Page 16 of Heart of the Rebel Mate (Wolf Billionaire #5)

CHAPTER 16

ADRIAN

T he documents in front of me blur as I stare at them, the words losing shape and meaning. I rub my temples, but it does nothing to dispel the tight ache forming behind my eyes.

It isn't the reports that are exhausting me.

It's her.

Elara.

The image plays on repeat in my mind: Cassian stepping closer, the way his body angled toward hers, the way her shoulders tensed just before she pushed him away. A moment that should have reassured me, but instead, it lingers like a bruise picked at too often. The bloody thing refuses to heal...to just go away.

I trust her. I do. But trust doesn't erase the feeling that lodged itself in my chest when I saw them.

It doesn't erase the fact that she isn't mine.

Not in any official sense. Not in the way that would settle the unease curling in my gut.

I press my hands against the desk, exhaling through my nose. This is ridiculous. I am not the kind of man who lets emotions rule him. I deal in strategy, in logic, in calculated risks. But Elara isn't a political maneuver. She isn't a piece to be placed on a board and manipulated into position.

She is wildfire—untamed, brilliant, capable of burning me to the ground– and I have already sacrificed so much. How much more am I willing to give? How much more can I give?

I lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. I need something else to focus on. Something concrete. Something that doesn't unravel me from the inside out.

My gaze drifts to the file on the edge of my desk.

Marcus Thorne.

My predecessor. My mentor.

The last man who held my position before he stepped down under vague circumstances. He was the one who taught me how to navigate the Council's tangled web, how to keep my head down and my hands clean. He never spoke much about why he left. He never warned me against taking his place.

But something about the way he vanished from the political scene always felt...off.

And if there's anyone who might have answers about what these documents suggest—about the Council's quiet manipulation of mate bonds—it's him.

I check my watch. If I leave now, I can make it to his office before he locks up for the night.

Marcus's office is smaller than I remember. It was above his apartment and I'd been here multiple times before. He kept this place separate from his life working for the Council. He worked as a private investigator in his spare time and when he left, he focused on that full time.

It's tucked away in a quiet part of the city, far from the influence of the Council's towering presence. The blinds are half-drawn, casting slanted shadows across the room, and the air smells faintly of old paper and bitter coffee.

He's already there when I step inside, standing by the window with his back to me. His shoulders, once broad with confidence, are slightly hunched now. His brows and lashes, still contributing to his calm and trustworthy expression, have begun to gray along with the rest of his hair. The years have worn at him, but there's still a sharpness in the way he holds himself.

"You're late," he says without turning around.

I smirk. "I didn't realize this was an appointment."

He glances over his shoulder, and for a brief moment, the ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. But it doesn't last. His gaze flickers past me, out into the hall before he moves to close the door.

When he turns back, his expression is unreadable.

"You shouldn't have come here," he says.

I raise an eyebrow. "Good to see you too, Marcus."

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw before nodding toward the chair across from his desk. "Sit."

I do.

For a moment, there's silence. He watches me the way he used to when I was younger.

"You've been digging," he finally says.

I tilt my head. "That depends on what you mean."

His gaze flickers to the window again before he lowers himself into his chair. The leather creaks under his weight. He wants to ask me if I'm involved with the debacle with Elara. I'm sure his sources already informed him that the girl escaped and his mind must have gone to me immediately. The rest of the Council considers me too loyal to defy them like that.

"I knew you'd start asking questions eventually," he admits. "I just hoped you'd be smart enough to leave them unanswered."

There's something in his tone that unsettles me.

I lean forward slightly. "You left your position without explanation. You disappeared from the Council's inner circle, from politics entirely–"

"I still have eyes everywhere, my dear boy...and ears everywhere else."

"–I knew it! You never really quit, did you? Here you are. Still watching."

His fingers drum against the desk. "Old habits."

"Bullshit."

A ghost of amusement crosses his face, but it fades as quickly as it appeared. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You want answers," he says. "Fine. I'll give you one."

I wait.

He meets my gaze, and for the first time, I see something beneath the exhaustion in his eyes.

Fear.

"I left because I saw what happens to people who don't fall in line," he says.

The words settle in my chest like lead.

"That's vague," I say carefully.

"Good," he mutters. "It needs to be."

I study him. "This is about the Council, isn't it?"

His lips press together. He doesn't confirm it, but he doesn't deny it either.

"What did you find?" I press.

He hesitates. Then, with deliberate slowness, he leans back and folds his hands together.

"I started noticing discrepancies," he says. "Patterns in the Council's rulings, in the way certain individuals were... persuaded to comply."

"Persuaded how?"

His jaw clenches. "Some disappeared. Some suddenly found themselves aligned with the Council's interests. And some..." He exhales. "Some had their mate bonds manipulated in ways that benefited the Council's control over them."

A slow chill creeps down my spine.

Mate bonds.

They weren't just enforcing loyalty. They were engineering it.

I keep my expression neutral, but my mind is already racing. "This is some serious shit, Marc...you got any proof?"

He lets out a short, mirthless laugh. "If I did, do you think I'd still be breathing?"

No one says anything for a while.

Outside, the city hums faintly in the background—distant footsteps, the occasional car passing. But in this room, it feels like the world has shrunk down to just the two of us and the realization that we might be living in and working for a dystopian society and a dystopian government respectively.

Marcus shifts in his seat, then glances at the door again.

"You should go," he says.

I don't move. "Marcus?—"

"Let it go, Adrian."

There's a finality to his tone. Something that tells me this conversation is over, whether I like it or not.

I study him for a moment longer. He looks... tired. The kind of tiredness that settles into your bones and never really leaves. I wonder if I will ever make it to old age like him. I wonder what the world would look like. I wonder...if Elara would be there. Or do we not make it out of this alive? That'd be poetic, I guess.

Marcus was once the sharpest mind I knew. A man who could outmaneuver anyone. And yet, here he is—checking his windows, watching his words, warning me off like I'm a reckless fool who doesn't understand the stakes.

It makes me wonder just how close he got to something dangerous.

And if I'm about to do the same.

I push to my feet.

He doesn't follow me to the door. He doesn't say anything else.

But just as I step outside, his voice cuts through the quiet.

"Be careful who you trust."

I don't look back.

But his words follow me all the way home, hot on my heels.

It is usually said that you become an adult when you see your parents scared and understand their fear. When you comprehend the gravity of a situation that makes your parents panic, then you've truly lost your innocence and transitioned into a form of adulthood, where shit like that happens all the time.

Case in point: my meeting with Marcus.

"Be careful who you trust."

That's the kind of advice you expect when you're dealing with politicians and power plays from ruthless mob bosses. But Marcus wasn't talking about routine deception. He was referring to something else—something that had left him watching his windows and choosing his words like every syllable could be his last.

I walk through the streets without really seeing them. The city moves around me in a blur of faces, cars, and neon signs bleeding color onto the pavement, but my mind is somewhere else.

The Council has been manipulating mate bonds.

Forcing loyalty. Enforcing control.

I shouldn't be surprised, but the ramifications of it sit heavy in my chest. Mate bonds are sacred. They are raw and untouchable things that should never be tampered with. And yet, our leaders have found a way to twist something primal, something written into our very bones, into a leash.

A way to keep people obedient.

The implications are staggering. How many alliances, how many pledges of loyalty, were never freely given? How many wolves have spent their lives bound to someone not by fate but by force? Imagine finding out that your life has been a waste because some idiots at the top thought it should go a different way from what nature has dictated.

I need proof.

By the time I reach my office, my pulse is steady, and my focus is honed. The possibility of the Council's atrocities is still a shock but I find a way to act like I haven't just been given earth-shattering news. I shove every thought of Elara and Cassian into a locked box in the back of my mind. I can't afford to let emotions cloud this. Not now.

The room is almost dark when I step inside. The city lights filter into the room and across the desk, glinting off the edge of my discarded whiskey glass from last night. I don't bother turning on the overhead light. Instead, I sink into my chair, fingers already moving over my keyboard, pulling up encrypted files.

Marcus said he had no proof.

That doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

I comb through records, communications, anything that might leave a trail. Most of it is routine—sanctioned bond registrations, pledges signed in ink. But then I find something else.

A name.

Lena Vasquez.

She should have been bonded to a man named Elias Rowan. The records confirm it. Legal documents, signed and sealed. But cross-referencing her medical records tells a different story.

She was already bonded before she met him.

Her original mate—a low-ranking council employee—vanished months before her official bond to Rowan. His death was marked as an accident, but the autopsy report shows inconsistencies. Signs of forced separation. Agony syndrome.

They ripped her mate from her.

Rebonded her to someone else.

A calculated move. A reallocation of assets.

My stomach turns.

I keep digging, and I find more. A dozen cases, maybe more. Some less obvious, others blatant once you knew what to look for. The pattern is clear. The Council has been arranging bonds...possibly for political advantage, severing those that no longer serve their needs.

I sit back and breathe out slowly.

This is bigger than I thought.

And it's not just about power. It's about control.

A flicker of movement in the reflection of my screen makes me glance toward the door.

Elara.

She's standing there, arms crossed, leaning against the frame like she's been waiting.

I shut my laptop. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough." Her voice is quiet, but there's an edge to it.

I don't answer. I'm still sorting through too many emotions, too many tangled thoughts to find the right words.

Elara steps inside, closing the door behind her. "You've been avoiding me."

I rub a hand over my face, exhaling through my nose. "I've been busy."

She scoffs. "Right. Because work suddenly became more important than talking to me."

I push back from my desk, standing. "What do you want me to say, Elara? That I enjoyed watching Cassian put his hands on you? That I liked seeing you two together?"

Her expression hardens. "Nothing happened."

"I know that," I snap. "But that doesn't mean it didn't bother me."

Her eyes narrow. "So that's what this is about. Not work. Not whatever excuse you've been telling yourself to avoid me. Just your damn jealousy."

I grind my teeth. "I'm not jealous."

She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You're lying to yourself if you believe that."

The worst part is, she's right.

I am jealous.

But it's not just that. It's everything. It's the fact that she's not mine—not really, not in the way that matters. It's the fact that Cassian still sees himself as a contender, that she hasn't drawn a clear enough line between them.

It's the fact that, deep down, I know I'm just as afraid as he is.

Afraid of losing her. Afraid that this—whatever we are—might not be enough to keep her.

Elara shakes her head. "I don't have time for this, Adrian. I thought you trusted me."

"I do," I say, softer now. "But you expect me to pretend I didn't see what I saw? That it didn't make me question everything?"

Her jaw tightens. "What, pray tell, are you questioning?"

I drag my feet. Metaphorically. The answer is dangerous.

But I can't lie to her.

"Us."

The word lands between us like a sharp crack in the foundation of something we've spent months building.

Elara blinks, her lips parting slightly before she schools her expression. "You think I'd betray you like that?"

"No," I say. "But I think there's a part of you that hasn't fully let go of him."

Silence.

Her throat moves as she swallows, and for a moment, she doesn't answer. That hesitation is enough. It's enough to twist the knife deeper.

"You don't know what you're talking about," she finally says, voice tight.

I nod once. "Maybe I don't."

I step past her, opening the door. She doesn't move.

"You think I haven't been fighting for this?" she asks, and there's something raw in her voice now. "For us?"

I keep my gaze on the doorway. "I don't know what you've been fighting for, Elara. But it sure as hell doesn't feel like it's me."

That's the last thing I say before I leave.

Before I put space between us.

Before I can let myself say something I'll regret.

But the rift is already there, widening with every step I take.

And for the first time, I wonder if it's one we'll ever be able to fix.