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"Yes, I'm just a bit overwhelmed and tired, that's all." The lie came easily, though Vessa's perceptive blue eyes suggested she wasn't entirely convinced.

"Well, why don't you call it a night? We can meet tomorrow morning before the meeting to formalize everything."

Amara nodded gratefully, suddenly exhausted by the emotional minefield she'd been navigating since arriving on Nova Aurora. "That's probably a good idea. I should get some rest, so I'm fresh for tomorrow's meeting."

Vessa stood up. "Amara, everything is going to work out. Just have a little faith, okay? Raxen seems tough sometimes, but underneath that Alpha exterior is a big heart."

After Vessa left, Amara remained curled on the sofa, surrounded by the evidence of their evening's work and the lingering aroma of the meal Raxen had brought. She'd come to Nova Aurora expecting to rebuild her professional reputation, not encounter a man who made her want things she'd convinced herself to abandon forever.

I thought I was here to prove I'm still Amara Quinn, world-class negotiator. Not to meet someone who makes me question every wall I've built around my heart.

EIGHT

RAXEN

The mahogany conference table stretched before Raxen like a battlefield, its surface reflecting the morning light streaming through the large windows of his estate's conference room. He sat rigidly at the head of the table, his hands clasped so tightly in front of him that his knuckles had gone white beneath his tan skin.

Breathe. You've handled crises before.

But his lion prowled restlessly beneath his carefully controlled exterior, agitated by the vulnerability of walking into this meeting without knowing Amara's strategy. Twenty years of leadership had taught him that information was power, that preparation prevented disaster, that control meant survival. Today, he was relinquishing all three to a woman he'd known for less than twenty-four hours.

A woman who happens to be your fated mate.

The reminder sent heat flooding through his system even as his rational mind cataloged all the ways this could go catastrophically wrong. Around the table, the key players in Solaryn's crisis had assembled with the grim responsibility of people attending a funeral. To his right, Alpha Jorik of the Southern Reaches drummed his fingers against the table's edge, his weathered face betraying nothing of his thoughts. Alpha Mason sat beside him, younger but equally imposing, his dark eyes scanning the room with predatory awareness.

Across from them, Alpha Darius and Alpha Kael sat like twin monuments to skepticism, their identical expressions suggesting they'd already decided this meeting was a waste of their valuable time. The tension radiating from all four neighboring Alphas made the spacious room feel claustrophobic.

If I lose their support, the economic collapse will spread beyond Solaryn's borders.

Tavian sat two seats down from the visiting Alphas, his silver-streaked hair catching the light as he leaned back in his leather chair with casual confidence. They clearly belonged in rooms where important decisions were made. His blue-grey eyes held that familiar gleam that always made Raxen feel evaluated rather than consulted.

Sori occupied the chair beside her father, her honey-bronze skin glowing with health and her blue eyes fixed on some point beyond the windows. She wore a perfectly tailored navy blazer that projected competence and authority, but Raxen caught the subtle tension in her shoulders that suggested she was as uneasy about this meeting as everyone else.

At the far end of the table, Leon Mitchell, head of the labor union, sat with the rigid posture of someone expecting disappointment. His calloused hands rested flat against the mahogany surface, and his grey beard couldn't quite hide the skeptical set of his jaw. Beside him, Bronson Davis, head foreman of the trade route operations, kept checking his timepiece with the impatience of someone with real work waiting elsewhere.

Jalen stood near the door with the alert stillness of a seasoned security commander, his bronze skin and warm brown eyes providing the only truly calm presence in the room. His hand rested casually near his weapon, though Raxen knew his friend well enough to recognize the hypervigilance beneath the relaxed facade.

At least someone in this room has my back.

The heavy silence stretched until it became almost unbearable. Raxen found himself studying the grain of the wood beneath his hands, fighting the urge to pace or demand updates or do anything that might betray how completely out of his element he felt.

Where are they?

His heightened senses caught the sound of approaching footsteps in the corridor beyond the conference room doors, and his entire body went rigid with anticipation. The familiar scent of lavender and pear drifted through the air, making his lion surge forward with possessive recognition.

Mate.

The massive oak doors swung open, and Vessa entered first, her black hair swept into a professional twist that complemented her burgundy blazer. Her blue eyes swept the assembled group with diplomatic assessment before she offered the room a warm smile that somehow diffused a fraction of the tension.

Then Amara stepped into the room behind her, and Raxen forgot how to breathe.

She'd chosen a white suit that hugged her tall, athletic frame with understated elegance, paired with a black blouse that made her green eyes look like polished jade. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a low bun that exposed the graceful line of her neck, and she carried herself with quiet confidence. As if she’d spent years walking into rooms full of powerful people who didn't want her there.

She's magnificent.

The moment she settled into the chair to his left, that familiar grounding sensation washed over him like cool water on burning skin. The restless energy that had been clawing at his chest all morning suddenly became manageable, contained by her steady presence beside him.

How does she do that?