Page 109 of Rejected By My Shifter Billionaire
“He’snotmy prince,” I muttered, the words sounding pathetically defensive even to my own ears.
“Sleep well, Maryah,” Nicolo said with perfect brotherly affection. “Sweet dreams.”
The way he said it promised anything but sweet dreams. More like the kind of nightmares that had you waking up in a cold sweat at 3 AM, checking under the bed for monsters wearing the faces of your stepbrothers.
I made it to my room without running, which felt like a victory of sorts. The moment I closed the door behind me, I slumped against it and tried to catch my breath, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my fingertips.
Nicolo knew something was wrong. He might not know exactly what had happened at the Blood Oval meeting, but he knew it involved Prince Alexei, and he was definitely not happy about it.
And unlike our parents, he wasn’t buying the romantic angle for a second.
Which meant I was in serious trouble. The kind that made getting caught by vampires during a full moon seem like a walk in the park.
I needed a shower and about seventeen hours of sleep to process the disaster that my life had become. Maybe by tomorrow morning, I’d figure out how to explain everything without making it worse. Like how to tell your alpha stepbrother that supernatural royalty was investigating your business because you’d accidentally proven you were perfect mates.
Yeah.
That would go over well.
The bathroom attached to my bedroom was the only place in the mansion that truly felt like mine and not just another territory my stepbrother allowed me to borrow. Dark emerald tiles that looked like they’d been ripped from a mermaid’s castle, a rainfall showerhead that could wash away even memories of that night I saw Nicolo having sex with another woman, and a Bluetooth speaker I’d programmed to only play Taylor Swift when I was feeling particularly sorry for myself.
Which, right now, was the mood.
I cranked the water up to borderline-lobster-cooking levels and stripped down, tossing my clothes in a disgruntled pile like they’d personally offended me. My brain wouldn’t stop replaying the day’s greatest hits: Prince-freaking-Alexei and his Blood Oval ultimatum, the dinner from hell, and worst of all, the way Nicolo’s eyes had turned into green ice when he’d decided I was somehow hooking up with supernatural royalty.
Like, seriously? As if I didn’t have enough problems without him thinking I was playing “Kiss the Frog Prince” with stallion shifter nobility.
The water hit my skin with that perfect stinging pressure that made my shoulders instantly drop three inches from my ears. Steam billowed around me like I was starring in my own music video—you know, the sad one where the girl cries in the shower while remembering all her bad decisions. Except in this case, my bad decisions involved a certain compatibility test that should be illegally outlawed in all seventy-seven known preter races.
Why, darn it?
Why couldn’t I have just opened a coffee shop like a normal person? Butno, I had to create a matchmaking algorithm that somehow revealed my most mortifying secret.
Maybe tomorrow I could talk to Nicolo like a rational adult. Explain the Blood Oval situation without mentioning that our bodies were scientifically proven to be perfect for each other.
And maybe tomorrow I’d also win the supernatural lottery and develop the ability to transform into a dragon. Both seemed equally plausible.
I grabbed the shampoo bottle, nearly dropping it twice with my stupidly shaky hands. My muscles were slowly unwinding under the hot spray, and for a brief, beautiful moment, I felt like I might actually survive this mess.
“I made it,” I whispered to myself, letting the words dissolve in the steam. “One problem at a time. You’ve got this.”
The shower curtain yanked open with a screech of metal rings that made my heart launch into my throat.
And there was Nicolo. Standing in my shower. Fully clothed in that same black sweater from dinner, water already darkening the fabric as it plastered against the muscles of his chest and shoulders. His expression was deadly calm, like finding your stepsister naked and panicking was just another Tuesday night activity.
My brain shattered into about fourteen different pieces, one of which was mortified, another terrified, and at least three of which were noticing how the wet fabric clung to every ridge of his abs.
I scrambled backward until I hit the cold tile wall, my hands instinctively trying to cover parts of me that were decidedly not meant for stepbrother viewing. Water streamed down my face, making it impossible to see clearly, but I could feel the heat of his stare like a physical touch.
“What the flip are you doing?” I finally found my voice, though it came out more like a strangled squeak than the outraged demand I was going for.
He didn’t move, didn’t even seem to notice the water soaking through his clothes. His eyes—those impossible green eyes—stayed locked on my face with an intensity that made my knees want to buckle.
“We need to talk,” he said simply, like this was a perfectly normal place to have a conversation.
Chapter Six
“Get out!” I pointed toward the door, trying to channel some kind of authority while standing there dripping wet and completely exposed. “This is my bathroom!”
