Mated To My Ex's Alpha Boss

Elara's POV:

The dream was always the same.

I was standing in our empty apartment, the scent of fresh paint still clinging to the air. Cain came up behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. He pressed a cold, metal object into my palm. A key.

"This is it, Elara," he'd whispered, his voice warm against my ear. "Our home. It's yours, always."

A hammering sound shattered the peace, brutal and insistent, like someone was trying to break the door down.

My eyes flew open. The apartment was dark, the space beside me in the bed cold and empty. My heart leaped into my throat, a frantic bird beating against my ribs. Cain had been on a business trip for three days. It had to be my imagination.

*BAM. BAM. BAM.*

It wasn't.

"Miss Vince, we know you're in there. Please open the door." A man's voice, deep and unfamiliar, sliced through the wood.

Fear, cold and sharp, shot through me. I scrambled out of bed, my bare feet hitting the chilly floor. My hand closed around the heavy base of my bedside lamp as I crept toward the door. Peeking through the peephole, I saw two men in sharp, dark suits. The building manager, Mr. Henderson, stood beside them, wringing his hands.

I unlatched the deadbolt but left the chain on, opening the door a crack. "Who are you?"

One of the men, the one with a face like a tombstone, held up a folded document. "I'm Mr. Blackwood's attorney. This lease was terminated as of yesterday. You have fifteen minutes to gather your personal belongings and vacate the premises."

The world tilted. My mind went completely blank. "That's impossible. This is my apartment. Cain and I leased it together."

The lawyer's expression didn't flicker. He produced another paper. Cain's signature was scrawled at the bottom of an authorization form, right next to a copy of a new lease agreement. A lease with only one name on it: Cain Blackwood.

"No." The word was a choked whisper. I slammed the door shut, my back pressing against it as I fumbled for my phone. This was a mistake. A horrible, insane mistake.

I dialed Cain's number. It rang once, twice, then went straight to voicemail.

My hands were shaking so hard I could barely press the redial button. This time, it rang only once before the call was abruptly ended.

A second later, my screen lit up with a new text message.

From: Cain.

*Elara, stop calling. It's over. I don't need anything from the apartment. You can take it all.*

The cold, impersonal words on the screen felt like a physical blow. It was the same chill I'd felt from the note my father left on the kitchen table when I was eight. A different message, same void. My fingers automatically went to the old, worn locket around my neck, a nervous habit since childhood.

Outside, a key scraped in the lock.