His tiger surged beneath his skin at the memory, a restless prowling that made his muscles tense and his jaw clench.The beast had no patience for human complications, and no understanding of the ethical minefield Adrian had navigated in that moment. His tiger only knew one brutal truth—she was theirs. Their mate. Their future. Their forever.
That invitation had been everything his animal wanted. One step closer and he could have swept her into his arms, carried her up those narrow stairs, kicked the door shut behind them, and claimed her the way every instinct in his body had screamed for. He could have marked her that night, bound her to him in the ancient way that would have settled everything. The Council would be satisfied. Darius couldn't challenge a mated Alpha. This ache that had taken root in his chest would finally be silenced.
His hands curled into fists on the desk, his knuckles whitening as the memory played out in excruciating detail. His tiger had been roaring for it in that moment that had stretched like hours but lasted only heartbeats.Take her. Claim her. Mark her. Finish what fate already started.
The moment had felt inevitable. His body had already begun moving toward her, then his rational mind had slammed into him with brutal force and stopped him cold.
She didn't know who he truly was.
Riley saw him as a financial analyst who was helping save her struggling gym. A man she was growing attracted to. A man she trusted enough to invite into her bed. But she had no idea that sleeping with him meant accepting an entire world she'd never imagined. She didn't know that one night with him could trigger a chain reaction that would reshape her life forever. She didn't know she was standing in front of a tiger shifter, the acting Alpha of the Kael pride, a man whose mate mark could bind her to him for eternity.
If he had claimed her, marked her in the heat of passion without revealing that truth first... it wouldn't have been seduction. It would have been manipulation.
"Damn it all," he muttered, dragging his hands through his hair and destroying the careful styling.
The silence of his office pressed down like a weight as he forced himself to confront the other reason he'd panicked. The one that made his chest tight with a familiar, hated fear.
His father.
Adrian had watched the strongest man he'd ever known crumble after his mother's death. Gabriel Kael had been a force of nature—commanding, decisive, unbreakable. Until love had been ripped away from him, leaving behind a hollow shell that ruled through ice instead of warmth. The grief had destroyed him slowly, painfully, turning the man who had taught Adrian about strength into someone who forbade vulnerability entirely.
Love makes you weak,his father had said.Deep attachment is a luxury leaders cannot afford.
Adrian had sworn he would never allow himself to become that vulnerable. Never give one person that much power over his sanity, his strength, his ability to lead. Yet the moment Riley had entered his life, something fundamental had shifted inside him—a recognition so profound it terrified him.
Because if he claimed her, if he truly surrendered to that bond... losing her someday would break him just as completely as his mother's death had broken his father.
That realization had hit him like a sledgehammer outside her apartment building. So he'd run. Left his mate standing there confused, hurt, and probably furious.
The memory of her face in that moment was almost unbearable and was unraveling him with each passing minute. Which is why he had been sitting around his family's estate for four days unable to function properly.
Adrian pushed back from the desk and began pacing the length of the office, his tiger's restless energy demanding movement. Through the windows, he could see pride members moving across the grounds—some in human form, others shifted, all of them depending on his leadership. The weight of their trust should have grounded him. Instead, it only amplified the chaos in his head.
He was running out of time. The Council's patience was wearing thin. Darius was gaining supporters with each day that passed. And Riley... Riley probably never wanted to see him again after the way he'd bolted.
"Christ, what a mess," he growled, his voice rough with frustration and self-loathing.
The tiger inside him snarled in agreement, furious at being denied what belonged to them. But beneath the animal's rage was something else—a bone-deep certainty that Riley was worth fighting for. Worth the risk. Worth facing the fear that had been carved into him since childhood.
He just had to figure out how to be brave enough to try again.
"Planning to burn holes through that rug all day, or will you actually accomplish something productive?"
Adrian's head snapped up to find Mark leaning against the doorframe with practiced casualness, arms folded and wearing that insufferable expression of barely contained amusement. His younger brother possessed an uncanny ability to read him like an open ledger, a talent that proved both blessing and curse depending on the circumstances.
"Don't start," Adrian growled, his voice carrying the rough edge of a man pushed beyond his limits. "Not today."
Mark's grin widened with the satisfaction of someone who'd just struck gold. "Oh, I'm absolutely starting today. Four days, Adrian. Four entire days of you moping around this estate like someone kicked your tiger and told him he wasn't pretty."
Adrian froze mid-stride, his muscles coiling with tension as a frustrated exhale escaped his lips. The sound held more defeat than he cared to admit. "I'm not moping."
"Brother, you are the textbook definition of moping," Mark replied, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the office with the confidence of someone immune to his elder's intimidation tactics. "And judging by the way you're wearing that rug thin, I'm guessing you still haven't called Riley."
Adrian shook his head with sharp finality. "I can't just call her."
Mark blinked. "Why the hell not?"
"Because she thinks I rejected her." The words tasted bitter as acid on his tongue, each syllable a reminder of his spectacular failure. "And from her perspective... I did exactly that."