Page 45 of Rejected By My Shifter Billionaire

F amily dinners at the Celestini mansion were like a cross between a diplomatic summit and a really expensive therapy session where everyone secretly wanted to murder the therapist. All of us dressed in our nicest casual-but-not-too-casual clothes, spoke in carefully modulated tones, and pretended we weren’t all dancing around a conversational minefield disguised as small talk.

Tonight was no different, except for the part where I was internally combusting over my meeting with literal Atlantis royalty while trying to act like I’d spent the afternoon doing totally normal, non-life-altering things.

“Pass the asparagus, dear,” my mother said, her voice carrying that particular lilt she used when she was fishing for information.

Maude Gray-Celestini had perfected the art of maternal interrogation during her forty-three years on this planet, and marrying into a shifter family had only sharpened her skills to near-preter levels.

I passed the asparagus and tried not to look at Nicolo, who was sitting across from me looking like a magazine ad for “Brooding Alpha Monthly.” He’d changed out of his work clothes into a simple black sweater that clung to his shoulders in ways that should have been illegal ever since That Day when humans discovered just how dangerous preters could be.

His dark hair was still slightly messed from running his hands through it.

Which he did when he was thinking.

Which he’d been doing a lot since I’d gotten home.

And that was never, ever a good sign.

“How was your day, Maryah?” Milano Celestini asked from the head of the table.

Nicolo’s father was one of those men who commanded attention just by existing, like gravity had a special setting just for alphas.

Retired from active pack leadership but still carrying himself like he could level a small city if properly motivated.

His hair was silver now, but his eyes were the same penetrating green as his son’s.

“Fine,” I said, cutting my chicken into unnecessarily small pieces like I was performing an autopsy. “Just the usual business stuff. Meetings. Paperwork. You know.”

“Meetings?” Mom perked up with the enthusiasm of a bloodhound catching a scent. “What kind of meetings?”

Flip .

“Just, um, regulatory stuff,” I said, which was technically true if you counted being interrogated by a stallion shifter prince with the power to shut down my entire life as “regulatory stuff.” “Supernatural oversight. Really boring.”

“Supernatural oversight?” Milano’s eyebrows rose. “That sounds serious for such a new business.”

“It’s really not that big a deal,” I lied, taking a gulp of wine so large it was practically a swim. “Just standard compliance things. You know how it is.” I rolled my eyes like this was just another bureaucratic headache rather than the potential end of my career.

“Compliance with what?” Mom pressed. “And why didn’t you mention this before? You’ve been working on this agency for months.”

Because I didn’t know stallion shifter royalty kept tabs on mating algorithms until yesterday, and now they want to monitor my every move because I accidentally proved that your stepson and I are scientifically perfect for each other.

Also, he maybe threatened me.

But like, in a polite, royal way.

“It’s just...complicated,” I said weakly, my heart doing that thing where it tries to escape through my throat.

“Complicated how?” This from Nicolo, and his voice was perfectly pleasant, perfectly supportive. Like a caring big brother asking about his little sister’s day.

Except when I looked at him, his green eyes held all the warmth of a nuclear winter.

“I can’t really discuss the details?” I wanted to sound brisk and business-like, but every word came out uncertain and squeaky, ugh . “There’s, um, confidentiality involved.”

“That does sound complicated,” Nicolo agreed, his tone still pleasant. “You must have been so nervous—”

He was cutting into his steak while speaking, and I suddenly couldn’t help but imagine I was that morsel of meat he’d like to cut into pieces. Each precise slice seemed choreographed for maximum psychological torment.

“—dealing with all that supernatural red tape.”

The knife sliced through the meat like it was butter, and I couldn’t help but flinch. My stomach did a nauseating flip as he speared a piece and lifted it to his mouth, all while maintaining unnervingly direct eye contact.

“Confidentiality?” Mom repeated, completely oblivious to the undercurrent of menace radiating from across the table like a heat wave. “With supernatural authorities?”

“Sort of.”

“Maryah,” Milano said in the voice that had probably made lesser alphas spontaneously shift back to human form, “what exactly did you do today?”

“I had a meeting,” I said, my voice getting smaller with each word like it was trying to disappear completely. “With someone important. About the agency. And I signed papers saying I wouldn’t talk about it. Blood Oval business.”

“How stressful that must have been for you,” Nicolo said sympathetically. He took a sip of wine, his movements casual and relaxed like a predator conserving energy before a kill. “I hope whoever you met with was understanding about your...situation.”

The way he said ‘situation’ had me gulping like the entire room was suddenly low on oxygen.

“Oh my goodness,” Mom breathed, completely missing the threat. “You had a meeting with someone important who made you sign confidentiality agreements. Someone from the Blood Oval.”

“Mom—”

“Someone high-ranking enough to require blood-binding NDAs.” Her voice was getting progressively more excited, vibrating like a hummingbird on espresso. “Someone you can’t talk about.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking—”

“You’re dating someone!” she practically shrieked, making me choke on air. “Someone important! Someone powerful! Oh, Maryah, this is wonderful!”

“What?” I choked on my wine, feeling it burn through the wrong parts of my respiratory system. “No! Mom, no, it’s not—”

“It makes perfect sense,” she barreled on, completely ignoring my protests like they were suggestions on how to improve her already-perfect lasagna recipe.

“The secrecy, the supernatural connections, the confidentiality agreements. You’re seeing someone in a position of power and you can’t talk about it publicly! ”

“That’s not—”

“Who is he?” Mom demanded, leaning forward with the intensity of a woman who’d been waiting twenty-five years for her daughter to bring home someone whose family tree wasn’t embarrassingly normal. “Is he handsome? What does he do? How did you meet?”

“That’s so exciting for you, Maryah,” Nicolo said warmly. “A secret romance with someone powerful. How...thrilling.”

The word ‘thrilling’ sounded like a death sentence delivered by a serial killer who really loved his job.

“I am not dating anyone!”

“Then why all the secrecy?”

“Because—” I stopped, realizing I was about to explain that I’d accidentally submitted classified compatibility data to the Blood Oval and was now under investigation by freaking Atlantis royalty. “Because it’s business stuff that I legally can’t discuss without risking sanctions from L’Alliance .”

“Business stuff doesn’t require that level of confidentiality unless there’s something personal involved,” Milano observed, and I caught the hint of amusement in his voice. “Unless you’re working with someone very high up in the supernatural hierarchy.”

My heart didn’t just stop; it packed its bags and moved to another country.

“Someone like Prince Alexei Lykaios,” he continued casually, like he was discussing the weather and not the end of my existence.

The wine glass slipped from my fingers and shattered against my plate with a crash that perfectly symbolized my life at that moment.

“ Flip ,” I muttered, staring at the mess of glass and red wine spreading across the white tablecloth like a crime scene.

“Prince Alexei Lykaios?” Mom’s voice had gone up approximately three octaves.

“Let me help you with that,” Nicolo said, immediately rising to grab his napkin.

He knelt beside my chair, carefully picking up the larger pieces of glass with the gentle efficiency of someone who cared deeply about my wellbeing and definitely wasn’t planning to use those same dexterous fingers to strangle me later.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible even to my own ears.

He looked up at me, still kneeling, still smiling that perfectly pleasant smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course. I’d hate for you to get hurt.”

The way he said it made my skin crawl like it was trying to escape my body entirely.

“It’s not what you think,” I said desperately, addressing the room in general but mostly the man who was giving me serious serial-killer vibes despite looking like he was posing for “Protective Brother Monthly.”

“Oh my stars,” Mom continued, completely oblivious to the fact that her stepson was probably calculating the best way to dispose of my body in the nearby forest preserve. “You’re dating royalty. And not just any royalty. My daughter is dating an Atlantean prince!”

“I am not dating him!”

“How wonderful for you,” Nicolo said, standing and depositing the glass shards on his bread plate with a delicacy that was somehow more threatening than if he’d crushed them in his fist. “Prince Alexei is quite...impressive. I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about.”

“We don’t talk about anything! It was a business meeting!”

“Of course it was,” he agreed pleasantly. “I’m sure it was very...professional.”

I was going to die. Right here, in the dining room, surrounded by asparagus and family bonding. They’d find my body slumped over the table, death by mortification, with “She claimed it was just business” etched on my tombstone.

“This is incredible,” Mom gushed. “Wait until I tell the ladies at book club. They’re never going to believe this!”

“Mom, seriously. Will you listen to me? It’s not—”