HIS REJECTED TRUE MATE

I told myself it was just an application.

Nothing more. I would fill out a form, hand over a resume that made my years running the diner sound more impressive than they actually were, and leave. That was the plan I had repeated to myself the entire walk into town, my hands stuffed in my jacket pockets like that might steady the rest of me too.

The morning air was crisp against my cheeks, but it did nothing to calm the nervous flutter in my chest. I had dressed carefully, choosing a simple blouse and trousers that made me look like I belonged in an office, not behind a greasy diner counter. It felt like playing dress-up, like I was pretending to be someone I was not. But that was the point, was not it? I was pretending. I was walking into the lion's den, and I needed to look like I belonged there.

Ashford Enterprises rose out of the middle of Miller's Hollow like it did not belong there, all glass and steel against a town that still had a hardware store with a hand-painted sign. I stood across the street for a full two minutes before I made myself cross.

Wren's voice was still in my head from the night before.

If you walk in there asking questions, they will know exactly what you are doing within a week.

I was not asking questions. Not yet. I was just submitting an application like any other person looking for a job, and if my hands would not stop shaking on the walk to the entrance, that was nobody's business but mine.

The revolving doors felt heavier than they should have, as if the building itself was testing whether I was strong enough to enter. I pushed through anyway. The lobby opened up before me, all white marble and polished surfaces that reflected the cool lighting from above. It smelled like expensive perfume and fresh flowers, nothing like the warm, greasy scent of my grandmother's diner. I felt like an intruder in someone else's world.

The lobby was colder than I expected, all white marble and quiet, the kind of quiet that made every footstep sound too loud. A woman at the front desk looked up as I approached, her smile professional and unreadable.

"I am here to submit an application," I said. "For one of the open positions."

"Of course. Do you have a resume with you?"

I handed it over, watching her scan it briefly before she set it beside her keyboard.

"We actually hold interviews the same day for walk-ins, if you have a few minutes. Saves everyone the back and forth."

My stomach dropped somewhere near my shoes.

"An interview. Today."

"If you are able to. Otherwise we can schedule you for later in the week."

I thought about walking back out. I thought about it seriously for a full three seconds before something stubborn in me refused to let this be the thing that scared me off before I had even started.

"Today is fine," I said before I could talk myself out of it.

"Wonderful. If you will just have a seat, someone will be down to get you shortly."

I sat in one of the stiff lobby chairs, my knees bouncing as I went over everything I could possibly say about myself that would sound like a reason to hire a twenty-three-year-old who had spent the last several years running her grandmother's diner instead of climbing any kind of corporate ladder. I did not have an impressive resume. I had reliability, long hours, and the ability to keep a room full of hungry, impatient people fed and calm at the same time. I told myself that had to count for something.

My fingers traced the edge of my palm unconsciously, where the scar sat hidden beneath my sleeve. It was warm. Not the burning heat from the elevator, but a low, steady pulse, as if it knew exactly where I was. As if it recognized this place. I pulled my sleeve down quickly and forced my hands still.

A woman appeared at the top of the stairs a few minutes later, calling my name from the landing.

"Ivy Calloway?"

I stood so fast I nearly knocked the chair over.

"That is me."

"Right this way."

I followed her up to the fourth floor on legs that did not feel entirely like mine, half convinced with every step that I would round a corner and find Kade waiting for me, that somehow he already knew I was here.

I was not braced for the woman who greeted me instead.

"Miss Calloway. I am Dana, from Human Resources. Thank you for coming in."

Not Kade.

Just a woman in her forties with kind eyes and a folder full of paperwork, gesturing me toward a small office with nothing more sinister in it than a desk, two chairs, and a plant that had clearly seen better days.

The relief that flooded through me was so sudden it almost embarrassed me.

I sat, answered her questions, talked about my experience running the diner, my reliability, my ability to work under pressure.

Then Dana glanced at my resume and paused.

"You have been running Calloway's Diner since you were nineteen?"

"Yes."

"That is quite a responsibility for someone so young."

"My grandmother taught me well."

She nodded, making a note. "And before that?"

"I helped her part-time through high school. I grew up in that kitchen."

"Any corporate experience?"

I hesitated.

"Not formally. But I handled inventory, payroll, vendor relations. I was managing the business side of things, not just cooking."

Dana's smile did not waver, but something shifted in her eyes. Assessment, not warmth.

"I appreciate that. But I have to be honest with you, Ivy. This position typically goes to candidates with a more traditional background. Office work, department coordination, that sort of thing."

My pulse ticked up.

"I understand. But I am a quick learner, and I work well under pressure. I have been running a business since I was nineteen. I know how to handle people, how to problem-solve, how to keep things running when everything is falling apart."

She tilted her head, considering me.

"And what makes you want to leave the diner for a corporate job?"

The question landed heavier than I expected.

Because I could not tell her the truth.

I want to get close to your Alpha so I can understand why he rejected me.

Instead, I said, "I love the diner. It has been my whole life. But I think I have done everything I can do there. I want to see what else I am capable of."

Dana studied me for a long moment, then set down her pen.

"You know," she said slowly, "we do have an opening in guest relations. Front-facing, coordinating with different departments. It would put you in contact with quite a few people across the building."

Different departments.

Quite a few people.

My pulse ticked up at the thought.

"That sounds perfect."

She made a note, then offered me a slightly warmer smile. "I will be honest with you. I have another candidate with more traditional experience. But I like your drive. Let me talk to a few people, and I will be in touch within the week if you move forward to the next stage."

"Thank you. I really appreciate that."

"One more thing." She glanced at my resume again. "Your grandmother, Evelyn Calloway. She ran that diner for what, forty years?"

"Almost fifty."

"She had quite a reputation in this town." Dana's eyes met mine, unreadable. "I hope you know how much she meant to people."

The shift in topic caught me off guard.

"She meant everything to me."

Dana nodded slowly, then stood.

"Someone will walk you out. Good luck, Ivy."

I left her office with a strange unease settling in my chest, not because of anything Dana had said, but because of what she had not said.

She had looked at my grandmother's name like it meant something.

Like it connected to something.

I told myself I was being paranoid.

I walked toward the elevator, my thoughts still tangled around Dana's strange comment. What did my grandmother have to do with Ashford Enterprises? She had run a diner her whole life. She had never mentioned this company, never spoken about the Ashfords. But the way Dana had looked at her name... it was not curiosity. It was recognition.

I did not see him on the way to the elevator.

I let myself breathe.

Then, through the glass wall of a corner office, I saw him.

Kade stood behind a desk covered in files, his sleeves rolled to his forearms, talking to two men in suits with the kind of authority that made both of them stand a little straighter.

This was nothing like the man from the diner, the one who had looked at me like I had knocked the air out of his lungs.

This version of him was sharp, controlled, entirely certain of every word coming out of his mouth.

I told myself to keep walking.

I did not.

I stood there longer than I should have, watching him move around that office like he owned every square inch of it, which, I supposed, he did. There was something almost hypnotic about it, the way people around him adjusted themselves without seeming to notice they were doing it, leaning slightly toward him, lowering their voices, waiting for whatever he would say next before they dared to speak.

I should have felt afraid. Instead, I felt something else, something I did not want to name. It was not just curiosity about the scar or the bond. It was him. The way he moved, the way his voice carried through the glass even though I could not hear the words. He was magnetic in a way that had nothing to do with werewolf politics and everything to do with the man himself.

He did not look up.

He had no reason to. To him, I was just another person passing by in a hallway full of people who worked for him.

I made myself move before that could change.

The elevator ride down felt longer than the one going up, my thoughts tangled somewhere between relief that I had not been recognized and a strange, quiet disappointment I refused to look at too closely.

I was so caught up in it that I did not notice the elevator stopping on the second floor.

I did not notice the doors sliding open.

I noticed him.

Kade stepped inside without looking up from the phone in his hand, already halfway through a sentence to whoever was on the other end.

"Tell them the numbers do not change. I do not care what excuse they are..."

He stopped.

The doors slid shut behind him, sealing us both inside together, and for one endless second neither of us said anything at all.

Then his shoulder brushed mine as he shifted to let another passenger who never came pass by, the barest contact, skin against sleeve, and my scar ignited like someone had pressed a lit match straight into my palm.

I sucked in a breath before I could stop myself.

His head turned.

His gaze landed on my face, and for half a second I thought I saw it, that same look from the diner. Recognition. Confusion. Something that looked almost like pain.

He opened his mouth, just slightly, as if he was about to speak. I held my breath, waiting for words I was not sure I wanted to hear. But nothing came. The silence between us stretched, heavy and unbearable, filled with everything we were not saying.

Then the doors opened on the ground floor, and I was gone before I could see anything else.

I stepped through them and did not look back, walking fast enough that it was almost a jog, out through the lobby, past the woman at the front desk, and into the cold air where I could finally breathe again.

I did not stop until I had crossed the street, putting the width of it between myself and the building.

Only then did I let myself glance back, half convinced he had followed, half convinced some part of me wanted him to.

He had not.

The doors were closed. The lobby was still. Nothing about the building suggested that anything unusual had just happened inside it at all.

I pressed my palm flat against my own chest and breathed until my heart slowed to something closer to normal, until the burn in my scar faded back down to that low, familiar ache.

He had not recognized me.

I was almost sure of it.

Almost.

But as I walked back through Miller's Hollow that afternoon, one thought settled itself firmly in my chest and refused to leave.

In one week, I was going to walk back through those doors as an employee.

And somehow, I doubted I would manage to stay invisible for long.