Stuck with the enemy

The moment I stepped out of Alpha's office, a wave of tension gripped me like a vice. My chest felt tight, my breathing shallow. It wasn't just nerves anymore—it was something deeper, like an unspoken dread clawing at my resolve. The mansion's dimly lit hallways stretched endlessly ahead of me, each shadow whispering a warning I couldn't decipher.

I tried to steady my breath, but the storm inside me refused to calm. My heart raced as if I had just sprinted through the corridors, though I'd only taken a few steps. At the far end of the hallway, a housemaid stood polishing an antique vase, her movements slow and deliberate. She glanced up as I approached, her expression curious but cautious.

"Excuse me," I managed, forcing my voice into an even tone. "Could I use the restroom before I leave? I'm feeling... unwell."

The maid straightened, offering a polite smile. "Of course, miss. It's upstairs, to the right." She gestured toward the grand staircase behind me.

"Thank you," I said, nodding quickly and heading in the direction she indicated.

The stairs creaked under my weight, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent mansion. Upstairs, the hallways were no less daunting, twisting and turning in ways that made it feel like I'd stumbled into a labyrinth. I counted doors as I walked, trying to keep track.

The first door I opened revealed a storage closet packed with neatly arranged cleaning supplies. "Not this one," I muttered, closing it with a sigh.

The second door swung open with a faint creak, and I froze.

The room beyond was lavish, its walls adorned with ornate tapestries and shelves lined with leather-bound books. A plush rug stretched across the polished floor, and a crystal chandelier cast a warm glow over the space.

But it wasn't the opulence that stopped me in my tracks.

It was him.

Derek stood in the center of the room, his damp hair curling slightly at the edges. He had just stepped out of the shower, and beads of water clung to his broad shoulders, glistening in the soft light. A towel hung loosely around his waist, the edges brushing against his thighs as he moved.

My breath caught, and a wave of heat surged up my neck to my cheeks. "Oh my God," I stammered, fumbling to pull the door shut. "I—I'm so sorry!"

But my fingers betrayed me, slipping off the handle as if I had lost all motor control.

"Deniz?" His deep voice cut through the awkward silence, and my stomach dropped.

Panic surged in my chest. Maybe he hadn't seen me clearly. Maybe I could still escape without him realizing who I was. But just as I turned to flee, Derek moved with the kind of speed that left me breathless.

"Wait," he said, his hand catching the edge of the door before I could close it. In one fluid motion, he pulled it open, and I stumbled inside, nearly colliding with him.

"Derek," I squeaked, stepping back as quickly as I could. My gaze darted around the room, desperate to focus on anything but him—the carved bedposts, the intricate wallpaper, the chandelier above us. Anything.

"What are you doing here?" His tone was steady, but there was an edge to it, a quiet demand for answers.

"Well," I began, my voice trembling as I tried to explain. "Your father asked to see me."

"My father?" His brows furrowed, the confusion in his expression deepening.

"Yes," I said quickly, hoping to deflect his attention. "But it's nothing to do with you. I was just looking for the restroom. Clearly, I took a wrong turn."