Chapter 5

Chapter 5 The next morning, Reaper dropped Zara off at preschool before going to the office. It was Maelle’s first official day as the company's new maid. Though he fought against the idea of her working there, terrified her presence would prove far too distracting, Madam Vance had insisted that was precisely why she belonged there. The distraction was a trial—a direct test against Reaper’s resolve. He could either continue the charade of denying this second chance out of misdirected loyalty to Aline, or finally surrender to what his heart and his wolf truly desired, permitting himself to find love once more. Reaper wasn't about to surrender to the mate bond—at least not without putting up a fight. Madam Vance had raised a valid point: he couldn't simply utter formal words of wolf rejection to Maelle. Not only would it be deeply strange and awkward for a human who had no concept of supernatural bonds, but it would also cast him in a terrible light. After all, how could a man reject someone who had never even spoken a single word of attraction to him? Instead, he decided he would endure it. He would treat her like any other employee, keep his distance, and let his own iron willpower prove that he could resist the pull. Down on the third floor, Maelle was completely oblivious to the Alpha's internal war. She adjusted her apron strap, picked up her cart of cleaning supplies, and took a deep breath of the quiet corporate air. The floor was vast and nearly deserted, just as Madam Vance had promised. It was peaceful—an unusual change of pace—and she set to work wiping down the glass partitions and vacuuming the carpets. Madam Vance checked on Maelle several times throughout the day, popping in to ensure the young woman was adjusting well. Because the third floor had so little foot traffic, Maelle found herself with far more downtime than she anticipated—a thoroughly welcomed surprise. She had known that stepping into corporate housekeeping would demand plenty of manual labor. But she hadn’t grasped how grueling the non-stop vacuuming, wiping, and sweeping would be on her body until she spent hours powering through it herself. By mid-afternoon, her shoulders throbbed with a dull ache, and her forearms burned from polishing row after row of pristine glass partitions. Sitting on a plush bench during her third break, Maelle stretched her sore arms over her head with a long, weary sigh. She rolled her neck, wincing at the tight knot between her shoulder blades, but smiled softly to herself anyway. Physical exhaustion was a small price to pay for a fresh start. While Maelle sat on the bench, digging her right thumb into the tight, burning knot in her left shoulder, her mind drifted back to the winding path that had dragged her here. Me, a maid. Who would have thought that instead of cleaning my own home, I’d end up scrubbing after corporate assholes and executive douchebags? She let out a dry, humorless laugh, leaning her head back against the wall. A few months ago, the idea of wearing a uniform and carrying a caddy full of glass cleaner would have sounded like a bad punchline. Life had a cruel, twisted sense of humor, stripping away her comfort until this low-profile, backbreaking job was the only lifeline left to rebuild her independence from scratch. All of this because I didn’t listen to my family. I wonder what Dad and Julian would think if they caught me working like this. She rolled her shoulder again, wincing as a sharp spike of tension shot up her neck. Still, as bitter as the resentment tasted, a quiet spark of pride flickered beneath it. It was honest work. It was her own money. Taking a deep, stabilizing breath, Maelle uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she stared down at her calloused hands. She couldn't afford to drown in self-pity. She just had to survive this shift, get through the week, and take it one spotless floor at a time. Maelle sighed and decided to get back to work after taking a few more minutes of rest. That brief luxury, however, was immediately stolen from her. A passing employee tossed an empty plastic soda bottle toward the recycling bin, missed completely, and kept walking as it clattered across the immaculate floor. “Excuse me, could you pick that up, please?” Maelle asked kindly, keeping her voice light. The kindness was not reciprocated. The woman stopped dead in her tracks, spinning on her heels with a look of absolute repulsiveness. “What did you say to me?” the employee demanded, her tone dripping with disgust. The second those words hit the air, Maelle’s stomach sank. She knew that look, that sharp, condescending tone, and the ugly superiority radiating off the woman’s tailored blazer. She immediately recognized the exact brand of corporate entitlement she was about to deal with. Maelle pushed herself up from the bench, smoothing down her apron as she held her ground, refusing to let her voice tremble. “I just asked if you could put your trash in the bin. The opening is right there.” The employee let out a bitter scoff, folding her arms across her chest as she sized Maelle up from head to toe. “Listen here, maid. You are paid to clean up after people like me. If I wanted to put it in the bin myself, I wouldn't need your position existing in this building. So pick it up and do your job.” High above on the executive level, Reaper sat behind his massive desk, trying to review quarterly projections. Suddenly, a sharp spike of anger flared through the mate bond, sending a low, dangerous growl rumbling deep in Ulric’s chest. Reaper’s eyes flashed amber as he snapped his pen in half, his head snapping toward the door on alert. What’s wrong, Ulric? Reaper asked through their psychic link. Mate is in trouble. What do you mean? What’s wrong with Maelle? Threat. Reaper didn’t need to hear another word. He dropped his pen, shoved his chair back, and headed straight for the private executive elevator. As the lift shot down toward the third floor, he forced his posture to relax, smoothing the lapels of his suit jacket. Externally, he maintained the cool, untouchable composure of a CEO simply conducting a routine walk-through to check on his staff. Internally, however, a dark storm brewed, his wolf thrashing against his ribs and demanding blood for whoever dared cross their mate. When the silver doors slid open, a female employee’s raised, condescending voice rang out down the quiet corridor. "...know your place," the woman sneered, pointing a manicured finger toward the spilled bottle on the floor. "You're paid to pick up after me, not talk back." Maelle stood her ground. Her jaw was tight, and her hands balled into fists at her sides, refusing to bow to the woman's arrogance—though the strain in her shoulders was clear. She had dealt with plenty of people like the woman in front of her, and even now, she secretly wished physical retaliation against corporate bullies was allowed. Reaper rounded the corner, his heavy, deliberate footsteps echoing against the tile. The hallway’s temperature seemed to plummet instantly as his overwhelming aura flooded the space. "Is there a problem here?" Reaper’s deep, velvet voice cut through the air like a blade. The employee froze, the color draining from her face as she turned to find the CEO towering over them, his gaze cold enough to freeze blood. “Mr. Blackthorne!” the woman stammered, her harsh demeanor vanishing into an eager, nervous smile. “No—no problem at all! I was explaining the trash policy to the new maid. She seemed a bit confused about her duties, so I was merely guiding her.” Maelle squeezed her eyes shut for a fraction of a second, her nails biting into her palms at the blatant lie. Reaper didn't even look at the employee. His amber-flecked eyes locked onto Maelle, taking in the tight set of her jaw, the defensive posture, and the exhaustion weighing down her sore shoulders. Ulric snarled in his mind, demanding he tear the lying woman apart, but Reaper kept his face an unreadable mask of corporate ice. “Is that so?” Reaper asked calmly. “Yes, Mr. Blackthorne,” the employee lied, offering a tight, sweet smile straight through her teeth. “And I’m certain the security cameras will back up this claim?” Reaper asked smoothly. The woman’s smile evaporated in an instant. Her jaw went slack as Reaper stared her down without uttering another sound, the suffocating weight of his presence pinning her to the floor. Slowly, Reaper’s eyes drifted to the corner of the ceiling, and he flicked his chin in. The employee swallowed hard, her heart pounding against her ribs as she turned her head, looked up, and caught the dark lens of a security camera pointed directly at her. “Unless you would like me to terminate your employment with this company, effective immediately, I suggest you apologize to Ms. Auclair for your disrespectful behavior and less-than-pristine work ethic.” The woman’s face drained of what little color was left. She turned to Maelle, her confidence entirely shattered, and swallowed hard. “I—I’m deeply sorry, Ms. Auclair,” she stammered, barely able to meet Maelle's eyes. “It was completely out of line.” “Pick up the bottle, then we’re square,” Maelle said, keeping her tone cool, composed, and crisp. The employee nodded frantically, grabbed the plastic bottle from the floor, and shoved it into the recycling bin before scurrying down the hall and ducking through a set of double doors, eager to vanish. Silence reclaimed the third-floor corridor, heavy and charged. Maelle smoothed down the front of her apron, trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline. She looked up at Reaper, her sharp gaze taking in his towering frame, tailored suit, and the intense amber light glinting in his eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Blackthorne," she said softly, keeping a professional distance. "Though you didn't have to step in. I had it under control." Reaper’s jaw tightened at her words. Her independence flared through the air, mixing with her delicate scent and hitting his senses like a physical force. Ulric purred inside his mind, practically begging him to step closer, to reach out and rub away the exhaustion clinging to her shoulders. Instead, Reaper shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, forcing his posture to remain stiff, remote, and unyielding. "I don't tolerate disrespect among my employees, Ms. Auclair," he said, his voice deep and smooth, betraying none of the chaos in his chest. "Whether toward executive staff or facility maintenance. You are under my roof; you will be treated accordingly." Maelle tilted her head, searching his cold features for a sign of warmth; however, there was none. “Well... I appreciate it nonetheless." “Get back to work, Ms. Auclair,” Reaper responded, unable to come up with anything better. The dismissal sounded far harsher than he intended, but it was the only shield he had left before the suffocating pull of the mate bond forced him to do something reckless—like reaching out to smooth the tense muscle in her shoulder or pulling her into his arms right there in the hallway. Maelle blinked, taken aback by the sudden drop in temperature. For a second, she thought she had glimpsed genuine care behind those intense amber eyes, but the icy wall was back, higher and thicker than before. "Right. Of course, Mr. Blackthorne," she said, her voice flattening into polite professionalism. She picked up her spray bottle and microfiber cloth, turning back toward the glass partitions without another word.