Another day, when Alaric handed her another stack of documents without meeting her eyes, she accepted them with a quiet, "Understood."
When he corrected her work with ruthless precision, marking entire pages in red, she bowed her head slightly.
"Thank you for pointing that out," she said. "I'll revise it."
When he ignored her presence entirely, speaking over her in meetings or dismissing her input without comment, she endured it in silence.
Because she hadn't come here for comfort.
She hadn't come here for reconciliation.
She had come because she believed time was running out.
And no amount of coldness from Alaric Stone would make her leave again.
*****
Over time, Anya began to see the man he had become.
Alaric was calm, controlled and powerful.
Not the angry boy from her memories.
The only thing that had not changed was her own reaction to him. Her heartbeat still quickened every time he walked past. Her hands still trembled slightly when he spoke her name.
She also noticed how people addressed him.
"Alpha."
She did not know what it meant, but the way they said it carried respect and fear.
What hurt the most was not his coldness.
It was the women.
They appeared effortlessly, as if they belonged at his side.
Elegant women in tailored dresses and high heels that clicked softly against marble floors. Confident women who spoke easily with him, who laughed at things he barely acknowledged, who leaned closer than necessary when they talked. Women who matched his world in a way Anya never felt she did.
She saw them everywhere.
In the office corridors, walking beside him with practiced familiarity. In meeting rooms, sitting too close, brushing his arm when they passed him documents. Sometimes, she saw them leave his office together, their voices low, their expressions knowing.
Each time, something inside her chest tightened painfully.
Her fingers would still be over her keyboard. Her breathing would grow shallow for just a second before she forced herself to continue typing, reviewing, organizing. Doing anything to keep her thoughts from unraveling.
She reminded herself again and again.
She had no right to feel this way.
She was not his girlfriend. Not his partner. Not anything that allowed her to feel jealousy or hurt.
And more than that, she told herself something even crueler.
He had three months left.
Whatever that meant, whatever truth hid behind those words, she believed it with her whole heart. She believed time was slipping through his fingers, and she refused to be another weight around his neck.
If these women made him feel alive, if they distracted him from whatever shadow followed him, then she should be grateful.
She should want that for him.
So when she saw a woman slip her arm through his at the company event, Anya's breath caught for just a second.
The woman was elegant, confident, her smile practiced as she leaned in close to him, fingers resting lightly against his sleeve as if they belonged there. They looked effortless together. Natural. Like a picture everyone expected to see.
Anya lowered her eyes before anyone could notice the flicker of pain that crossed her face.
She told herself it meant nothing and she had no right to feel this way.
She forced herself to breathe evenly.
This was the world he belonged to now and she was only a passing presence in it.
****
When she heard soft laughter behind his closed office door late at night, Anya paused in the hallway, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.
The sound was low, intimate. Not loud enough to draw attention, but close enough to make her chest ache. She did not try to listen further. She did not need to. Whatever was happening on the other side of that door was not meant for her.
So she turned away.
She packed her things quietly, moving through the dim office with practiced calm.
On another day, as she poured herself coffee in the break room, she overheard someone whisper, "Mr. Stone has a date tonight."
The words were casual. Almost excited.
Anya smiled politely, the way she had learned to do when things hurt but were not hers to claim. She nodded as if the information meant nothing to her, as if her heart had not stumbled at the sound of his name paired with someone else.
Inside, she repeated the same quiet lie.
This is what she had wanted for him, for him to live freely and to live without restraint.
To be happy even if that happiness did not include her.
But at night, alone in her apartment, when the silence pressed in and there was no one to witness her weakness, Anya would press a hand to her chest and wonder why loving someone could hurt so much.
And still, the next morning, she showed up early.
Still, she stayed.
****
Alaric, on the other hand, was losing control.
He knew exactly why Leo had arranged this. Leo wanted him to mark Anya and claim her as his Luna.
Every day, her scent filled his space. Sweet. Familiar. Dangerous.
Despite he had sealed the bond, his body reacted and his wolf reacted.
He suppressed it relentlessly.
He sought distraction elsewhere, but the moment another woman touched him, he felt nothing.
Nothing at all.
It only made him angrier.
So he buried Anya in work, hoping she would leave on her own.
But no matter how cold he was, no matter how heartless he acted, Anya Holloway never once stepped back.
And that, more than anything, terrified him.
*****
Alaric, on the other hand, was losing control.
He knew exactly why Leo had arranged this. From the very beginning, the intent had been clear. Leo wanted him to stop running. Wanted him to face the truth he had buried for years.
Leo wanted him to mark Anya.
To claim her.
To make her his Luna.
The thought alone made his jaw tighten.
That was precisely why he couldn't allow it.
He had sealed the bond once. He had already crossed a line he should never have crossed so young. And now, with his ascension approaching, he needed clarity, not chaos. He needed to choose a Luna who could stand beside an Alpha without hesitation, without weakness, without becoming his greatest vulnerability.
But Anya was his weakness.
Every day, her presence filled his space.
Her scent lingered in his office long after she left. Sweet. Familiar. Dangerous. It wrapped around him like a memory he could not escape, slipping past every barrier he had built. It was worse because he had sealed the bond, convinced himself it was enough. That distance and discipline would silence everything else.
It hadn't.
His body reacted before his mind could stop it. His wolf stirred restlessly beneath his skin, pacing, snarling, demanding what had been denied. Every instinct in him recognized her as his, reacted to her like a wound that had never healed.
Control had always been his strength. He clung to it with everything he had. When the pressure became unbearable, he sought distraction elsewhere, forcing himself into situations that should have dulled the edge. He told himself that if he could feel something, anything, for another woman, then Anya would finally loosen her hold on him.
But the moment another woman touched him, he felt nothing.
No spark.
No heat.
No pull.
Just emptiness and it only made him angrier.
He buried her in work. If he kept her busy enough, tired enough, uncomfortable enough, she would leave. That was the plan. He pushed files across her desk without explanation. Changed schedules without warning. Assigned her tasks that bordered on unreasonable.
If she hated him, she would walk away.
"You don't need to stay late," he said once, his tone sharp, almost accusing.
"I'm fine," she replied simply, not meeting his eyes.
He expected resentment. Complaints. Tears.
He got none of it.
No matter how cold he was, no matter how distant or heartless he acted, Anya Holloway never once stepped back.
She met every challenge without protest. She absorbed every slight without bitterness. She stayed.
And that, more than anything else, terrified him.
Because if she left, he could force himself to move on.
He could choose another Luna and he was unsure if that's what he wanted things to end up into.