13. Sophia

The cold screen of my phone feels like the only tangible thing in my life as I pace back and forth across the worn wooden floorboards of my apartment. I punch in Michael”s number. He picks up on the third ring.

”Fee, what”s up? You sound like you”ve just run a marathon with a pack of shifters.”

I can”t help but crack a smile, despite the turmoil churning inside me. ”Might as well have, Misha. It would”ve probably ended better than my day.” I don”t know if he can hear the tears that are welling up inside me. I try to swallow back the lump in my throat.

There”s a pause, and I can picture him leaning against the stainless steel counters at work, his brows knitting together in concern. ”Spill it. What did His Lordship do this time?”

I let out a huff, sinking onto the edge of my couch. ”Oh, nothing much; just accused me of being Kray”s spy and fired me on the spot.”

”Were you Kray”s spy?” He always cuts to the chase.

”I couldn”t go through with it. I could have taken everything I found to Mr. Kray. Instead, I brought Oliver news he didn”t want to hear.”

”And he fired you for that? So, you did you make a scene? Please tell me you flipped him off on your way out.”

”I”m not you at sixteen, Michael,” I quip, but the laughter gets caught in a sob. ”Brother, this is bad. I”ve seriously blown up my life.” The tears come pouring out for real.

”So what”s the plan now?” he asks gently after I”ve somewhat collected myself.

”The plan?” I repeat, rolling my eyes even though he can”t see me. ”The plan is to figure out how not to become Ravencourt”s most overqualified barista.”

Michael snorts at that. ”You? Behind a coffee counter? They”d fire you for correcting the customers for ordering the wrong thing.”

”Or for throwing lattes at condescending werewolves,” I add, but there”s no heat in it. There”s silence again, and I know he”s weighing his words carefully—Michael always does when it matters most.

”You didn”t do anything wrong, Sophia,” he says firmly. ”You did the right thing. That”s more important than any job or werewolf lord.”

His words should be comforting, but they”re like band-aids on bullet wounds— or rather, on claw marks.

”This feels different,” I say softly, the fight draining out of me. ”I feel like I lost more than just a job.”

”Well then,” he starts slowly, ”you”ll now have more time to hang with me.”

I can”t help but laugh—a real laugh this time—and shake my head. ”What would I do without you?”

”Crash and burn spectacularly,” he deadpans.

”Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I retort with mock indignation.

”You know what I mean,” he chuckles. You”re going to get through this because you”re Sophia Carter—a breaker of barriers and stubborn as hell.”

I let out a long breath and look around at the small sanctuary that is my apartment—a stark contrast to the grandeur and gravity of the Faulkner estate where Oliver grew up.

”Yeah,” I whisper into the phone as if it were a lifeline, ”stubborn as hell.” But my sobs get the better of me again.

Michael”s voice, a soothing rumble, trickles through the phone line, trying to dry my tears the best he can. ”Fee, you gotta breathe. This guy”s got you twisted up in—”

A sharp rap on the door cuts him off. I glance through the peephole, heart hitching. Oliver stands there, that unmistakable lean frame poised in a way that”s all urgency and raw need.

”I gotta go,” I mutter, thumb hovering over the end call button.

”Fee, remember who you are. Don”t let him—” But his advice is cut off when I press end. Some things I need to deal with on my own.

I wrench open the door and Oliver”s eyes latch onto mine, those amber depths pleading for something I”m not sure I can give. There’s something between us that pulls taut like a rope made of energy, nearly yanking me into his orbit.

But I plant my feet firmly on my welcome mat—the one with ”GO AWAY” in big, bold letters.

”Sophia, I”ve been a fool—about many things.” He squints at me, the scarred eyebrow frowning in concentration. This is obviously a rehearsed speech.

“So you found out I wasn’t lying? Great. But I don’t care anymore.” I start to close the door.

“Wait! I’ve been a fool…about us.” His voice is a raw scrap of honesty. “I came to apologize.”

I hear the regret, but it”s too tangled with my own knot of hurt and distrust. A part of me wants to cave, to let that softness in his eyes sweep away the anger and doubt. But this isn”t some fairytale where the beauty gives in just because the beast whimpers.

”Regret doesn”t rewrite history,” I say, my voice steady as a drumbeat. It doesn”t erase the fact that you keep pushing me away, and when you do, you push away the truth—like a coward.”

He flinches at that—good.

”I know,” he admits. ”And I hate that part of me—the part that’s so damn scared of needing someone.” There’s a crack in his composure now, something raw peeking through that lordly fa?ade he wears like armor.

I cross my arms over my chest because it feels like holding myself together, like keeping all the pieces in place, when what I want is to lean into him and forget why being with him is such a bad idea.

”Needing isn”t weakness,” I counter with more gentleness than I intended. ”It”s human... or whatever equivalent applies to your kind.”

A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth—a brief flicker before it dies under the weight of everything unsaid.

”You”re right,” he says and waits.

I narrow my eyes slightly. ”So what now? You”ve had your epiphany; what do you expect me to do with it?”

Oliver takes a deep breath and steps closer—the space between us charged with all the things we’re too scared to say out loud. ”Please, can I come in, just for a moment?”

Sighing I step aside and let him in, but walk over to the window, all the better to put some space between us.

He coughs and looks at his feet, trying to recall that speech he’d practiced on the way over. “I need you to know that you”re not, to use your words, a convenient toy. I admit I tried to pretend that”s all you meant to me. I tried to deny who and what you are, but I can”t.”

He pauses when he sees I”m not buying it.

”You are my fated mate, Sophia. Without you, I”m just half of who I”m meant to be.”

I want to scoff, to throw his words back in his face with all the hurt he”s given me. But they wrap around me like a vise, squeezing out a truth I”m not ready to face. His kind speaks of fated mates like destiny is written in the stars, immutable and absolute. But my human feet are planted firmly on the ground, where choices matter more than fate.

Still, his eyes hold mine with an intensity that says he is speaking of something powerful and ancient. He is a werewolf, and this is his truth. He paces the room like a caged animal, back rippling with muscle as though his wolf is so close to the surface he can barely restrain it. It”s both terrifying…and a turn-on. I can”t stop it. Parts of me tingle, coming alive as though he”s already inside me.

Sweet demons. What is this power he has over me? How do I stop it? Do I want to?

”I don”t need fate to tell me who or what I need,” I snap back, desperate to put some kind of shield between us, even if it”s just words. “Humanity deals in reality.” As I say it, I know it”s not true.

We humans love the mystical, the romantic, the unexplained. The paranormal has always seduced us.

He stops pacing and looks at me. ”Maybe my family could use some humanity,” he says quietly. “Why do you think we live in human form, more than our wolf-shifter shapes? Because we need to be more like you. To be fully a beast is terrifying to us, too.”

The words hang there—a bridge between two worlds.

I take a breath, searching for strength. ”Oliver, you throw around these grand declarations like they”re supposed to erase your rejection. Like I”m just supposed to fall into your arms now just because you say so? You told me to leave. Do you remember?”

He takes a step forward, but it”s not the advance of an alpha predator—it”s cautious, almost reverent as if he knows one wrong move could shatter everything.

”I was wrong to push you away. I didn”t want to acknowledge fate could step in and twist my life in a different direction. So, I understand your resistance. But what if it”s true?” he counters, the hint of a challenge beneath his words. ”What if this connection we have means more than either of us can understand?”

My laugh escapes before I can catch it. ”I”m human, remember? Your world isn”t mine. Your truths don”t fit neatly into my life. We”re not supposed to be together. There are even laws against it. You would defy all of Ravencourt?”

He nods slowly as if he expected this pushback all along. ”I would deny my own family, Sophia,” he says quietly.

”There it is. Your family, your kind—you think being human makes me weak,” I say quietly.

”No.” He shakes his head, dark curls falling into his eyes—a curtain over that wolfish stare. ”I think it makes you strong in ways I”m only beginning to understand.”

”Do you even understand what humanity is?” I challenge him. ”It’s messy and painful, and it”s about making mistakes and dealing with them—not because destiny says so but because we choose to.”

”I’m trying,” he grinds out through clenched teeth. ”I’m trying because you”ve shown me there”s more than just duty and power. There is room for something deeper.”

There”s something disarmingly genuine in his voice now. His words strike a chord within me, the echo of possibilities I”ve been too scared to consider.

”What if I do believe you? Explain it to me. What does it mean to be fated mates?” I ask, voice steady now as if I”m cross-examining a witness on the stand rather deciding to love this man or not.

Oliver pauses, and when he meets my gaze again, there”s an earnestness that wasn”t present before.

”It means that from the moment we met, there was something pulling us together—an invisible thread woven by destiny or fate or whatever force drives the universe.” His voice softens. ”It means that we”re meant for each other in ways we might never fully comprehend.”

The idea is ludicrous but as Oliver stands there looking more human than he ever has before, something inside me begins to shift—a tiny crack in my armor where curiosity seeps through.

Maybe this isn’t about whether fate exists or whether fated mates are real. Maybe this is about two people finding each other against all odds and choosing each other despite their worlds trying desperately to pull them apart. And despite all my defenses, despite every logical reason screaming at me to guard my heart, I”m starting to believe him.

”Oliver,” I start, but no other words follow—just silence filled with unspoken truths and fears that have become our common language.

And as though I”ve agreed to this bond, as though I”ve just communicated the full agenda of my heart, something inside me opens to him, and I believe.