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"I'll have lunch prepared," he said, his tone carefully neutral. "We can discuss everything in more depth then."

She nodded, not trusting her voice to remain steady if she tried to speak. The weight of his attention felt physical, and she needed to escape it before she did something foolish—like asking him to explain exactly what this mate thing meant and why her entire body seemed to be conspiring against her common sense.

Vessa moved toward the archway, and Amara fell into step beside her, grateful for the diplomatic buffer. They crossed the marble foyer in companionable silence, their footsteps echoing off the soaring ceiling. The estate was even more impressive than she'd initially realized—all clean lines and understated elegance that spoke of wealth and power.

At the base of a sweeping staircase crafted from the same golden stone as the exterior walls, Vessa paused and glanced at her with sympathetic eyes.

"I'm so sorry for the confusion," Vessa said, her voice carrying genuine regret. "I hope you don't hold it against my brother. He really had no idea that Gerri used her matchmaking tactics to get you here."

Amara considered the words as they began climbing the stairs. "I understand. Your brother doesn't seem like the type who would manipulate people for his own gain or use them for some hidden agenda."

"Raxen would never do anything to harm anyone," Vessa said with fierce conviction. "But you should know—you came here at a really volatile time. There are rumors circulating about him. That he's cold, ruthless, power-hungry." She shook her head. "Don't believe any of it."

The words hit Amara like a familiar punch to the gut. A smear campaign designed to destroy someone's reputation through carefully planted lies and half-truths. She'd lived through her own version just two months ago.

"Why would there be rumors circulating like that about Raxen?" she asked as they reached the second floor and turned down a corridor lined with tall windows that offered glimpses of the purple savanna beyond.

Vessa's expression darkened. "We don't know. But it's causing significant problems, and frankly..." She paused, weighing her words carefully. "Maybe you could help us figure it out."

"Well, I don't know the whole situation yet," Amara replied, "but I'll certainly do whatever I can to help."

They stopped before a set of double doors crafted from rich, dark wood. Vessa turned the handle and pushed them open, revealing a space that made Amara's breath catch. The guest room was absolutely breathtaking. Soaring ceilings were supported by elegant beams that drew the eye upward, while floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the alien landscape. The furnishings struck a perfect balance between luxury and comfort—a massive four-poster bed draped in champagne-colored silk, an inviting seating area arranged around a small fireplace, and a writing desk positioned to take advantage of the natural light. Her suitcase sat neatly at the foot of the bed, looking almost comically mundane in such opulent surroundings.

"Thank you for not fleeing," Vessa said softly, drawing Amara's attention back. "I know you could have, and I'm glad you chose to stay and help us."

She reached out and touched Amara's arm—a gesture of warmth and solidarity that reminded her powerfully of her own brothers. "I'll see you in a bit."

Amara managed a small smile. "Thank you, Vessa. For everything."

After Vessa left, pulling the doors closed behind her, Amara stood alone in the magnificent room and tried to process the impossibility of her situation. She was on an alien planet, supposedly the fated mate of a powerful Alpha, caught in what sounded like a political and economic crisis that could destabilize an entire territory.

This is definitely not how I imagined rebuilding my career.

But as overwhelming as it all seemed, she couldn't deny the spark of excitement threading through her anxiety. For once, she felt like herself again—the woman who had built a reputation solving conflicts others considered hopeless, who thrived on challenges that would send lesser negotiators running.

Maybe this is exactly what I need. A chance to prove that Logan and Tabitha didn't break me.

And if she had to navigate some mysterious supernatural bond with the most compelling man she'd ever met in the process... well, she'd faced worse odds before.

Hadn't she?

An hour later, Amara closed her suitcase with a decisive snap and surveyed the opulent guest room that had become her temporary sanctuary. Her belongings now occupied the massive armoire and elegant dresser, looking almost comically ordinary against the rich fabrics and gleaming surfaces. She'd changed from her travel blazer into an emerald blouse that complemented her eyes, paired with tailored charcoal trousers—professional yet approachable.

Focus on the work. That's why you're here.

The mental pep talk felt hollow even as she repeated it. She'd spent the past hour trying to process the impossible situation she'd landed in, but her mind kept circling back to those piercing blue eyes and the way her entire nervous system had short-circuited when their hands touched.

You're here to help with the labor dispute. To prove you're still capable of handling complex situations. Not to become entangled with some devastatingly attractive Alpha.

The sharp rap on her door made her jump, her pulse immediately accelerating. She smoothed her blouse and opened the door to find Raxen standing in the corridor, and somehow, he looked even more compelling than before. He'd removed his suit jacket, leaving him in a crisp white dress shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders and lean power. The top two buttons were undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of bronze skin that made her mouth go dry.

Stay professional.

"All settled?" His deep voice carried that same commanding undertone that seemed to vibrate through her bones.

"Yes, thank you again for your hospitality." She kept her voice neutral despite the way he looked at her—as if she were the most fascinating puzzle he'd ever encountered.

"Of course. I would do anything for my—" He stopped abruptly, his jaw tightening as if he'd caught himself before saying something he shouldn't. "My guest."