I take the note.

I know our first meeting wasn’t good.

But can we start again?

Start again.

The phrase hangs between us—small. Fragile. Absurd. I stare at the words until they blur, the pencil marks swimming against the cream of the paper. I still don’t understand.

What does he mean by start again?

I lift my gaze slowly.

He’s watching me.

Those eyes—brown, deep, impossibly patient—waiting for an answer. No tension in his shoulders. No crease in his brow. Just... calm. The same maddening calm he’s had since the day he stepped off that helicopter.

What the hell is wrong with him?

Does he not understand?

A moment ago—I threatened him. I’ll make you suffer. Stay away from me. And he just stood there. Took it. Let the words fall against him like stones into still water.

Now he’s asking me to start again.

Like the past weeks never happened. Like my hatred means nothing. Like my anger is just weather—something that passes, nothing that touches.

I crumple the note in my hand. The paper folds in on itself, tight in my grip.

"What do you mean—start again?" My voice cuts through the quiet. "Don’t you understand what I’m saying?"

A pause. "I don’t like you."

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. He lowers his gaze to the notebook in his hand. The pencil moves—quick, deliberate. He tears the page and offers it to me.

I take it. Roughly.

But I like you.

A sound escapes me—something between a laugh and disbelief. Hollow.

He doesn’t even know me. Not really. And still— he says he likes me.

I let the paper fall. It drifts through the air, landing in the grass between us—a small white flag.

I step forward. Toward him. The grass is soft beneath my bare feet, cool in the shade. "Why are you so stubborn?"

Each step closes the distance until I’m close enough to see the faint pulse at his throat, just beneath the pearls.

My gaze is cold. My voice drops—low, deliberate.

"I hate you."

A beat.

"Do you hear me?"

He doesn’t move. No step back. No flinch. No flicker of hurt. Just his eyes on me—brown, deep, maddeningly silent.

He looks down, writes, and hands me another note.

How can you hate me when you don’t even know me?

I blink.

Don’t know him?

My jaw tightens, a muscle twitching beneath my skin. That’s the problem.

Why can’t I read you? Why can’t I understand what’s behind those eyes?

Why are you still here, still standing in front of me, when everything about me tells you to leave?

"You want to know why I hate you?" My voice is quieter now, but no less sharp.

"First—you’re a Beta. No scent. No pull. Nothing that should matter to someone like me."

"Second—you entered my life without permission. You were handed to me like something I never asked for."

A pause.

"And you stayed." My gaze hardens. "You kept staying. Against my words. Against my will."

I let the silence stretch.

"That’s enough."

Silas listens.

He takes in every word—I see it in the rise and fall of his chest, in the way his fingers tighten around the pencil. But he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t defend himself.

He just writes. Another note. Handed to me with that same quiet calm.

Give me a chance to pursue you.

Pursue me?

A slow smirk pulls at my lips—cold, disbelieving.

Impossible.

I lift my gaze to him. "Pursue me?" I let the words linger. "Are you sure you can?"

He nods. Not hesitant. Not doubtful. Certain. Like the answer was never in question.

I crumple the note between my fingers, my eyes still on him. "What if you can’t?" My voice drops. "Then what?"

He looks down at his notebook. His fingers tighten around the pencil—a small movement, almost invisible, but I catch it. He’s thinking. Then he writes. Tears the page. Holds it out.

I’ll do whatever you say.

Do whatever I say.

I pause.

The afternoon light shifts—a cloud passing over the sun, shadows stretching across the grass. Somewhere in the distance, a bird calls out, sharp and sudden, then falls silent.

And then— something clicks.

Finally. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

I’ve found a way to get rid of him.

My voice turns calm. Controlled. The kind of calm that comes after a decision is made—when there’s no turning back.

"Fine. I’ll give you a chance."

Silas looks up at me. His eyes—those impossible eyes—catch the light. They shine.

"You have two months." I hold his gaze, let him see it—the calculation behind my words, the certainty. "If you succeed... if you manage to pursue me..."

A pause.

"I’ll accept you as my partner."

I step closer. He doesn’t move. Just watches me, breath steady, waiting like he already knows the ending.

"But if you don’t..."

I let the silence stretch between us, heavy and deliberate.

"You’ll sign the divorce papers."

"And you’ll return to your country."

A beat. "Without a word. Without fighting. Without looking back."

Silence stretches between us. The garden holds its breath. Then— a soft smile spreads across his lips. Not bitter. Not sad.

Eager.

Like he’s been waiting for this moment. Like none of this surprises him.

He nods.

I stare at him. A flicker of something—surprise, maybe—passes across my face. Just a flicker. Gone before it can settle.

He’s smiling. So confidently.

What is he planning?

He looks down at his notebook, writes, and hands me the note.

For these two months—you won’t push me away. You’ll eat with me. Spend time with me. Don’t ignore my messages. Reply to me. Talk to me.

I look at him.

"So now you’re setting conditions?"

Silas blinks. That soft smile still on his lips—confident. Annoying.

"Fine."

"I agree to your conditions." A pause. "But I have one of my own."

My voice hardens. "You don’t touch me. You keep your distance. Keep your hands to yourself."

A beat.

"Understood?"

His smile widens. He nods, then writes another note and hands it to me.

But at least let me hold your hand.

My brows draw together. "Aren’t you being too demanding?"

He turns the notebook toward me, showing what he’s already written.

Please. Just for a moment.

"No."

His smile fades—just a fraction. Just enough for me to notice. He looks down again, pencil hovering, ready to ask once more—

"No means no."

I turn and start walking. The grass is cool beneath my feet. The white roses stand quiet along the path.

I don’t look back.

"Remember—if you fail, you sign the divorce papers. No arguments. You leave."

A smirk curls on my lips—cold, certain.

Be ready to go back home, Silas Stoneheart.

Because no matter what you do—

I won’t fall for you.