. Then the fourth morning in a row arrived where I couldn't stand up without the room tilting sideways first.
Fine. I went to the clinic.
The doctor ran her tests, came back in, set the file down between us with an expression I did not like one bit.
"Ms. Campbell." She folded her hands carefully. "You're pregnant."
The word landed in the center of my chest and just sat there while the room spun right before my blurry eyes.
Pregnant? s**t!
I did the math without meaning to. I counted back. three weeks, give or take.
Three weeks ago, I was at a rave in a skimpy black dress, making the single worst decision of my entire adult life.
Oh God.
Please, let this be a nightmare I'm waking up from.
I can't be pregnant for that jerk!
"I need you to terminate it," I said sharply.
She nodded, prepared everything quietly, and I sat on that table staring at the ceiling telling myself this was logical and the only option I had.
There was no version of my life where I was keeping a child fathered by a man who had looked me in the eye and told me I would never be enough.
She stopped suddenly. I looked down. She was staring at the monitor with a frown that made an icy shiver shoot through my spine.
"Dr. Chambers?"
She didn't answer straight away. When she finally turned to face me, she was choosing every single word carefully, like what she was about to say was going to change something permanently.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I can't go ahead with this procedure."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
"There's a complication." She hesitated for a moment. "If I proceed right now, there's a very real chance you could lose your life." A pause that lasted approximately one thousand years. "Or your ability to ever have a child again."
The room went completely silent. I opened my mouth but nothing came out.
Shit just got real.
- Writer
