<h4>Chapter 328: Feeling Petty and Unhappy</h4>


    <strong>Evaline:</strong>


    The moment I stepped into the familiar<strong></strong>building of HQ, I knew I was in no mood for pleasantries.


    I<strong></strong>had been sulking ever since breakfast, though I tried hard not to admit it even to myself. Fine... maybe my mood had something to do with the fact that when I stepped out of the mansion this morning, ready and dressed for work, I saw River’s sleek ck car gliding out of the driveway without me.


    He didn’t even pause. Didn’t he remember it was the weekend? Didn’t he see me all dressed up for work? Or... worse... did he leave without me on purpose?


    The questions wed at me the entire ride while Oscar drove me to HQ. A tiny reasonable part of my brain whispered that River never promised I could ride with him, and maybest weekend had just been an exception. But therger, pettier, unreasonable part of me... oh, she was in full control today.


    By the time I reached HQ, the sight of familiar faces in the corridors - warriors, council members, fellow assistants and secretaries, even the front deskdy - did nothing to cool my mood. I barely acknowledged their greetings, ignoring their confused stares as I marched straight to River’s office.


    I swung the door open, my lips pressed in a thin line. And to my surprise, I found him there. He was sitting behind his desk, papers in one hand and coffee in the other, looking every inch the untouchable, maddeningly handsome Alpha-CEO.


    The sight of him here - at HQ, not hispany or elsewhere - made my blood boil hotter. So he really had left me behind.


    He looked up, found me standing at the entrance and his brow rose in genuine surprise. "Evaline?" He set down his paper like a man pausing mid-calction. "What are you doing here?"


    The sharpness in my voice betrayed me before I could temper it. "Wow. Did you actually forget that it’s the weekend?" It wasn’t a question... it was a p wrapped in sarcasm.


    For a heartbeat, his emerald gaze widened in unguarded surprise, then narrowed with theposure he had cultivated for years. "That’s not what I meant-"


    "Oh?" I cut him off, folding my arms automatically, the posture of a woman ready for battle. "Then maybe you forgot that I work here. As your assistant."


    River, who always had a retort poised like a razor at the end of his tongue, was suddenly wordless. He blinked in a way I had never seen before - vulnerable and slightly off-bnce. "That’s not what I meant either," he finally said, his voice softening, his tone careworn in a way that made the sharp edge of my irritation wobble but not fall.


    His gaze scanned me then, careful, as if he were reading an unfamiliar script. "Evaline... are you mad?"


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    The wordnded awkward and loud in the quiet office. Mad. It felt trivial next to the storm of anger and hurt that had been coiling in me all morning. Iughed, the sound sharp and humorless. "Mad?" I echoed. "Do I look like I’m mad?"


    I saw him swallow hard before he looked away for a second. A small sigh escaped him, and the sound pushed my irritation higher rather than dimming it. There was that infuriating mix in him - an ease that made him look unbothered,yered over with an edge that always told you he was always three steps ahead.


    I turned away before I could say anything else, because silence felt safer. I moved to my desk like a woman in a half-remembered ritual. I powered up theputer, rearranged folders and pens that did not need rearrangement, cleaned the already-polished surface until the motion steadied the thrum of my pulse. Anything to avoid looking at him directly.


    The silence between us grew heavy, thick enough to cut.


    "Evaline." His voice came again, low and steady, a soft chisel against my resolve.


    I ignored it, pretending to tap across the keyboard.


    "Evaline." His voice was closer this time. Insistent.


    Still I refused to turn. The stubborn part of me held tight, feeding on the principle of not being emotionally avable on his terms. But then the back of my chair spun, and I had no chance to brace myself.


    He took me in one fluid motion - no drama, no announcement - and lifted me bridal style, making my world tip.


    "River!"


    My protest was automatic, instinctual. My arms flung around his neck without thinking.


    In my head I pictured him setting me down with a teasing smirk. Instead he walked across the office with the kind of ease that belonged to a man who owned not just the space, but the weather in it.


    He sat on the wide leather couch and kept me nted squarely in hisp, encircled by those arms I had watchedmand business negotiations and pack councils.


    My body was pinned by the certainty of his hold. The motionless steadiness of him made my cheeks burn for reasons I didn’t want to name.


    "Why are you mad?" he asked, calm as an announced storm. He didn’t ask in a way that left room for a performative answer. The question was a gentle device of excavation - intentional, unyielding, as if he had already decided evasion wouldn’t be allowed.


    I scoffed and looked away, because I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing how small I felt under his eyes. "When did I say I was mad?" I snapped, though even as the words left I felt the cheapness of them.


    He arched a single dark brow. The act so familiar that it made some private muscle in my chest twitch, and I found my gaze snagging on the curve of his mouth, on the way the light caught his jaw. The fight in me faltered. And an audible sigh slipped out, soft and involuntary, betraying me.


    He didn’t let it stand. His fingers came up and curled under my chin, tilting my face until I could not look anywhere but at him. The motion was precise, patient, and utterly disarming. "Why," he repeated, word by deliberate word, "are you mad?"


    There was no dismissal in his tone. No attempt to sugarcoat, no attempt to negotiate my right to be small or petty. He simply asked again with the quiet insistence of someone who refused to let issues drift like loose leaves.


    The intensity behind his green eyes was not usatory, it was an invitation to be honest without punishment.


    His insistence pried at my defenses. The part of me that had spent years practicing a tough, collection-of-iced stares began to crumble under the warmth of his palms and the directness of his gaze.


    I felt the old childish shapes of jealousy and fear rise unbidden - fear of being unimportant, of being left out like some afterthought.


    When I finally spoke, my voice came out thinner than I intended. "Because you left me behind earlier."