Page 50 of Rejected By My Shifter Billionaire

O ne week.

It had been one whole week since I’d publicly combusted in the arms of my stepbrother at the most exclusive supernatural event of the season, and what had he done since then?

Nothing.

Not a text. Not a call. Not even an interoffice memo with his usual condescending comments about my quarterly reports.

He hadn’t even come home.

Which meant I’d spent the past seven days tossing and turning in my bed, alternating between tears, caffeine, and pretending I didn’t exist just to survive the emotional minefield known as being ignored by the world’s most infuriating alpha.

“Maybe he’s finally realized that making me have a public orgasm was inappropriate stepbrother behavior,” I muttered, staring at my laptop screen without actually seeing any of the words on it.

“Or maybe,” Ada said carefully from her desk across the office, “he’s just processing?”

“Processing what? It was a compatibility test. That’s literally what we do here.”

She didn’t answer. Probably because I’d forbidden her from saying anything that might make me cry again, and unfortunately, logic had that effect lately.

I tried to focus on work, but everything reminded me of him.

The scent dampeners we used for anonymous testing made me think of the ball.

Client requests for alpha-specific compatibility protocols made my chest feel like someone was using it for kickboxing practice.

Even the stupid flowers Ada kept on her desk were a painful reminder of passion vines glowing red in response to whatever had happened between us.

Whatever I’d apparently imagined was happening between us.

Like, seriously.

How could a 98.7% compatibility score lead to a week of absolute silence?

“These new applications look good,” I said, scrolling through profiles that read like a supernatural classified section. “Did you send those priority profiles to Mr. Block of Ice like I asked?”

“Yep! Sent them to Mr. Block of Ice just like you said.” Ada pushed her purple-rimmed glasses up her nose. “But I still stand by my words. Captain Permafrost is better.”

“Call him whatever you want, just not to his face.”

“I would never!”

I wished I could say I believed that. I really did. But with Ada, one really never knew.

My phone buzzed with another text from my mother asking when I was bringing my “prince” home for dinner. I’d been avoiding family meals specifically to dodge those conversations, which meant I’d also been avoiding the possibility of running into Nicolo at home.

Pathetic? Absolutely.

Necessary for my sanity? Also absolutely.

“I’m going to grab coffee,” I announced, needing air and movement and anything that didn’t involve sitting still with my thoughts.

“Can you get me one of those lavender honey lattes that smell like fairy gardens?” Ada asked, twirling a pen between her fingers so fast it became a blur.

“The ones that make vampires sneeze? I have a date with that cute Viver from accounting tonight and I want to make sure he’s not secretly evil-evil. ”

“Sure thing. Testing potential dates for vampirism. Totally normal Tuesday activity.”

The walk to the coffee shop gave me twenty minutes of blessed distraction, but the moment I returned to my office, and I caught a familiar whiff, a scent...

Nicolo.

He was here, finally, and hope flared in my chest at the thought.

Was he finally ready to talk about what happened—

“You’re back,” Ada cried out when she spotted me.

Oh yes, I so was, and...and so was he, and everything was going to be okay again.

I set Ada’s latte on her desk, trying to project calm competence. “Nicolo’s here, isn’t he?”

“How did you—never mind.” Ada looked at me anxiously. “He’s at Conference B, and he wants to talk to you.”

“Okay.”

I was about to walk past her when my assistant grabbed my arm. “Please be careful.”

I couldn’t help smiling, but this only made Ada look even more anxious.

“I’m serious. He doesn’t look his usual self.”

“What does he usually like?”

“Hard?”

“And now?”

“Harder?”

Right.

I smoothed down my skirt and walked to the conference room, my heart performing some kind of tribal war dance in my chest.

Nicolo was standing by the windows when I entered, his back to me, hands clasped behind him in a pose that screamed authority and control.

“You wanted to see me?”

He turned slowly, and I finally understood what Ada meant.

Indeed, he was harder now.

His eyes and the way he stared at me.

Everything about his gaze was so unforgivingly hard and cold that it made my stomach clench with dread.

“N-Nicolo?”

He studied my face for a moment, and I forced myself to meet his gaze without flinching. Whatever this was about, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me crumble.

“I’ve completed my evaluation of your agency,” he said finally.

That... was what he wanted to talk about?

Seriously?

“The testing protocols are sound. The compatibility algorithms show promise. The client satisfaction rates are acceptable.”

That was wonderful news, really.

But I was too busy feeling scared and nauseous to say it.

Why did he feel so... hard?

“I’m prepared to give my full approval for the Concord Agency to operate independently.”

I should have felt relieved. Excited. This was what I’d been working toward since the beginning.

Instead, I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for him to push me off.

“With one condition,” he added, confirming my worst fears.

Of course there was a condition. There was always a condition with Nicolo.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice turning raspy and strained.

“You need to get married.”

For a moment I thought I’d misheard him. The words made no sense, like he’d suddenly started speaking in tongues.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The Blood Oval has concerns about an unmated human having access to shifter genetic data and mate-matching protocols. They feel it represents a potential security risk.”

“That’s—that’s ridiculous. The data is all anonymized.”

“And yet your system produced a 98.7% compatibility match between a human and an alpha. That has their attention.”

“So I need to get married to...what? Prove I’m not a security risk?”

“To demonstrate stability and commitment to the supernatural community.” His voice was so clinical, so detached, it made my heart fracture into jagged little pieces. “With your marriage to a shifter, you’d be considered part of the community rather than an outside influence.”

I stared at him, unable to process what I was hearing. “And this is coming from the Blood Oval? Not from you?”

Something flashed in his eyes, too quick to identify. “It’s a condition of your continued operation. Take it or leave it.”

“And if I leave it?”

“The agency will be placed under Black Tiger supervision. You’ll retain ownership but lose operational control.”

I laughed, the sound hollow and slightly hysterical. “You...are you seriously asking me to get married to keep my business?”

The tension between us was thick enough to cut with a knife, charged with all the things we weren’t saying. All the things we apparently were never going to say.

“Do you have someone in mind?” His voice was oddly flat. “For this marriage.”

For one wild, insane moment, I thought he was offering himself. That this whole bizarre conversation was his roundabout way of proposing.

But the hardness in his eyes—

God, it was so, so hard.

“No,” I said, my voice small. “I don’t.”

“If that’s the case, I’ll give you two weeks to make a decision.”

Two weeks?

“Is that all?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice even.

“For now.”

The moment he was gone, I collapsed into the nearest chair...

And then I just cried.

I cried for the girl who’d spent seven years in love with someone who would never love her back.

I cried for the woman who’d been stupid enough to think that a compatibility score meant something more than science.

I cried for the business owner who was going to have to choose between her dreams and her heart.

But mostly, I cried because Nicolo Celestini had just made it crystal clear that I meant absolutely nothing to him beyond a problem to be solved and a responsibility to be managed.

And there wasn’t a single thing I could do about it.

NICOLO SAT IN HIS OFFICE , staring at the stack of papers scattered across his desk and wondering how everything had gone so wrong.

Compatibility profiles. Dozens of them. All marked with Maryah’s agency letterhead and addressed to “Mr. Block of Ice.”

He’d been receiving them for a week, ever since the night of the ball. At first, he’d assumed they were some kind of filing error. But they kept coming, day after day, each one a fresh reminder that Maryah was actively trying to find him a mate.

Her subtle way of telling him that whatever had happened between them at the ball was strictly business. Professional obligation, not personal desire.

Her way of saying she wasn’t interested in anything more.

The profiles were diverse, carefully selected. All of them sophisticated, powerful, exactly the kind of matches that would make sense for the Celestini heir.

All of them representing everything Maryah apparently thought he should want instead of her.

He’d spent seven days convincing himself that this was for the best. That Maryah deserved someone who could give her a normal life, not an alpha who’d spent years hiding his feelings behind authority and control.

Seven days telling himself that if she wanted to find him someone else, he should let her.

But seeing her today, watching her face when he’d delivered his ultimatum about marriage, had been harder than he’d expected. She’d hidden her reaction well, but he’d caught the flash of pain in her eyes before she’d locked it down.

Still, it was done. Clean break. No more confusion or mixed signals or pretending that a 98.7% compatibility score meant they belonged together.

His phone rang, interrupting his brooding.

“Mr. Celestini? This is Ada, from Maryah’s office.”

“What can I do for you, Ada?”

“I think I made a terrible mistake.” Her voice was shaking. “The compatibility profiles I’ve been sending you—Maryah asked me to send them to Mr. Block of Ice, and I thought she meant you because you’re kind of intimidating and cold sometimes, but she actually meant Prince Alexei, didn’t she?”

Nicolo froze. “Say that again, will you?”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Celestini. The profiles...they were supposed to go to Prince Alexei. He’s the real Mr. Block of Ice. I sent his matchmaking requests to you by mistake.”

Nicolo closed his eyes, the full scope of his error crashing over him like a wave.

“Are you telling me...Maryah was never trying to find me a mate?”

“No! She was trying to fulfill Prince Alexei’s request for compatibility matching. You know how he’s, like, super icy and formal? Hence the nickname. Oh gosh, I’ve messed up everything, haven’t I? Do you think I’m really going to get fired—”

“Ada?”

“Yes, Mr. Celestini?”

“I think you should update your resumé.”