The Professor's Mate Clause novel Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

KELVIN’S POV

The bottle is empty by midnight.

I sit in the dark living room and stare at my phone. Vanessa is still not home. Probably staying at one of her friend’s houses. Probably does not even care that I am here alone.

One week.

Seven days to figure out how to kill Freya Reed.

The thought should horrify me. Should make me sick. Should make me feel something other than this numb emptiness.

But I just feel tired. So tired of being my father’s tool. His weapon. His obedient son who never questions orders.

My phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number.

*Heard you have a problem. I can help. Meet me tomorrow. Usual place.*

I stare at the message. Only one person texts me from unknown numbers. Only one person calls the bar on fifth street the usual place.

Derek. My father’s enforcer. The wolf who does the dirty work my father does not want traced back to

him.

The wolf who helped me with Freya’s mother.

I should not respond. Should not get him involved. Should handle this myself.

But I am weak. And Derek is good at making problems disappear.

*What time?* I text back.

*Noon. Come alone.*

I set the phone down and lean back against the couch. Derek will have a plan. Derek always has a plan. He is efficient. Cold. Does not ask questions or feel guilt.

Everything I am not.

The memory of Freya’s mother surfaces. I push it down. Do not want to think about that night. About the way she begged. About the fear in her eyes.

About how much she looked like Freya.

I was supposed to make it look like an accident. A robbery gone wrong. Quick. Clean.

It was not clean. She fought. Screamed. Called for her daughter.

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I can still hear it sometimes. When I close my eyes. When I drink too much.

Her voice. Freya’s name. The sound she made when I finally ended it.

My father said it was necessary. Said she was asking too many questions. Getting too close to the truth about Freya’s father. About what really happened to Alexander Reed.

Said if we did not stop her she would expose everything. Destroy our pack. Ruin us.

So I did what he asked. Like I always do.

And Freya never knew. Never suspected. Just thought her mother died in a random act of violence.

Just thought I was the boyfriend who held her while she cried. Who promised to keep her safe. Who

loved her.

I did love her. In my own way. As much as I am capable of loving anyone.

But love does not mean loyalty. Does not mean faithfulness. Does not mean putting someone else above yourself.

It just means you prefer their company over others. Means you enjoy being around them. Means they make you feel good.

Until they do not anymore.

Freya stopped making me feel good. Started demanding things I could not give. Started asking for promises I could not keep.

Started acting like she deserved better.

She did not deserve better. She was lucky to have me. Lucky I chose her over all the others who wanted

my attention.

But she could not see that. Could not appreciate what I gave her.

So I took it away. Found someone else. Someone who did not ask for things. Someone who just existed next to me without demanding I be better.

Vanessa is worse than Freya ever was. At least Freya cared. At least she tried.

Vanessa does not even pretend. Just goes through the motions. Plays the role of dutiful wife for appearances. Gives me nothing real.

I miss Freya. Miss the way she looked at me. Miss feeling wanted. Needed. Important.

With her I was someone. Without her I am just my father’s son. Just another wolf following orders. Just

empty.

I

Maybe that is why I am angry. Not because I love her. Not because I want her back.

But because she made me feel like I mattered. And now she is gone. With someone better. Someone

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stronger. Someone who probably makes her feel things I never could.

I hate him for that. Hate Adrian Metcalfe with everything in me.

Not because he is a better Alpha. Not because he has more power. Not because my father hates him.

But because he has Freya. And she looks at him the way she used to look at me.

Before I ruined it. Before I showed her who I really am.

A coward. A killer. A man who follows orders even when they destroy him.

My phone buzzes again. Vanessa this time.

*Staying at mother’s tonight. Do not wait up.*

She does this three times a week now. Stays somewhere else. Avoids me. Pretends we are not married.

I should be angry. Should demand she come home. Should remind her of her duties as my wife.

But I do not care enough. Do not have the energy to fight her too.

So I just read the message and do not respond.

The living room is too quiet. Too empty. Too full of furniture that is not mine and memories I do not want.

I grab my keys and leave. Drive with no destination. Just need to move. Need to be anywhere but here.

My car knows where to go before I do. Muscle memory. Habit.

I end up outside Adrian’s building.

Tall. Glass. Expensive. Everything about it screams wealth and power. The kind my father wants but will

never have.

The kind Freya is living in now.

I park across the street and stare up at the building. Try to figure out which window is hers. Which light means she is awake. Which shadow means she is there.

Security is tight. Cameras everywhere. Guards at the entrance. No way in without clearance.

My father wants me to get past all that. Wants me to find a way in. Find her. End her.

In one week.

It is impossible. Even Derek will struggle with this. Metcalfe does not leave openings. Does not make mistakes. His pack is loyal. His territory is protected.

Getting to Freya means going through him. And going through him means war.

My father is willing to start that war. Is willing to burn everything down to get what he wants.

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But I am not. I am tired of fighting. Tired of violence. Tired of being the weapon my father swings at his

enemies.

A light turns on in one of the upper windows. I watch a shadow move across the curtains. Small.

Feminine.

Freya.

My chest tightens. She is right there. So close. Just across the street. Living her life. Probably happy. Probably does not even think about me anymore.

Probably forgot I exist.

The thought makes me angry. Makes me want to march up there. Demand to see her. Remind her that I was her first. That I knew her before Metcalfe. That she is mine.

But I do not move. Just sit in my car and watch her shadow.

She moves to the window. Stands there. I cannot see her face from here but I imagine it. Imagine her looking out at the city. Thinking about whatever she thinks about now.

Does she think about me? Does she remember what we had? Does she regret walking away?

Probably not. She is probably too busy with him. Too busy falling for whatever lies he feeds her. Too busy playing house in his expensive building.

Too busy to remember the man who loved her first.

I loved her. I did. In my broken way. With my limited capacity. I gave her what I could.

It was not enough. It is never enough with women like her. Women who want everything. Who expect loyalty and honesty and all those impossible things.

Metcalfe probably gives her those things. Probably promises her the world. Probably makes her feel special and wanted and safe.

All things I could not do. Could not be.

The shadow moves away from the window. The light stays on. She is still awake. Probably reading. Or talking to him. Or doing whatever it is they do together.

I should leave. Should go home. Should stop torturing myself watching her live without me.

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