Page 42 of Betrayed Alpha Mate

She doesn’t respond right away, and I can feel her frustration spike, hot and sharp, tangled with confusion and something softer she doesn’t want to name. Her magic stirs, then stills. Controlled, but barely. Still, it’s noteworthy that she can control it at all. It must be because of what happened last night, even if she won’t admit it.

Emily drops her gaze to the contents of her cup, and from up here, I can see her reflection on the surface of her tea, and I notice how sad her eyes have become. “You’re just gonna pretend that nothing happened?” she asks finally.

I secure another shingle, my hands steady and as controlled as I’m trying to keep my voice. “I’m acting like your roof needed fixing. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Yeah.” She looks up and forces a smile onto her face. “I prefer that.”

“I know,” I say again, softly this time.

She steps closer, and I can feel it through the bond—the shift in her presence. Not toward me exactly, just nearer, like she’s testing the space between us.

“You don’t have to do any of this. You don’t have to do anything for me,” Emily reminds me. “You don’t have to show up like this and pretend—”

“I’m not pretending, Em,” I interrupt gently, turning my eyes to her with a sincere but sad smile before she can spiral. “And I’m not asking for anything.”

Silence stretches between us as I hold her gaze, a million things left unsaid between us as we both silently make a promise to put what happened between us last night in the past, buried with the rest of our history.

But I can’t help but notice everything, etching her face into memory for the millionth time, but like it’s the first time I’m seeing her. That’s how an angel should be appreciated.

She stands in the kitchen doorway, wrapped in one of those oversized sweaters she always wears when she’s trying to feel smaller than she is. Her eyes are puffy, rimmed red, shadows carved beneath them like she hasn’t slept at all. Seeing her like this twists something deep in my chest, but I don’t let it show.

“I just want you safe,” I finish. “That’s it.”

Her throat bobs when she swallows. “That’s what confuses me,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper when she sighs. “You care now. And it still…affects me.”

I nod once. “I know…” I whisper, not wanting to argue or push too much. I don’t drag our past into the daylight where it’ll bleed all over the present. I give her what she asked for—space, honesty, and no pressure.

When the repairs are done, I climb down the ladder, pack my tools, and turn to leave without another word. As I pick up my toolbox and swing the ladder over my shoulder, Emily steps out from the corner of her cottage, stopping me in my tracks.

“Sean.” She says my name like a breath, her eyes finding mine. From this close, I can see that the restlessness she’d been feeling—the same I had been feeling last night—has taken its toll on her physically, her eyes framed by dark circles, sunken as if she didn’t get enough sleep. The bond hums again, and instead of seeing a torn girl standing before me, I see an angel who is powerful beyond her own comprehension.

She hesitates, arms folded tight around herself like she’s holding something together that wants to fall apart. There’s a part of me that wants to throw down the toolbox and ladder and pull her into my arms, comfort her, and soothe her through the emotional chaos she’s going through. But I know she won’t allow me to do that, and she’ll just hate me more.

“Thank you,” she says timidly, her voice small and careful. Real. “For the roof.”

The bond pulses, but it’s soft this time. Not painful. Not overwhelming. Just a quiet acknowledgment, like a single light flickering on in a dark tunnel.

“You’re welcome,” I reply, lowering my head as if I’m bowing curtly. I don’t stay. I don’t push my luck.

But as I walk away, the ache in my chest doesn’t vanish. However, it eases just enough to remind me that hope doesn’t always roar. Sometimes, it whispers.

And for now, that whisper is enough. Even if it doesn’t look like much.

Chapter 14 - Emily

Avoidance becomes an art when you need it to be, and I am a master of the craft.

I perfect it over the next few days with military precision, the kind that doesn’t rely on chance or hope. I plan my routes. I track schedules. I leave early, return late, and make sure my timing never overlaps with Sean’s unless absolutely unavoidable. If he’s near the training grounds, I’m in the medical bay. If he’s in his house, I’m at the cottage. If he’s outside, I stay in.

It’s almost laughable how easily I fall back into the old mindset—the same precision, the same discipline I learned when I joined black ops under false pretenses, when every step I took had to be intentional or risk exposure. Back then, it was about saving his life. Now, it’s about saving my sanity.

And it works. Mostly. Except the bond doesn’t care about strategies to avoid my fated mate.

No matter how much distance I put between us physically, it hums beneath my skin like a live current. Quieter than before, yes—but present. Watchful. Waiting. Every time my thoughts drift where I don’t want them to go, my magic responds like it’s listening to a language I refuse to speak out loud.

I hate myself for that.

I hate how easily I unraveled in the cottage. How quickly my resolve dissolved the moment his hands steadied me, the moment my magic found something it recognized and latched on to without permission. I tell myself it was a lapse. A mistake fueled by exhaustion, adrenaline, and a storm that stripped me bare inside and out.