Page 29 of Keep My Alpha

“So. Your anonymous admirer.”

“What about him?”

Benji takes a sip of wine. His eyes track from Wren’s tree to the drawstring pouch at my hip, where Keats’s outline is just visible through the fabric. Then back to the tree.

“That’s long-term siege behavior,” he says. “Whoever’s doing this has it bad.” He pauses. “And I’m thinking that maybe your mystery alpha is a lot closer than you think he is.”

I laugh, but it comes out too fast and too high. “Benji, come on.”

“I’m just saying.”

“You’re seeing things.”

“Am I?”

He holds my gaze a beat too long, then shrugs and drifts back toward Knox. I watch him go, telling myself the flutter in my stomach is the wine.

The idea doesn’t leave, though. It lodges behind my ribs, this warm, sharp little splinter I can’t dig out.

Kendra finds me next, which is way less pleasant. She corners me by the photography wall with her clipboard and her branding voice.

“Soren. Your cycle is exactly what the final showcase needs as its anchor piece.” She’s already sketching it in the air with her hands. “The anonymous admirer angle—it’s compelling, it’s romantic, it’s a built-in narrative. We pair your poetry with Wren’s tree as the visual centerpiece, the carved birds as the through-line, and we’ve got a story that practically markets itself.”

“I don’t know if—“

“The audience tonight was eating it up. You saw that.”

I did. That’s the problem.

“Lean into it for the final showcase. The mystery, the yearning, the not-knowing. It’s basically a love story without an ending, which is catnip.”

I glance across the room at Wren. He’s half-turned from Aaron, his hand on the back of his neck, that thing he does when something hits a nerve. He heard that. A love story without an ending. His mouth presses flat, and there’s something braced in his posture, like someone just took the most private thing about him and put it behind glass.

“Okay,” I hear myself say. “I’ll think about it.”

“Think fast. I need concepts by next week.” She pats my arm and moves on.

My eyes stay on Wren. He’s stepped behind the tree now, putting its trunk between himself and the rest of the room. Aaron is talking to Knox, animated and oblivious, so Wren is alone with whatever shut his expression down. His thumb works at an invisible rough spot on one of the lower branches, sanding at edges only he can feel.

Then Aaron breaks off and heads for Wren, speaking low and urgent. Wren shakes his head once, sharp and final, and Aaron throws his hands up.

I don’t know what they’re arguing about. But Wren’s hand grips the back of his neck, and his eyes never leave me even while his brother is practically whisper-yelling at him.

And I think about what Benji said.

It’s a coincidence. It has to be.

The gallery is thinning out. Jude is taking a selfie with the tree. Shay is in a heated debate with Kendra about data-driven marketing, and Declan is leaning against the wall behind him, looking like a man who knows his mate is about to win.

I cross the gallery. My heart hammers. Wren straightens up when he sees me coming, his hand dropping from his neck, and this expression flashes across his face, half terrified, half hopeful, and I think: yeah, I know exactly how that feels.

“Hi,” I say when I reach him. Possibly the least poetic opening I’ve ever managed.

“Hi.” His voice is low and rough. His eyes drop to my mouth for exactly one second before he catches himself. “You were good up there.”

“You keep saying that.”

“You keep being good.”