Mated by Contract to the Alpha Chapter 77

Rebecca's POV

The ceramic workshop had provided a welcome distraction, but as I returned to Dominic's villa in the evening, reality settled back in. I placed Adrian's cleaned coat carefully in my closet, making a mental note to bring it to class on Thursday when my bowl would be ready. The peaceful feeling from working with clay gradually faded as the hours passed with no sign of Dominic.

He had left for Sterling Manor that morning, promising to return for dinner. But as evening turned to night, my phone buzzed with a message instead:

[Still at the office. Pack business required immediate attention after meeting with father. Don't wait up. Will be very late.]

I tried not to feel disappointed as I ate alone at the expansive dining table, the silence of the villa pressing in around me. The connection we'd shared the previous night seemed distant now, overshadowed by whatever mysterious pack obligations had claimed his attention.

When I finally drifted off to sleep, the bed felt too large, too empty.

Morning light roused me from fitful dreams. I reached instinctively for Dominic, but found only cold sheets and a handwritten note on his pillow:

[Early meetings with council elders. Breakfast in kitchen. Will see you at office.]

No "good morning," no gentle kiss goodbye—just business as usual. The distance left me feeling oddly hollow.

I stood before my closet, trying to decide what to wear. My fingers trembled slightly as I pushed hangers aside, each outfit suddenly seeming inadequate. Today I would see Dominic again after this strange disconnection, and the thought sent butterflies swarming through my stomach.

I paused, resting my forehead against the closet door. These feelings were getting stronger every day—this need to be near him, to hear his voice, to feel his touch. When had I fallen so deeply? And more importantly, why had I allowed myself to develop such intense feelings for someone who could never truly be mine?

"You're being ridiculous," I muttered to myself, finally selecting a modest knee-length skirt and a pale blue blouse. "He's your boss. This is temporary."

But the hollow ache in my chest argued otherwise. The connection between us felt permanent, immovable—like gravity. Yet every interaction with the werewolf world reminded me of the impossibility of our situation. An Alpha needed a proper mate, not a human assistant playing at belonging in his world.

My phone buzzed with a text from Raymond, Dominic's driver, asking what time I wanted to be picked up. I hesitated before typing a quick reply that I'd take the bus today. I needed the extra time to compose myself, to find some equilibrium before facing Dominic. The bus would give me anonymity, space to breathe and think.

I checked my reflection one last time, smoothing my hair. "Just be professional," I reminded myself. "Don't let him see how much you care."

---

In my office, I'd almost managed to steady my nerves when my phone vibrated with an unfamiliar text notification.

[Good morning, Rebecca. I'm near your office building for a meeting and wondered if you might be free for lunch today? I'd like to discuss some course materials you missed from your late enrollment. No pressure.]

I stared at the message, surprised. Professor Lane—Adrian—had been nothing but professional during our ceramics session, and the text seemed equally appropriate. Still, something about it made me hesitate.

After a moment's deliberation, I replied: [Hello Adrian. I should be able to take a lunch break around 12:30. There's a café called Meridian just down the block if that works for you?]

His response came quickly: [Perfect. I'll see you there.]

I set my phone down, convincing myself this was purely academic. A professor helping a student catch up—nothing more. Yet a nagging voice wondered what Dominic would think. I pushed the thought away. I didn't need his permission for a business lunch.

---

Meridian was busy but not crowded when I arrived. Adrian was already seated at a corner table, looking casual yet professional in a navy button-down with sleeves rolled to his elbows. He stood as I approached, offering a warm smile.

"Rebecca, thank you for making time. I hope I didn't interrupt your workday too much."

"Not at all," I said, settling into the chair across from him. "I'm due for a break anyway."

After ordering—a caesar salad for me, a sandwich for him—Adrian pulled out a folder with what appeared to be course materials.

"So, about those first few classes you missed," he began, spreading some papers between us. "The foundation concepts are important, but I think your natural talent will help you catch up quickly."

I felt a flush of pleasure at the compliment. "You're being generous. That bowl I made was hardly a masterpiece."

"Don't sell yourself short," he said, eyes crinkling. "You have a natural feel for materials and form. That's something that can't be taught." He paused, studying me for a moment. "The way you described rediscovering your passion for design... that resonated with me."

"It's been strange but good," I admitted. "For years, I felt like I was sleepwalking through life, letting others define me. Picking up a sketchbook again felt like... waking up."

Adrian nodded, understanding in his expression. "That's why I wanted to encourage you not to let this opportunity slip by. I've seen too many talented people abandon their creative paths for what others consider 'practical.'"

As we continued talking about design concepts and creative processes, I felt a genuine connection forming. Not romantic—nothing like what I felt with Dominic—but a shared understanding that was refreshing. Here was someone who valued art and self-expression in a way that reminded me of why I'd loved design in the first place.

"Have you considered entering the department showcase next month?" he asked. "Students submit work for faculty review, and selected pieces are displayed. It could be a good opportunity for—"

"Well, well. What a cozy little scene."

The voice cut through our conversation like a blade. I looked up to see Elizabeth Collins standing beside our table, immaculate in a cream suit. Her lips were curved in a smile that didn't reach her cold eyes.

"Elizabeth," I said, surprise making my voice higher than normal. "What are you doing here?"

"Having lunch," she replied smoothly. "Though I didn't expect to find Sterling's 'special assistant' on a date during work hours." She emphasized "special" with such insinuation that heat rushed to my face.

"This isn't a date," I said firmly. "Professor Lane is my design instructor. We're discussing coursework."

Elizabeth's perfectly manicured hand moved to her designer purse, withdrawing her phone. "How interesting. I've already sent photos to Dominic. I wonder what he'll think of his assistant's 'academic discussion.'" Her smile widened. "He's quite protective of what's his, you know."

My stomach dropped. "There's nothing inappropriate happening here," I insisted, though anxiety was already building in my chest.

"Of course not," she said with mock sympathy. "I'm sure he'll understand completely when his human is cozied up with another man. Werewolves are so reasonable about these things."

Before I could respond, the atmosphere in the café seemed to shift. A prickle ran up my spine, and I knew without turning that Dominic had arrived. The way Elizabeth's eyes gleamed with satisfaction confirmed it.

I turned slowly to see him standing in the doorway, his tall frame rigid, eyes scanning the room until they locked on our table. Even from across the café, I could see the blue glint in them—his wolf, close to the surface. In three long strides, he was beside us.

"Dominic," I started, but the words died in my throat at his expression.

His gaze swept over me, then fixed on Adrian with predatory assessment. The air around him seemed charged with tension, and I noticed several other patrons shift uneasily in their seats, unconsciously responding to the Alpha energy he was emanating.

"And who is this?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft, each word precisely controlled.

Adrian, apparently oblivious to the supernatural undercurrents, stood and extended his hand. "Adrian Lane. I'm Rebecca's professor at City Arts Academy."

Dominic's eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Adrian's hand, then shook it with what looked like measured restraint. "Professor Lane," he echoed, placing his other hand possessively on the back of my chair. "And what academic matters require a private lunch with my assistant?"