Mated by Contract to the Alpha Chapter 66

Rebecca's POV

"No," I said quickly—too quickly. My voice sounded strained even to my own ears. I swallowed hard, trying to appear normal while my mind raced. "About your coat..."

"Ah, yes." He straightened up, a movement so fluid it seemed almost predatory. "You can return it to me whenever you want. No rush."

I nodded, grateful for the chance to end the conversation. "I'll wash it and give it back to you."

Professor Lane's eyes remained fixed on me, curiosity evident in his gaze. "You're very special, Ms. Brown. I look forward to seeing you in class."

The way he emphasized "special" sent a jolt of recognition through me. Did he know? Could he somehow sense my connection to Dominic, to the werewolf world?

Back at my apartment that evening, I stared at Professor Lane's business card, turning it over in my fingers as I debated what to write. After taking his coat to the dry cleaner's, I had promised to let him know when he could expect it back. My thoughts kept returning to that moment when I'd caught his scent—that subtle hint of werewolf that had set all my instincts on alert.

I picked up my phone and began typing a message, then deleted it, then typed again. I kept shifting positions on the couch, unable to get comfortable. Each version seemed either too formal or too casual. Why was this so difficult? It was just a text about a coat.

Finally, I settled on:

[Hello, Professor Lane. This is Rebecca Brown, the student who created a water disaster on your coat today. I've taken it to professional cleaners and will bring it to you after Thursday's class. Again, my sincere apologies.]

My thumb hovered over the send button for several seconds before I finally pressed it. I set the phone down on the coffee table, only to pick it up again seconds later to check if there was a response.

When the phone finally buzzed, I practically lunged for it. The reply was brief but carried that same hint of humor I'd noticed in person:

[Ms. Brown, I'm pleased to know my coat is receiving professional care. No rush for Thursday. Hope this encounter doesn't involve any liquid accidents. Looking forward to it.]

I found myself smiling at the message, a strange warmth spreading through my chest. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, uncertain how to respond, when the phone suddenly vibrated with an incoming call. Dominic's name flashed on the screen.

A wave of warmth washed over me, accompanied by an unexpected pang of guilt as I quickly closed the text conversation with Professor Lane. My hand trembled slightly as I answered.

"Hi," I answered, my voice softening automatically, tension I hadn't realized I was carrying melting away at the sound of his name.

"Little doe," Dominic's deep voice came through the speaker, instantly making me miss him with an intensity that surprised me. "How was your first day of class?"

I settled back against the couch cushions, feeling a genuine smile spread across my face. "It was... eventful. I managed to soak my professor's expensive coat within minutes of arriving on campus." I left out my suspicions about Professor Lane possibly being a werewolf—it seemed too uncertain to mention over the phone.

Dominic's rich chuckle vibrated through the phone, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. "Only you could make such a memorable first impression."

"Trust me, it wasn't intentional," I groaned, though I was smiling. "How are your business going?"

"There are no major problems. Will everything be fine after the negotiations with Collins Group."

"That's wonderful," I said, genuinely pleased. The Collins family, particularly Elizabeth, had been a source of tension between us. The thought of her still made my stomach clench unpleasantly. "When will you be back?"

"Sunday evening, if all goes well," he replied, his voice lowering slightly in a way that made my skin warm. "I miss you, Rebecca."

Those simple words sent a flutter through my chest, tightening my throat with emotion I hadn't expected. "I miss you too," I admitted, surprised by how true it was after just one day apart. The intensity of my own feelings was both comforting and frightening.

We discussed my plans to visit my father, who was still recovering but doing better. Dominic insisted that Raymond drive me, despite my protests about being perfectly capable of taking a bus.

"Let me take care of you, Rebecca. This isn't charity—it's what I want to do," he said, his tone leaving little room for argument. I found myself giving in, too tired to fight and secretly grateful for the offer.

After we'd talked about his schedule and my upcoming classes, a comfortable silence fell between us.

"Good night, little doe," he finally said, his voice a warm caress. "Sleep well."

"Good night, Dominic," I replied softly, reluctant to end the call but feeling my eyelids growing heavy.

---

On Sunday, I stood in front of my family's apartment door, clutching a bouquet of fresh flowers. My fingers tightened around the stems as I stared at the peeling paint on the door frame. The yellow tulips, purple hyacinths, and white daisies felt heavy in my hands, matching the weight in my chest.

Taking a deep breath, I recalled Dominic's voice from our phone conversation several days ago. "Take care of yourself, little doe," he'd said, his tone dropping to that intimate register he reserved just for me. My skin had warmed at the sound, and even now, the memory sent a small shiver down my spine.

I pressed the doorbell, my heart rate quickening as I heard movement inside. The door swung open to reveal my mother, her hands still damp from washing clothes, thin lines of exhaustion etched around her eyes.

"Rebecca!" Her face transformed instantly, eyes crinkling as she pulled me into a tight embrace. The familiar scent of laundry detergent clung to her sweater. "Come in, come in! Your father will be so happy to see you."

The apartment was small but tidy. Potted plants lined the windowsill—mom's attempt to bring life into the cramped space. The family portrait hanging on the wall showed us from five years ago—before Dad's illness, when Jason still smiled without resentment, when I still believed in William.

Mom took the flowers from my hands, her eyes brightening. "These are beautiful, thank you, sweetheart."

I stepped into the living room and felt my shoulders loosen at what I saw. Dad was sitting in the corner, performing gentle rehabilitation exercises, extending each leg with careful determination. His color looked better—the sickly pallor replaced by a healthier tone, his eyes clear and alert.

"Becky!" He stopped his movements, arms outstretched toward me.

On the sofa, Jason lounged with his attention fixed on his phone screen. Despite the doorbell and the commotion of my arrival, he hadn't bothered to look up. His posture was deliberately lazy, feet propped on the coffee table, wearing what appeared to be brand new sneakers.

"Well, well, if it isn't the executive assistant gracing us with her presence," Jason finally glanced up, his voice dripping with sarcasm. His eyes, so similar to mine in color, were cold with resentment. "Did you bring Mr. Sterling's regards? Or just stopping by to make sure we peasants are surviving?"

My jaw clenched. I forced my breathing to remain steady as I deliberately turned away from him, walking straight to my father and bending down for a hug. "Dad, you look so much better. The flowers are for all of you."