My Alpha: CEO's Human Fated Mate

13. LOOSE THREADS

“Walk me through it one last time,” Warrick said, not looking up from the folder spread across his desk.

The man Warrick had hired didn’t look like much — late-thirties, plain shirt, the kind of face people don’t look at twice when walking down the street. That was precisely why Warrick used him.

“Selene Hart. Twenty-five. Orphanage records place her arrival at age seven, no prior documentation on file, no property to her name.” The man flipped through his own copy without needing to check it closely — he’d probably memorized every gap in it already. “The usual standard for the system would be a transfer record from wherever she was before. Hospital, previous guardian, something. There’s nothing.”

“Nothing or it has been erased?

“That’s the interesting part,” The man slid a single photocopied page across the desk. “There’s a placeholder where the intake record should be. A file number, a date stamp — but the actual document behind seems like it has been removed. Not lost, clearly. Pulled deliberately.”

Warwick studied the page for a long moment, his eyes scanning deeply, not wanting to miss even the tiniest detail. He turned it over, as though something more had been written behind. Nothing was. Just a blank page. He set it down carefully like he always did everything.

“Everything about this is very fishy. Someone didn’t want this traced.”

“That is my take as well.”

“That’s an awfully long time to keep something buried that carefully.” Warrick leaned back in his chair, fingers interlocked beneath his chin, turning the timeline over the way he might turn over a business acquisition — patiently, without emotion, looking for the angle everyone else had probably missed. “What could have possibly happened that required so much covering up? Of a human at that?”

The private investigator kept quiet. It wasn’t his place to make speculations and he knew it.

“Dig further through this,” Warrick said finally. “I want you looking at anything unusual from that year. Pack movements. Disappearances. Anyone who went quiet and stayed quiet. She might even be related to our world. Forget the orphanage. Forget the paperwork trail entirely — someone erased that on purpose, which means it won’t lead anywhere useful.” He tapped the folder once, decisive. “Someone remembers something. Find them. Search both worlds carefully.”

“That would require more resources than what we’ve been using.”

“Then use more.” Warrick closed the folder, the conversation clearly over as far as he was concerned. “Whatever this girl is, Bianca was right to be uneasy about her. Everything about this is suspicious, and I intend to find out exactly what, before anyone else does.”

In another part of the town, at the highest floor of the huge building, Selene was not having the best day.

By ten in the morning, her desk was already sinking beneath a huge pile of a landslide of paper — vendor quotes, floral arrangements, a guest list longer than anything she'd ever had to manage, and a seating chart that seemed to rearrange itself every time she stepped away from it for more than three minutes.

This just seems as crazy as it is unnecessary. Nyx announced. Why do rich people need hundreds of other rich people to watch them eat dinner and drink wine?

Only rich people could answer that, Selene thought back, cross-referencing a name against the guest list for the third time that morning.

Alaric’s office door opened, and he stepped out, sleeves rolled, tie already loosened despite it being barely mid-morning. He paused at the sight of her desk.

“That looks worse than it did half an hour ago.”

“That’s because it is worse than it was half an hour ago.” Selene held up two swatches of fabric without looking away from her laptop. “Champagne gold or Emerald. Pick one. The florist needs an answer in the next ten minutes, or we lose the good peonies.”

“I don’t have an opinion on flowers.”

“Well, that’s not how this works. You’re the boss, you kind of have to,” Selene said, finally glancing up to look at this. She was enjoying it a little more than she’d like to admit. “So Mr. Blackwood Sir, Champagne gold or Emerald?”

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” She whispered to herself even though he probably heard every word.

Selene noted that down and moved straight on to the next crisis, flipping to the seating chart pinned to the cork board beside her desk. “Okay. Table three is the problem. Your father wants the Ashford family close to the head table, obviously, but if I put Bianca directly across from —"

She stopped herself mid-sentence, only realizing after the name had already left her mouth that something in the air had shifted. Alaric's jaw had gone tight, his eyes fixed somewhere just past her shoulder, like the thought of sitting across Bianca was genuinely disturbing him.

"Sorry," Selene said, unsure exactly what she was apologizing for. "Did I do the seating wrong?"

"No. It's fine." His voice had flattened out, gone careful in a way she'd started to recognize as him deliberately not saying something. "Put her wherever protocol dictates. It doesn't matter."

I feel like it very much matters, Nyx observed. Look at his face. That is not an "it doesn't matter" face.

Selene studied him a beat longer, something curious tugging at her, but she let it go, filing the reaction away the way she'd started filing away most of his strange moods lately — unexplained, but somehow not that unfamiliar anymore.

"Champagne," she said instead, tapping the swatch decisively. "Good choice, by the way. Very tasteful."

"I try." He lingered a second longer than the conversation warranted before disappearing back into his office, and Selene didn't see the way he stood on the other side of the closed door for a long moment before returning to his desk.

Bianca arrived unannounced, as she always did, sweeping past Selene’s desk with a polite nod and a comment about the flowers that managed to sound like both a compliment and correction all at once.

“Champagne,” she said, glancing at the swatch still sitting on the desk. “Nice choice. I would have preferred the ivory though.”

“Mr. Blackwood chose this actually,” Selene said evenly, a tiny smirk forming at the corner of her lips. “But I’ll keep your opinion in mind, for next time.”

“I hear you’re the one running my seating arrangement now.” Bianca’s smile stayed perfectly in place, though something colder sat behind her eyes. “How thorough of Alaric, delegating something so personal to his assistant.”

“I’m just following the guidelines his office gave me.”

“Of course you are.” Bianca’s gaze lingered a moment too long before she moved toward Alaric’s door without waiting to be announced, the way she always did.

Inside, Alaric didn’t bother looking up from his laptop.

“You’re always busy when I walk in. I’ve started to suspect it’s a coping mechanism.” Bianca settled into the chair across from him uninvited, crossing one leg over the other.

“I hear your assistant has taste. Champagne over ivory. Bold.” She said, even though she knew Alaric had chosen it.

“It’s flowers, Bianca.”

“This is supposed to be our gala, or has that fact slipped your mind somewhere between all the busyness?” Her tone stayed light, but there was now an edge to it, sharper than her usual teasing. “I’ve been more than patient, Alaric. I’d like to know what exactly I’m walking into in three weeks.”

“You’re walking into a gala. Same as every year.”

“You know what I mean, Alaric.” For the first time, something genuine cracked through her composure — not quite hurt, but close to it. “Don’t pretend this is business as usual when we both know it’s much more than that.”

Alaric finally looked up, and whatever he saw on her face made him exhale, some of the sharpness leaving his own expression. “I don’t have an answer for you yet.”

“Then find one. And fast.” Bianca rose from the chair, smoothing her dress with practiced composure, the mask sliding neatly back into place. “I’m not asking for love, Alaric. I never was. I’m asking for a decision.”

She left without waiting for a response, heels clicking a brisk, uneven rhythm down the hallway that didn’t quite match her usual unhurried grace.

Flynn caught the tail end of it from the hallway, leaning against the wall outside Alaric’s office with a coffee he wasn’t really drinking, watching Bianca disappear into the elevator with her jaw set tight.

He glanced toward Selene’s desk, where she’d gone back to color-coded tabs and floral arrangements with the same easy focus she brought to everything, entirely unaware that she was, in effect, planning the party where her boss might announce his engagement to someone else. Someone that wasn’t meant for him.

It shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did. He wasn’t the one caught in the middle of it — not really, not in the way Alaric was, not in the way Selene would be if she ever learned the full truth. And yet watching her cheerfully debate floral arrangements for an event that could very well end with her heart getting quietly stepped on sat wrong in his chest in a way he didn’t have a name for.

“I can feel your eyes on me,” Selene said, without looking up.

“I’m admiring your organizational skills,” Flynn said, recovering the grin easily enough, though it cost him more than usual to hold it. “Truly inspiring stuff. Color-coded tabs. I’m moved.”

“Flattery won’t get you out of picking a table assignment. I still need someone to confirm if you’re bringing a plus one.”

“Depends on my mood that week.” He tapped the edge of her desk, already turning to leave, still dreading the report he still owed Corwin. “Don’t work too hard, Hart.”

“No promises.”

He walked away before she could ask him anything else, the easy smile dropping the second he was out of her line of sight.

That evening, Warrick sat alone in his study long after his investigator had left, the single photocopied page still resting on his desk beneath the lamplight.

A file number. A date stamp. And behind it, nothing — a hole cut so precisely into the record that it could only have been done by someone who understood exactly what they were hiding, and exactly how far someone might one day come looking for it. But not patient enough to fill it up.

He picked up his phone and made a single call, voice low and even. “Any update? Keep your eye out, anything could be of importance. Anything.”

He set the phone down and looked once more at the blank space where a name should have been, something cold and satisfied settling behind his eyes.

Across town, in a modest kitchen filled with the smell of reheated dinner, Selene sat cross-legged on the floor with the finalized seating chart spread out in front of her, red pen in hand, entirely unaware of the shape closing in around her.

“Table two, table three,” she murmured to herself, tapping the pen against her chin. “Okay. I think that’s finally settled.”

Settled for now, Nyx said quietly, in a tone Selene couldn’t quite place. Something in it that wasn’t quite a joke.

Selene didn’t ask her what she meant. She circled the last name on the chart, set the pen down, and allowed herself, for one evening at least, to believe that it really was.