Aaron's POV
Being an alpha and running a multi-billion-dollar empire sharpens your instincts in ways most people can't understand. Every step I take, my senses are tuned-every footfall, every breath, every shift in the air doesn't go unnoticed. It's like having a sixth sense that just gets stronger with time.
Even now, I can hear human movement down the hallway, pick up fragments of muffled conversation from across the damn floor. The tiniest whispers. Like the way Jannah says "Aaron fucking Steele" when she thinks I'm out of earshot-usually to that friend of hers, Kaitlyn.
The memory slips in, uninvited, and before I realize it, I'm smirking-no, grinning like a fool. I jam my hands in my pockets and pivot left, my footsteps echoing down the corridor.
She's a damn wildfire, and I doubt she even realizes it.
The memory of her from that last meeting flashes across my mind. Her full lips parted, subtly rolling her eyes at me in that infuriating, fiery way she does like she was born to challenge me–my authority since she wasn't supposed to be there but clearly undermined my authority and I on the other hand for once in my life didn't feel the urge to pay back.
She doesn't know how much strength she has. Bold. Sharp-tongued. Dangerous. And completely unaware of just how hard she pulls people in-how hard she pulls me in.
I didn't want her at any of my meetings -too much of a distraction. That's why I've asked for a damn emails instead of seeing her face-to-face. The memories from Mexico are still fresh-too fresh. Sitting face-to-face in a room with her alone? That would've been a problem. A very obvious one.
She probably took it as an insult. I'm cool with that . Better that than her catching sight of the bulge in my pants if things went sideways. And by the looks of things lately, they weren't just going sideways-they were spiraling.
Truth is, I shouldn't be here. I should be glued to my desk, handling real issues, not lurking in hallways like a janitor. But my feet have a damn mind of their own, and I know exactly where they're taking me.
Her scent is stronger now-sweet, feminine, like spiced honey in the summer air. I inhale, letting it fill my lungs. My body reacts before my mind can catch up-until something else hits my nose and brings me to a halt.
Clinton?
What the hell is Clinton doing here?
My jaw tightens. My hands curl into fists. I scan the corner of the hallway, and my breathing gets heavier.
"Cleaning up your mess, obviously," Sebastian mutters inside my head, and I can hear the smirk in his voice.
Fuck off, I growl internally. The hallway lights flicker above me, reacting to the static bleeding off my skin. I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to breathe.
Clinton was supposed to cover for me, not start getting cozy with her. That wasn't part of the deal.
"There was no deal," Sebastian snickers.
Whatever. Plan or not, Clinton just crossed a line. He was supposed to pacify her, then fade into the background. That's it.
I take another step forward and hear it-Jannah's laugh, sharp and bright, like it was carved straight out of summer. Then Clinton's voice. Too close. Too familiar.
That's when it hits me: he's not just covering for me. He's getting comfortable. My brother-my socially anxious, socially-awkward twin-is actually talking. Not in short bursts, but full sentences. He sounds happy. Excited, even.
The hell?
Even with me, Clinton rarely talks like that unless he's in one of those rare moods-and even then, he always flips back to default. So what the hell is he doing, laughing and chatting up Jannah like they've known each other forever?
My fists clench tighter.
Her scent. On that book he was holding last week-I brushed it off. His sudden visits to my office. The weird questions. All of it. He played me. Clinton, the shadow-dweller, the night-hunter, managed to fool me with a fake smile and a few well-placed excuses about pack business.
I should've known better.
Now all I can think about is the way her eyes used to light up when she saw me, and the fact that she's probably looking at him like that now. Like I've been replaced.
A growl rumbles low in my throat.
For the love of the Moon Goddess, don't make this messier than it already is. Clinton's's taking your place in the field. Isn't that enough? Didn't you say you didn't care? Sebastian jeers.
I bite down on my lower lip, hard. My skin heats. The veins in my wrist rise like they're ready to burst through.
That's none of your business, I snap, voice crisp in my mind.
I know he's right. Doesn't mean I have to say it out loud.
Yeah, I handed the mess over to Clinton-but that doesn't mean I wanted him to win. I just wanted time. Distance. Control.
But founders are keepers.
And I found her first.
It's petty. It's irrational. But it's real. I don't want them together. Clinton's only job was to act like me for a while. But now? Now it feels like he's slipping into my damn shoes and molding them into his own.
Every part of me wants to march into that room and remind them who the hell I am. But I know that'll backfire. Clinton earned his place, and the last thing I need is to destroy what's left of our already cracked brotherhood.
Not now.
Not when I almost short-circuited the damn hallway lights.
Not when my eyelid's twitching, and I'm standing here like some ghost of a janitor instead of the co-owner of Blue Cyber, a Fortune 500 tech beast.
I breathe deep. I back away.
It can wait.
"From the looks of things, it won't be long," Sebastian says dryly, and I roll my eyes.
It won't be.