The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate (Jason and Laila) by Caroline Above Story novel Chapter 15

Laila's POV

The elevator was too small. Too bright. Too much like a cage.

Jacob stood there in the doorway like he'd just walked into a war zone with no armor on. His face went from blank to oh shit real fast. It was obvious that he didn't quite understand what he walked in on, but that he knew he should regret it.

Brittany's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. "Vanessa?" she repeated, tasting the word like it was poison.

Jason's green eyes locked onto mine with laser precision. I could practically hear the gears grinding in his head, trying to connect dots that I'd spent six years keeping scattered.

"Where is Vanessa?" Brittany demanded, her voice climbing toward hysteria.

I caught Jacob's eye and shook my head. Just slightly. A warning.

I didn't want them to know I was Venessa. I didn't want Jason to dig in too much about who I had become.

I just needed to clear them away.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," Jacob stammered, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to retreat. "I can—"

"No," I said sharply, my tone sharper than glass. "Actually, there's something you can do."

Jacob looked at me, eager to do anything to diffuse the situation.

"Security protocol," I continued, forcing my voice to steady. "Effective immediately—no Moon Ridge wolves are permitted in this building."

Jacob blinked like I'd slapped him. "Ma'am?"

"You heard me." My words were ice. "Now."

Brittany sputtered, fury blotching her perfect face. "You can't possibly—"

"Watch me."

The elevator doors slid open to the lobby. I strode out, heels striking marble, never looking back. Jacob caught on fast, his phone already at his ear. Security would respond in minutes.

"This is ridiculous!" Brittany's shriek echoed off polished stone, too high-pitched, too desperate. Heads turned. Even the receptionist stiffened, recognizing a spectacle when she heard one. "You don't have the authority—"

"Apparently she does…" Jacob replied coolly. His voice didn't waver this time. He'd learned how to play this game. I'd seen him take this approach with countless adversaries before.

Jason stayed silent. No argument. No defense. He simply radiated fury, quiet and tightly coiled, the kind of rage that was far more dangerous than screaming.

"Why?" he asked finally, voice low enough that it sank into the bones. "Why are you doing this?"

Jacob inhaled, ready to answer, but I cut him off with a single look. This wasn't his fight.

"Because I can."

The guards closed in, discreet but firm. Brittany's composure cracked like glass under pressure. She looked seconds away from clawing someone's eyes out, but even she wasn't stupid enough to start a scene under their watchful eyes.

Jason's lip curled, but his voice was steady steel. "We'll leave. On our own."

And they did. Brittany stormed like a hurricane in designer heels, while Jason's measured, controlled movements promised something far more dangerous: inevitability.

I went into my office and watched them leave from my cameras. My chest burned with certainty: this wasn't over. Not even close.

But for now? At least I had space.

Space from the Jason situation lasted about two days.

Then Alpha Morrison's invitation landed on my desk like a summons from Mount Olympus.

Business banquet. Attendance was mandatory for anyone who wanted their contracts to survive. The kind of event where skipping out could cost millions. And with Ava's surgery looming, millions weren't a luxury I could afford to lose.

So I slipped into the role I'd carefully crafted—Vanessa Harper, businesswoman, untouchable. Dressed in all diamonds and silk. Hair pinned so tightly it might as well have been armor. A smile sharp enough to cut.

The ballroom was an ocean of power. Crystal chandeliers spilling golden light. Waiters gliding like shadows with trays of champagne. Wolves and humans alike whispering in corners, striking deals with a clink of glasses.

Everywhere I turned, conversations revolved around profit margins, import regulations, territory expansions. I kept pace, offering polite nods and calculated smiles, the kind that concealed far more than they revealed.

But beneath the silk and surface chatter, I felt the walls closing in. This wasn't my world, not really. It was survival dressed in sequins.

I was mid-discussion with Morrison's Luna about textile futures when I saw him.

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