---- Chapter 16 JOSIE POV: | came back to my apartment after a long day of training with Elara, my muscles aching in a good way, my mind buzzing with newfound knowledge about my own power. And then | saw them. Leaning against my door was a bouquet of black roses, so dark they seemed to drink the light from the hallway. Their scent hit me instantly, a smell | once craved and now despised: pine needles after a storm, with an undercurrent of raw, possessive power. Laurence's scent. A wave of nausea rolled through me. He was here. Without a second thought, | picked up the bouquet, walked to the end of the hall, and shoved them down the trash chute. The cloying scent was an invasion, a stain on the new life | was trying to build. Chris arrived a few minutes later with takeout, his own scent of clean snow and pine a welcome relief. "He's been downstairs for an hour," Chris said quietly, his eyes watching me for any sign of distress. "| can make him leave." "No," | said, my voice firm. "Let him wait. I'm not his to ---- command anymore." The next morning, | knew | couldn't avoid him forever. | left my apartment building, my portfolio tucked under my arm, and walked toward the subway station. He stepped out from behind a large oak tree, blocking my path. He looked terrible. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his usually perfect suit was wrinkled. He looked like a man haunted by ghosts. "Josie, please," he said, his voice rough. "We need to talk." | didn't even slow down. | simply walked around him as if he were a statue. He fell into step beside me, his long legs easily keeping pace. "| know about your father. | know what happened." | kept my eyes fixed on the subway entrance ahead. "It was Rosalie," he pressed on. "She arranged the whole thing. The Rogues, the delay in treatment... it was all her." His words were meant to be a bombshell, a peace offering of truth. But all they did was stoke the embers of my rage into a fire. | stopped so abruptly he almost ran into me. | turned, and for the first time, | looked him directly in the eye. "And where were you?" | asked, my voice dangerously quiet. "While my father was dying, while your precious Rosalie was ---- pulling the strings, where were you, Laurence?" He flinched, a flicker of pain crossing his face. He had no answer. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. "That's what | thought," | said, my voice dripping with ice. "We have nothing to talk about. It's over." | turned and walked away, descending the stairs into the subway station without a backward glance. For the first time in three years, | saw him look truly powerless. He was an Alpha who had lost control, and the sight gave me a bitter, satisfying taste of freedom. He was no longer a storm | had to weather. He was just a man standing in the rain. Later that day, Chris told me Laurence had shown up at his penthouse. The two Alphas had a confrontation, a silent war of wills and scents that nearly cracked the windows. Laurence had roared that | was his mate. Chris had simply replied, "No. You mean his rejected, former mate."