Free Web NovelChapter 34: Arabella Young
Torin
6 Months Later.
I have never been made to wait this long in a waiting room in my entire life. In fact, I’ve never waited in one at all, it’s usually people waiting on me, never the other way around.
This is ridiculous. I’ve been sitting here for two minutes and ten seconds, and already it feels like an insult. How can this man Erin set me up with be so tardy?
I stare at the clock on the wall, watching each tick echo in my head, followed by the sharp clatter of keys as the beta secretary types away at her computer. Her expression is mean, her focus unwavering, as if I don’t even exist.
I can’t take it anymore. I shoot up from my chair, determination filling my chest, and stride toward the front desk. The high white counter looms between us, but she doesn’t even bother to look up. Her name tag reads Anne, and Anne continues typing, her eyes glued to the screen.
"How long am I going to have to wait?" I demand to know, frustration dripping from my voice. This is ridiculous. This is disrespectful to Spade. If I didn’t need this meeting, I would have walked out already.
Anne ignores me, pushing me closer to the edge. My fists clench, my teeth sink into the inside of my cheek. "I’m talking t—"
She cuts me off mid‑sentence. "Greetings to you too, Mr. Spade," she says flatly, snapping her eyes up at me with a look of displeasure, as if she’s judging everything about me. "Mr. Masintosh will see you when he will see you. Now, please take a seat."
"Our meeting was for one o’clock. It’s 13:03 now," I argue, my voice sharp.
She looks at me with disbelief, a hint of annoyance flashing in her eyes. "I say this with all possible respect, but if you’re going crazy over three minutes, I think you should just leave. I can tell you won’t get far here."
Her eyes return to the computer screen, her fingers flying across the keys. The audacity. Since when do secretaries have such gall?
"If that is all, please return to your seat," she adds, dismissing me.
I swallow my anger, forcing myself not to do something outrageous that would ruin everything Erin worked so hard to arrange.
"Oh, and a word of advice," she says as I turn away. "Always greet in this city, or no one will help you."
I grit my teeth. Ugh. Whatever. I’m never coming back to this city, or this country, after this. In fact, I won’t leave Prone for years. Gods, do I miss my city.
I sink back into the hard leather chair, trying to focus on the newspaper I’m supposed to be reading, though my mind refuses to settle.
I am in Thali—the city where land meets sea. It sits far away in the distant Vhali country, a place close to nothing. It took me ages to get here: first an airplane, then a boat, and finally a grueling six‑hour car ride. But all of it was worth it.
Thali is beautiful. Somehow, they’ve managed to blend the aesthetic of the sea with modern architecture, creating a city that feels both timeless and alive. The salt air mixes with the scent of stone and steel, and everywhere I look, the horizon stretches wide, reminding me that even in exile, beauty can exist.
The skyscraper I’m in now towers above the city, its design sleek and modern, every line and surface polished to perfection. It dominates the center of the district, crowned with a strange symbol at the very top, something abstract, something I can’t even describe, yet it commands attention.
"Morning, Madam," Anne says suddenly, her voice enthusiastic this time, nothing like the robotic tone she used earlier when speaking to me. I avoid looking in her direction, but I lean closer, ears straining. Not my proudest moment—I don’t indulge in gossip—but boredom gnaws at me, and today I will.
The moment I lean, I’m struck by the scent of cherry blossoms. It drifts faintly, familiar, tugging at my memory. I know I’ve smelt it before, a hint of it somewhere, but I can’t place where.
"You look lovely today, Anne. I see you changed your mascara. Is all this a sign that you’re dating Criston?" a familiar voice teases warmly.
Anne laughs, her shyness radiating through her tone. "I wouldn’t say we’re dating. It’s more of a situationship. We’re just testing the waters."
Her voice is soft, girlish, so unlike the sharp, snake‑like woman who dismissed me earlier.
The two of them indulge in conversation about men and relationships. How is this even allowed? Isn’t this supposed to be a workplace? No conversation that isn’t work should be happening here.
"Mr. Torin Spade, is that you?" the familiar voice calls out again, this time directed at me.
I quickly look up from my magazine, and my eyes lock onto her, the pink‑haired girl from the gala. Arabella. The same girl I walked back inside with after finding her crying in the garden that night.
"It’s really you. I knew it. I could tell by your hair, it doesn’t change," Arabella says, walking closer with a bright smile. She’s wearing a strapless yellow and white sundress, and as she moves, I notice the mark on her shoulder. A mating bond. Two fangs etched into her skin. Over the years, I’ve learned each bond looks different, shaped by the one who bites and the one who is bitten.
"Also, your hair hasn’t changed," I counter, and she laughs.
"I really like pink. I don’t think I’ll ever change it, unless I start going bald," she jokes.
"Anyway, you’re part of Pack Spade?" she asks suddenly, sitting in the leather chair beside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Anne isn’t crouched behind her massive desk anymore. She’s standing tall staring at me intently.
"Yeah. I’m actually its leader," I reply, not trying to brag, just stating fact.
"So, it’s your pack that Lorali’s bonded to?"
My stomach twists. Fuck. This isn’t a conversation I should be having. Should I lie? Pretend I don’t know Lorali? No. I can’t. The way Arabella says her name tells me she already knows. Denying it would be useless.
"Yes. She’s a wonderful addition to the pack. And if I may ask, how do you know her?"
Arabella’s eyes light up instantly. "She’s my best friend. We shared a room together back at Alma."
Double fuck. This is not good.
"I haven’t seen her in a very long time. I haven’t gotten any messages back, no calls. It’s like she disappeared." Her eyes dull for a moment, sadness flickering, before she focuses back on me. "Tell me the truth, Mr. Spade. Is Lorali okay? Is she adjusting well in your pack? I heard there’s another omega, and I don’t know how you’re working around that. Are you certain she’s not being mistreated?"
Her voice drips with concern, expecting me to have answers. But little does she know, I’m as clueless as she is. I haven’t heard anything about Arabella, haven’t seen her since I ran off eight months ago. But I can’t tell her that.
"At first it was hard for both omegas to adjust," I say smoothly, the lies spilling out flawlessly. "But now she’s adjusting well. She’s bonded. Both omegas are as thick as thieves. They love each other so much they can’t bear to be apart. Odd, really, I never expected omegas to be that close. I think she just forgot to update you all with everything that happened."
"Forgot?" Arabella repeats softly, her voice uncertain. "I don’t think Lorali would ever forget to attend Cleo’s engagement. Or mine. Especially not mine."
I gulp, but I don’t let my nerves show. I need to make something up now.
"Well, you know pregnancy can make you forget things. I’m sure she didn’t do it on purpose," I say smoothly, even though inside I’m dying. Fuck, Torin. Pregnancy? Is that really the best you could come up with? You could have said she was sick, you could have said anything else.
"She’s pregnant?!" Arabella exclaims, her eyes widening, seeming to believe me instantly. "This must be such a happy time for your pack," she adds, suddenly reaching forward and taking hold of my hands.
Her touch is warm, her grip firm, and her words cut deeper than I expect. "You know, before Lorali went missing, she told me she was welcomed into your pack with a celebration and overwhelming love. You even designed her room to her liking."
I freeze. I don’t understand a single word of what she just said. What celebration? Did the pack throw a party for Lorali? Or did Lorali lie to Arabella, painting a picture of comfort and joy to keep her from worrying? freewēbnoveℓ.com
"Yep," I say quickly, forcing confidence into my tone. "We wanted to make sure she felt loved and seen, so we made sure she had everything."
"Oh really? That must have been so romantic. And I can imagine it must be difficult to leave Lorali during her pregnancy to come here for business. I’m sure you miss her minty scent every day."
Mint. My mind stumbles over the word. Mint. I never knew that was Lorali’s scent. It’s strange, unexpected. I never imagined her carrying such a sharp, fresh fragrance.
"You know me well," I say, offering Arabella a smile. "I miss that minty scent every day."
Her eyes twitch, just slightly, a flicker of something I can’t read. Before I can press her on it, Anne’s voice cuts through the air.
"Mr. Masintosh is ready to see you, Mr. Spade."
Finally. Relief floods me. I rise quickly from my seat, clutching my proposal file like a lifeline.
"It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Youn—no, it’s Mrs..." I stumble, unsure of how to address her. She’s out of Alma now, no longer Arabella Young but—
"Masintosh," she says firmly, looking up at me, her nails scratching lightly at her skin.
"Oh. Okay. Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Masintosh." I wave politely before walking away, my steps brisk, my mind racing.
I never would have thought Arabella would be connected to Masintosh. No wonder she’s close to Anne, she must be here every other day.
But the way she looked disturbed at the end... I hope that has nothing to do with what I said. I can’t afford to fuck up now. Not when I’m so close to the finishing line.
