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But even as the thought formed, something uncomfortable twisted in her own chest.

No. I'm not doing this. I'm not going to make excuses for another man.

"You just undermined me," she continued, her voice gaining momentum as two months of suppressed frustration finally found a target. "And now they probably think I need you to save me when things get tense. Well, I don't need you to save me. I don't need your help."

The words tasted bitter on her tongue, but she couldn't stop them from tumbling out. She'd spent her entire career proving she belonged in rooms full of powerful men who assumed she was there to take notes or serve coffee. She'd fought for every ounce of respect, every moment of credibility, and Raxen had just handed those skeptical men ammunition to question her competence.

Tavian's probably already spreading the word that the human mediator needs the Alpha to protect her from difficult conversations.

Without waiting for Raxen's response, she spun on her heel and strode toward the conference room doors. Her legs felt unsteady, but she forced them to carry her with the same confident stride that had carried her through a thousand negotiations. The corridor beyond the conference room stretched before her like an elegant prison, all polished stone and soaring ceilings that made her feel impossibly small. Her heels echoed against the floor as she navigated the maze of hallways, following instinct more than memory toward what she hoped was the main entrance.

I worked all night on that plan. The thought burned through her mind as she passed beneath arched doorways and around corners lined with artwork. I learned everything about Solaryn’s history and understood the current political landscape well enough to handle whatever anyone threw at me.

She'd studied the territorial agreements, memorized the trade route statistics, and identified the key pressure points she could leverage to bring all parties to the table. She'd prepared for Tavian's resistance, anticipated the visiting Alphas' skepticism, and developed contingency plans for at least six different scenarios.

But Raxen jumped in before I could prove any of that.

The grand foyer soon opened before her, sunlight shining through the windows and casting geometric patterns across the marble floor.

Was he protecting me?

The question nagged at her as she pushed through the heavy front doors and stepped onto the wide stone steps that led down to the circular drive. The twin suns of Nova Aurora bathed everything in golden warmth, and the clean air filled her lungs with each breath.

But he didn't introduce me as his fated mate. He's hiding that from everyone.

Whatever this mate thing meant to lion shifters, Raxen clearly wasn't proud enough of it to share the news with his advisors and allies. Or maybe he was ashamed that fate had chosen a human from Earth instead of a lioness from Nova Aurora. Maybe he was embarrassed and wanted to distance himself from the whole situation.

Her feet carried her down the drive and onto the main road that led toward the heart of Solaryn's territory. Purple savanna grass stretched on either side of the paved pathway, dotted with yellow stone formations that caught the light like scattered jewels. In the distance, she could see the bustling activity of what looked like a market district, with buildings rising in terraced levels along the pink-water canal that wound through the settlement.

I should have demanded an explanation.

But even as the thought formed, she knew she couldn't have handled another moment in that room with Raxen's wounded blue eyes and her own spiraling emotions. Something about this man unraveled her in ways that made no sense—ways that felt dangerous to the careful control she'd spent her entire life building.

Why does it hurt so much to see him upset? Why do I care so much about this situation? I barely know him.

Yet the ache in her chest felt profound. Not the sharp pain of betrayal she'd experienced with Logan and Tabitha, but something deeper and more fundamental. Like a piece of herself had been torn away and left behind in that conference room.

This is ridiculous.

The market district grew larger as she approached, the sounds of commerce and conversation drifting toward her on the warm breeze. Vendors called out their wares while children chased each other between the stalls, their laughter transcending any cultural barriers. She'd half expected Raxen to come charging after her, or for some security detail to materialize and politely escort her back to the estate. The fact that no one seemed to care about her departure stung more than she wanted to admit.

Maybe he's relieved I left. Maybe this gives him an excuse to send me back to Earth.

The ache in her chest intensified as she put more distance between herself and Raxen's estate. Not physical pain, but something else—something that felt like homesickness for a place she'd never actually lived.

What is wrong with me?

The market district sprawled before Amara—vibrant stalls draped in jewel-toned fabrics and the intoxicating aroma of spiced foods she couldn't identify. A few vendors glanced her way with curious expressions—probably wondering what a human woman was doing alone in their market.

She paused at a stall displaying intricate jewelry carved from what looked like crystallized sunlight, letting her fingers trail over the smooth surfaces as her mind churned through the morning’s disastrous meeting. The vendor, an elderly woman with kind eyes, offered her a warm smile.

Why didn't I just stay and talk it through with Raxen? Why did I let my emotions take over like that?

The answer sat heavy in her chest. Because Logan's betrayal had taught her that when powerful men started making decisions about her life without consulting her, it usually ended with her getting hurt.

But Raxen isn't Logan.

The realization struck her as she moved past a stall selling Nova Auroran fruits, their colors so vibrant they looked like they'd been painted by an artist with an unlimited palette. Raxen had looked genuinely wounded when she'd accused him of not trusting her abilities. Not angry or defensive—wounded. Like her words had cut something deeper than his professional pride.