Mated to My Fiancé’s Alpha King Brother

124 Chapter 124

Seraphina’s POV

The storage room smells like cleaning supplies and old paper. Dust motes drift through the afternoon light

streaming from the small window, and | press my palms against the one-way glass, trying to steady my

breathing.

| can see everything.

Emma Rodriguez sits at my old desk-*my* desk-her perfectly manicured fingers flying across the keyboard

with the kind of confidence | used to have. Her hair is swept up in an elegant chignon. Her burgundy blazer

fits like it was tailored specifically for her body. Even from here, even through the glass, | can see the way she

holds herself. Straight spine. Shoulders back. Every inch the competent professional.

| catch my reflection in the glass and wince. My hair is falling out of the ponytail | hastily threw it into this

morning. There's a stain on my sweater-probably from Lily's last feeding. My eyes look hollow, ringed with

the kind of dark circles that no amount of concealer can hide.

*Human nanny.* The words echo in my head, Emma’s voice from yesterday when she sawat Damien’s

door.

The office door opens, and my heart clenches as Damien walks in. He's wearing the charcoal gray suit |

bought him for his birthday last year, the one that makes his eyes look almost silver in certain light. He looks

every inch the powerful Alpha he is-commanding, confident, untouchable.

Emma stands immediately, and | watch as she moves around the desk to greet him. She's close. Too close.

Her body language is professional, but there's something else there. The way she tilts her head slightly when

she speaks. The way she touches his arm briefly while handing him a file.

My chest tightens with something ugly and familiar that makesfeel small and pathetic.

Damien doesn’t seem to notice her proximity. He's focused on the documents she’s showing him, his brow

furrowed in concentration. But that’s how he’s always been-single-minded when it comes to business. It’s one of

the things I used to love about working with him. We were a perfect team.

Now I'm on the wrong side of the glass, watching someone else take my place.

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| strain to hear what they're saying, but the glass is too thick. Their voices are just muffled sounds,

meaningless noise that makes my frustration spike higher.

Emma laughs at something Damien says, and the sound is like fingernails on a chalkboard. It's a perfect laugh -

not too loud, not too soft, just professional enough to be appropriate while still showing she has a sense of

humor. | used to laugh like that in meetings. Used to be the one standing beside him, anticipating his needs

before he voiced them.

| try the door handle again, knowing it’s useless. The lock clicked from the outside when the maintenance guy

“accidentally” shutin here twenty minutes ago. Emma had been so apologetic, promising she'd be

right back after she finished “just one quick thing” with Damien.

Twenty minutes ago.

My hands are shaking. | press them flat against the glass and try to breathe through the rising panic. I'm not

claustrophobic-never have been. But being trapped while watching this, watching her seamlessly slide into

the role that used to define me, is making my chest feel tight and airless.

Emma moves to the window, pointing at something outside. Damien follows, standing beside her as she

explains whatever she’s showing him. They're silhouetted against the afternoon light, two perfectly matched

professionals discussing business with easy familiarity.

The sight makes my stomach turn.

Damien's attention is completely absorbed by whatever Emma is telling him. She's animated now, using her

hands to gesture as she explains something. He nods, asks what looks like a question, and she responds with

obvious enthusiasm.

They look like a team. Like partners.

Like everything | used to be to him.

Emma pulls out her phone, shows him something on the screen. He studies it carefully, then says something

that makes her smile. Not the professional smile she’s been wearing all morning-a real one. Warm and

genuine and exactly the kind of smile that would make any man feel pleased with himself.

My fingernails dig into my palms. I'm being ridiculous, | know that. Emma is doing her job. Damien is doing

his. There's nothing inappropriate happening here, nothing I can point to and call wrong.

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214

But that doesn’t make it hurt less.

| close my eyes and try to center myself, try to find sof that inner strength that used to cso

naturally. But without Ayla’s fierce presence backingup, | feel hollow. Like I'm trying to draw water from

an empty well.

When | open my eyes, Damien is checking his watch. He says something to Emma that makes her nod and

gather a stack of papers. They're wrapping up their meeting.

Finally. Maybe now someone will remember that | exist and cletout of this damn closet.

But instead of leaving, Emma walks around the desk and settles into the chair-*my* chair-like she owns it.

Damien heads for the door, pausing to say something over his shoulder that makes her wave

acknowledgment.

And then he’s gone.

Emma is back to typing, her fingers moving across the keyboard with practiced efficiency. She looks

completely at home, completely in control of her domain.

| slump against the wall and slide down until I'm sitting on the floor among boxes of printer paper and office

supplies. The position makesfeel even smaller, even more insignificant.

The thought makes my eyes burn with unshed tears.

Minutes tick by. Five. Ten. Fifteen.

Emma continues working, completely absorbed in whatever task has her attention. Every so often she

answers the phone with a crisp, professional greeting.

Finally-*finally*-Emma stands up from the desk. She stretches, checks her own phone, then seems to

remember something. Her eyes scan the office, and | see the exact moment when she realizes I'm not where

I'm supposed to be.

She looks confused for a moment, then understanding dawns on her face. Her hand flies to her mouth in

what looks like genuine horror.

The lock turns, and the door swings open. Emma's face appears, flushed with what | hope is shame.

“Oh my god, Seraphina!” she gasps, her professional composure cracking. “I'm so sorry! | completely forgot-

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we were discussing the contract and it got complicated and—"

“It’s fine,” | interrupt, climbing to my feet with as much dignity as | can manage. My legs are stiff from sitting

on the floor, and | have to grab the doorfrto steady myself.

Emma's eyes widen slightly at my tone, but she recovers quickly. That professional mask slides back into

place, smooth and impenetrable.

“Of course,” she says carefully. “I understand you're upset. | would be too.”

*You have no idea what I'm upset about,* | want to tell her.

But | don’t say any of that. Instead, | force a smile that feels like it might crack my face.

“Really, it’s fine,” | repeat, softer this time. “These things happen.”

“Damien had to leave,” she explains, moving back toward the desk to gather her things. “You may call him

instead?”

My phone starts ringing then, the sound jarring in the tense silence. Emma and | both look down at it, and |

see Damien’s non the screen.

word

word

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