Page 85 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
“Exactly,” Leanna nods. “I made choices. I wanted love, and I chose love. But Fiona’s case is unique. Her sense of identity seems to be deeply tied to the independence she has created for herself.” She leans forward, eyes intent. “There are ways she could still run her business while being your mate. She could relocate the café eventually. She could train managers to handle day-to-day operations while she oversees the bigger picture. But these are solutions you two need to reach together.”
I consider her words carefully. “You’re saying compromise has to happen on both sides.”
“Of course it does,” Leanna says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I compromised. I wanted the man I loved. I wanted my family. Some adjustments were worth making for that.” She takes a sip of her wine. “You should protect Fiona’s happiness, Erik. But eventually, she will also have to bend a little. That’s how relationships work—even fated ones.”
“Assuming she ever gives me a chance,” I mutter.
Leanna’s smile turns mischievous. “You’ve never been one to give up easily. I doubt you’ll start now.”
The rest of our lunch passes in lighter conversation: updates about her children, news from the North, reminiscences ofeasier times. It feels good to talk with someone who knows me—truly knows me—without judgment or expectation.
As we finish our meal, Leanna fixes me with a serious look. “Just promise me one thing, Erik.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t wait too long to tell her about the new organization’s plans. She deserves to know what she’s facing.”
I nod, knowing she’s right. “I’ll speak with her today.”
“Good.” Leanna stands, gathering her things. “Cedric and I will be in town for three more days. Call if you need anything.”
I walk her to the door, where her driver is waiting with the car. Before she gets in, she turns and embraces me like the old friend she is.
“Fiona is lucky to have you fighting for her,” she says quietly. “Even if she doesn’t realize it yet.”
Maybe, or maybe being my fated mate has doomed her.
I watch until Leanna’s car disappears around a corner, staring after it long after it’s gone.
The conversation with Leanna left me feeling uneasy. The organization won’t wait forever to make their move.
I check my phone. No messages from my men, which means no immediate threats have been detected around Fiona’s café. I’ve been gone for the past two days; I had to return to the kingdom to deal with an urgent matter.
Now, as I walk toward The Morning Brew, I find myself rehearsing what I’ll say to Fiona. How do I explain the danger without frightening her? How do I offer protection without seeming controlling? How do I present the option of a mating mark without it sounding like an ultimatum?
Most importantly, how do I convince her that this time, I’m not putting duty or the kingdom first? That I’m putting her first—her safety, her freedom, her choices?
As I approach the café, I see her through the window, wiping down a table with quick, efficient movements. Her dark hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail, her expression focused on the task at hand. She seems perfectly normal, perfectly composed.
But something about the set of her shoulders, the slight tension in her movements, makes me wonder if something has happened.
Only one way to find out. I push the door open and walk inside.
The place is moderately busy for mid-afternoon, with a few students hunched over laptops, a pair of elderly women chatting by the window, and the purple-haired employee—Margo—arranging pastries in the display case.
Fiona stands behind the counter now, counting change into the register. When she looks up at the sound of the bell, her body visibly stiffens. Her eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second before dropping back to the task at hand, her expression shuttering closed like a door slamming in my face.
“Fiona,” I say, approaching the counter. “I need to speak with you.”
She doesn’t respond, doesn’t even acknowledge that I’ve spoken. Instead, she gathers a tubful of dirty dishes from the end of the counter and disappears into the kitchen without a word.
The abrupt dismissal leaves me momentarily stunned. While Fiona has been distant since I found her again, she’s never been openly hostile. Something has changed.
I stand awkwardly by the counter, uncertain whether to follow her or wait. Margo comes over to me with a raised eyebrow.
“Can I get you something?” she asks, her tone neutral but curious.
“I’m waiting to speak with Fiona,” I reply.
