Not yet

I stride into my office, closing the door with a quiet click behind me. The chaos of the meeting lingers in my mind, but it dissipates the moment I step into the quiet sanctity of my space. The city skyline stretches out before me, framed perfectly by the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse office. The view is stunning, but right now, it's the last thing on my mind.

I pull out my phone, swiping the screen to unlock it. My eyes immediately search for the notification I know is waiting, and when I find it, my lips curl into an involuntary smile. Ivan.

His text sits there, almost taunting me with its simplicity, and I waste no time crafting a response. My fingers fly across the screen.

"I don't exactly sit around and wait all day, you know. I have a job. But you? You're my first priority." I hit send, leaning back in my chair as I wait.

It takes only seconds for his reply to come through.

"I'm flattered, but a little concerned. Don't you think you're doing too much for someone you barely know?"

A low chuckle escapes me. He's cautious—maybe even wary—but I can sense the teasing undertone in his words. I thrive on this game we've been playing, the push and pull that's become our dynamic.

"I happen to be playing a game," I type back, the smirk evident on my face. "A game called 'Find the Prince.'"

I send the text and watch as the speech bubble indicating his response flickers on and off. He's hesitating, debating. It's endearing in a way. Finally, his reply appears.

"How'd you find this account?"

Ah, the question I was expecting.

"I thought you'd be happy I found you," I shoot back. "Considering you left me with no way to contact you."

There's a pause—longer this time—but when his reply comes, it's sharp and clever as ever.

"You know where I work."

"I do," I admit, "but where's the fun in that?"

I picture him on the other side of the screen, probably rolling his eyes or shaking his head in that exasperated way he does. The thought amuses me, and I let myself bask in the moment a little longer.

But then his next message comes, and it's like a spark ignites in my chest.

"I don't know… You're taking too long. I might just fall into the arms of another alpha."

The words hit me like a challenge, and for a moment, I feel a possessive heat rise within me. I know he's teasing—he must be—but the thought alone is enough to set my jaw tight. If there's even a shred of truth to his words… well, that's a problem I'll deal with swiftly and without hesitation. No one is taking him from me.

My fingers hover over the keyboard, the response coming easily.

"The only arms you're falling into are mine."

I send the text, leaning back in my chair with a satisfied smirk. Let him try to deny it. Let him push back. It doesn't matter. He's mine, whether he knows it yet or not.

***

I can't help it—I squeal and giggle like a teenager, burying my face in the pillow to muffle the sound. My heart is racing, and it feels like sparks are dancing across my skin from the last text he sent.

"The only arms you're falling into are mine."

Who is this mysterious alpha? I don't even know his name, yet here I am, acting like a giddy fool. It's ridiculous. Is it the hormones? Maybe. I mean, I'm a logical person, or at least I used to be. But right now? Right now, I'm delusional, swept up in some fantasy that's got my chest fluttering and my mind spinning.

Not even Jackson ever made me feel like this.

The thought sobers me, and for a moment, I pause. Jackson. He was safe, predictable, a steady presence and look at how that turned out.But this—this thing with him—is nothing like that. It's unpredictable, wild, and absolutely terrifying. I feel vulnerable in a way I haven't felt in years, and it scares me to death.

Before I let myself spiral, I pick up my phone and type out a quick response.

"We'll see about that."

I hit send, and without waiting for his reply, I go offline. I need a moment to clear my head, to remind myself that I'm more than this bubbling, giddy mess of emotions.

Still, my heart won't stop racing, and the butterflies in my stomach seem determined to make their presence known. I toss my phone onto the bed and head to the bathroom, determined to distract myself with my skincare routine.

As I carefully apply cleanser and moisturizer, I glance at my reflection in the mirror. The person staring back at me looks calm, collected, in control. But inside? Inside, I'm a storm of emotions, torn between excitement, doubt, and something that feels dangerously close to hope.

The phone dings twice from the other room, and I know it's him. He's probably sent another clever, flirty response to keep the conversation going.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus on the cool sensation of the cream against my skin. I can't let myself fall too hard or too fast. Not yet.

Ignoring the phone, I finish my routine with slow, deliberate care. If he's really serious about me, he'll have to do more than this. And if he's not… well, that's a problem for another day.