Pecan's POV
I should have left. I should have turned around and walked right back out before he noticed me. But my feet stayed rooted to the floor, and my heart betrayed me, skipping a beat as I took him in.
"Pecan?" His deep voice snapped me out of my daze.
His sharp gaze locked onto mine, and for a moment, the air between us seemed to hum with unspoken tension. I swallowed hard, clutching a box in my hands as though it could shield me from the weight of his presence.
"I...I'm sorry," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to intrude. I was just... I got lost."
His expression softened for a fraction of a second before the hard lines returned. He set the file down and crossed his arms, his stance both casual and commanding. "Lost? This is the study, Pecan, not the kitchen."
"I know," I said quickly, my cheeks heating. "It was a mistake. I'll go now."
I turned toward the door, eager to escape, but his voice stopped me cold.
"Wait."
I hesitated, my hand hovering over the doorknob. I turned back to face him, my pulse quickening as he stepped closer.
"I need to talk to you," he said, his tone low and authoritative.
"About what?" I asked, my voice firmer than I felt.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "About what happened earlier. The fight with Stella."
I bristled at the mention of her name, my anger flaring up again. "What about it?"
He arched a brow, his expression both stern and questioning. "Why did you do it, Pecan? What were you thinking, nearly choking her in front of everyone?"
"She deserved it," I snapped, my arms crossing defensively.
"Deserved it?" His voice rose slightly, his frustration evident. "Do you know what that kind of behavior does to your reputation? You've just returned, Pecan. It's too soon for people to start whispering about you, and not in a good way."
I glared at him, my chest tightening at his words. "You think I care about my reputation? She insulted me, Paul. She said things....things that crossed a line. I wasn't going to stand there and take it."
"Then walk away next time," he shot back, his tone sharp. "Be the bigger person. Don't let someone like Stella drag you down to her level."
"Easy for you to say," I muttered, bitterness creeping into my voice. "You're not the one being mocked and belittled every time you turn around."
He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. "And you think fighting her will solve that? Pecan, you're better than this. You're stronger than this."
The words hit me like a slap, both stinging and strangely comforting. I looked away, unable to meet his gaze.
"I'm trying," I admitted quietly. "But it's hard."
The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of our unspoken thoughts pressing down on us. When I finally looked up, I found him watching me with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"Is that really why you fought her?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost gentle.
"What are you talking about?"
He took another step closer, and suddenly the air between us felt charged, crackling with something I couldn't name. "Was it really about what she said? Or was it about something else? Someone else?"
My heart skipped a beat, and I hated how transparent I felt under his piercing gaze. "I don't know what you mean," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Don't you?" His lips curved into a faint, bitter smile.
I took a step back, the edge of the door pressing into my spine. "I should go."
But before I could turn the knob, he was there, his hand braced against the doorframe, trapping me in place. His scent,woodsy and masculine, washed over me, making my wolf stir restlessly.
"Do you want to leave, Pecan?" he asked, his voice low and rough, like gravel underfoot.
I swallowed hard, my pulse racing as I met his gaze. "Yes," I lied.
His eyes darkened, his wolf peeking through as he leaned in, his face inches from mine. "Are you sure?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
His hand moved, trailing down my cheek in a touch so gentle it made me shiver. He hesitated for a moment, as though battling himself, before his fingers brushed lower, ghosting over my collarbone and stopping just above my chest.
"Paul," I whispered, my voice trembling.
The sound of his name seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he was in. His hand dropped away, and he took a step back, his expression a mix of regret and frustration.
"This... This can't happen," I said, my voice firmer now, though my heart was still pounding.
"I know," he muttered, his jaw tightening.
I searched his face, looking for some hint of the man I'd known before all of this, before mates and destiny and complicated feelings. But all I saw was a man just as lost and conflicted as I was.
"Pate is like a mother to me," I reminded him quietly, my voice laced with a bitterness I couldn't hide.
He winced, the mention of his wife clearly hitting a nerve. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving me alone in the study.
I stayed there for a long moment, my back against the door, my emotions a tangled mess of anger, shame, and something I refused to name. When I finally left, I felt more lost than ever, the weight of what had just happened pressing heavily on my shoulders.
And as I walked away, one thought echoed in my mind: Things were only going to get worse.