Can't leave

I sit in the corner of the small room, my back pressed against the rough wooden wall, arms crossed tightly over my chest like that'll somehow keep me grounded. The faint scent of pine and something earthy lingers in the air—a stark contrast to the sterile, metallic tang of my high-rise office or the familiar scent of city asphalt after rain.

But none of that matters right now.

Because I'm staring at a man who looks like he walked straight out of a goddamn fashion magazine.

Ronan.

Tall, annoyingly good-looking, with the kind of effortless charm that should probably come with a warning label. He leans casually against the doorframe, arms folded, his expression irritatingly calm, like he's explaining tax deductions instead of what he's actually saying.

Which is, apparently, that I'm… married.

To a woman I've met exactly once.

"Well, yes and no," Ronan replies, his tone infuriatingly casual, as if we're discussing what to order for lunch. "It's deeper than that. It's like your souls are tied together. Literally."

I blink at him, my brain doing somersaults trying to process the insanity.

"Right," I say slowly, my voice flat, because sarcasm is the only thing holding me together right now. "So you're saying the moon got me married to her?"

Ronan shrugs, like this is just another Tuesday. "Kinda."

Kinda.

That's his answer.

I drag a hand down my face, trying to suppress the urge to laugh hysterically—or maybe scream.

"So, because of this—this cosmic marriage that happened without my consent," I say, my tone sharper now, "I was brought here against my consent, and now I'm being kept here against my consent?"

I emphasize the word because I'm not sure if anyone here understands the concept.

Ronan just shrugs again, the nonchalance on his face making my blood boil.

I shoot to my feet, pacing the small room. The wooden floor creaks beneath my bare feet, the sound too loud in the suffocating silence that follows.

"Yeah, can't we just—I don't know—get a divorce or something?" I snap, throwing my hands up. "Annulment? Break the soul bond? Whatever the hell you people call it."

For the first time, Ronan's expression shifts. His easy grin fades, replaced by something more serious—concern, maybe even pity.

"It's not that easy," he says quietly. "It's like carving out a piece of your heart."

His words hang heavy in the air, but I shake my head. Refuse to let them sink in.

"I'm not even a wolf," I argue, my voice rising with frustration. "I'm just a guy. A normal, human guy who runs a billion-dollar company. This—this shit? This isn't my world."

Ronan pushes off the doorframe, his jaw tightening slightly.

"Yeah, you are," he counters. "Apparently, the night of the marking, you came to her in wolf form. Your wolf accepted her wolf. She accepted you."

My chest tightens.

"I don't even remember anything from that night!" I shout, the words ripping out of me like glass.

Because that's the part that terrifies me the most.

I don't remember.

I don't remember shifting into some creature.

I don't remember claiming someone.

I don't remember… her.

And yet—

I feel it.

Like a ghost tugging at the edges of my mind, whispers in the dark I can't quite catch.

Ronan lets out a sharp breath, frustration flickering across his face.

"Listen here, Cameron—" he starts.

"Mr. Anderson." I cut him off, the words snapping like a whip.

I don't know why I say it. Maybe because it feels like the last shred of control I have left—my name, my identity.

He narrows his eyes.

"Well, listen here, Mr. Anderson," he bites back, stepping closer. "Regardless of whether you remember it or not, you mated my best friend. And you can't go around talking about rejecting the bond because it might as well kill you both."

I open my mouth to argue, but he's not done.

"You?" He jabs a finger toward me. "I don't give a fuck about. But I won't let you do that to her."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut.

Not because he doesn't care if I die.

But because… it's not just about me.

"What do you mean, 'die'?" I ask, my voice quieter now, but no less desperate.

Ronan sighs, dragging a hand through his dark curls.

"You see that thing about souls being tied together?" he says, pacing now, frustration radiating off him in waves. "They become one. And the thing about souls is that's what makes us who we are—what keeps us alive. So if you decide to damage that bond, it's like taking a blade and carving out a piece of your own heart."

He stops pacing, turning to face me fully.

"Ninety-five percent of the time, people don't survive it."

The words slam into me, cold and sharp.

I shake my head, denial clawing its way up my throat.

"No," I whisper. "That's not… That's not possible."

Ronan's eyes darken, his jaw clenched.

"I'm not willing to take that gamble with Lenora's life."

And with that, he storms out, slamming the door behind him.

The sound echoes through the small room, but it's nothing compared to the noise inside my head.

I stand there, staring at the closed door, my heart racing.

I'm trapped.

In a place I don't recognize.

With people I don't trust.

Tied to someone I barely know.

And apparently, I can't leave.

Because if I do, it might kill us both.

I sink back onto the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands.

What the hell is happening to me?

And more importantly…

How do I survive it?