Page 14 of The Alpha’s Unclaimed Mate

“You’re up early.”

“I wanted to catch you before you started your day.” I shift Mia’s backpack on my shoulder. “The lease. I need to cancel it. We’re not staying.”

“Cancel?” Her eyebrows climb. “You only just unpacked, dear. The boxes are still in the hall.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Something’s come up.” I make myself hold her gaze. “Are you sure there’s no problem doing it this early in?”

“No trouble to me. I’ll get my deposit back from the next tenant easy enough.” She studies me, and there’s something soft and sad in it. “Are you sure, though? The little one looked so happy when you moved in. Skipping up these stairs.”

My throat tightens. “I’m sure.”

“All right.” She sighs and steps back. “Bring the keys by when you go. Such a shame.”

I turn to go get Mia from the stairwell, and I walk straight into someone coming the other way.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry.” I catch the woman by the arm before she tips, and a grocery bag slips down her hip. “Are you okay? I wasn’t looking.”

“It’s fine. My fault.” She shifts both bags higher and gives me a smile that doesn’t reach the rest of her face. She’s thin, too thin, dark-blond hair scraped back from a face that’s older around the eyes than the rest of her looks. A toddler clings to her leg, and an older boy hangs back by the mailboxes with a backpack twice his size. “Sorry. Excuse me.”

She edges past, juggling the bags and the children toward the stairs, and I find myself watching her go. There’s something in the careful way she holds herself, in how fast she apologized, that doesn’t sit well with me.

“That’s Rachel,” Mrs. Okafor murmurs at my shoulder, low, once the woman’s out of earshot. “Moved in a couple weeks ago. Three little ones, and her on her own with all of them.” She presses her lips together. “Left her husband, from what I gather. He’s still back at their place. She packed up the kids and came here.”

I look at the empty stairwell where Rachel disappeared, the ache in my own chest shifting to make room for something else.

“Just like that?” I ask.

“Women don’t leave a marriage and three kids’ worth of life behind for nothing, dear.” Mrs. Okafor shrugs, but her eyes are hard. “He’s loose with his hands, that one. You can see it on her, if you know where to look. She got herself out. Good for her, I say.”

My gaze lingers, and I murmur, “Yeah.”

“Well, then. I’ll be here till six. You drop off the keys before then.” The landlady sighs.

I nod and then gather Mia from the bottom of the stairs.

It’s time to put an end to this.

The academy takes up the whole north end of town.

I knew it was big. I didn’t know how big. Wrought-iron gates swing back from a drive lined with hedges trimmed sharp enough to cut, and the main building rises out of the green in glass and pale stone, the school crest stamped above doors tall enough for a cathedral. Behind it, a full stadium curves against the sky, floodlights and tiered stands and all. Money breathes off every brick of the place.

Beside me, Mia goes quiet. She stares up at the stadium with her mouth slightly open, and I feel like the cruelest woman who ever lived.

“Come on.” I take her hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

Inside, the enrollment office is all hush and warm light and pale wood, a young woman behind a curved desk with a headset and a smile. She looks up as we come in.

“Good morning. Welcome to Crestline. How can I help you?”

“I’m here to withdraw my daughter.” I set the folder on the desk before my nerve goes. “She was supposed to start today. Mia Vasquez. I sent her documents in last week.”

The smile holds, but something behind it stalls. “Withdraw? Today, you mean? Before her first day?”

“That’s right.”

“I, um.” She glances at the folder, then back at me. “May I ask the reason? Is there a problem with the placement, or the housing, or is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. We’re relocating. Family reasons.”