Zachary Shaw
(Zac)
Snow has been falling for a week. Thick, white and endless. It covers the streets, the rooftops and all of the trees outside my office window. From up here on the thirteenth floor, it almost looks beautiful, soft and quiet, as if the world itself has been muted. Almost.
But I know better, snow is just a blanket. It hides the mess underneath, but it doesn’t erase it.
I lean back in my leather chair, staring out at the flakes drifting lazily past the glass. My desk is buried in merger contracts, balance sheets, and reports that need my attention, but my mind won’t settle. It hasn’t, not for a long time.
A knock at the door cuts through my thoughts.
“Mr. Shaw?” My secretary’s voice is careful, as though she already knows this is going to sour my mood. “Miss Hunter is here to see you.”
Of course she is.
I exhale slowly, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Send her in.”
The door opens and in glides Micala Hunter, firstborn of the prestigious Hunter dynasty, polished to perfection, and completely insufferable. Her perfume hits me first, sharp and cloying, nothing like the warmth I remember from another lifetime. No. I shove that thought away. She’s dressed to impress, as always, every strand of hair in place, her smile trained on me like she already owns me.
“Hi, honey,” she greets, her voice sweet enough to make my skin crawl.
“I’m not your honey, Micala,” I reply flatly, my emerald eyes meeting hers without flinching. “I’ve told you that countless times. Why are you here?”
She sits without being asked, crossing her legs like she’s on stage. “Our parents are still in agreement. They want this union, and you need to get onboard. I came to talk sense into you.” Her hand inches toward mine on the desk.
I move my hand to my lap before she can touch me.
“There is nothing to misunderstand,” I say, each word clipped and deliberate. “An arranged marriage in this age is absurd. I will not marry you, Micala. Not for tradition, not for power, not for anything.”
Her smile falters, just a fraction. “Zac, please.”
“No,” I interrupt. “I care for you as a friend. But that’s all. I will not lie to you, and I will not chain myself to something I don’t want. I believe in finding my true mate, my predestined, and nothing you or our parents say will change that.”
Her lips tremble. For a second, she looks almost human. Then she drops the bomb.
“I’m pregnant.”
The words hang in the air between us, heavy and poisonous. She hides her face in her hands, dissolving into sobs that echo through my office. It’s an act. It’s always an act.
The fury rises in me instantly, my fangs itching beneath the surface. “That’s impossible as we have never been together. Don’t insult me with lies.”
Her tears stop like someone flipped a switch. Her eyes snap up, blazing with anger.
“You’re delusional,” I hiss. My vampire side pushes at the edges of my restraint. “And I will not marry you. Not out of pity. and not especially out of lies. Now get out.”
I point at the door. I don’t even look at her as she storms out, slamming it behind her.
The silence after is deafening as I hide my have in my hands and rub it. I can feel a singing headache coming on, and her perfume is still lingering in the room.
That was long overdue, but it leaves me drained. For more than a century, Micala has been shadowing me, harassing my staff, spreading rumors, showing up uninvited. She destroyed any friendship I tried to form with other women. Only Natalia had the spine to tell her off.
But now she’s crossed a line. Claiming a child that isn’t mine? That’s not desperation. That’s war.
I force myself back to the papers, though my concentration is shattered but if I don’t push through, nothing will get done. Hours drag past, numbers blurring, until my phone buzzes on the desk. My stomach sinks when I see the name.
Mother.
I consider ignoring it, but I know better. With a groan, I answer. “Mother.”
“Zachary Shaw!” Her voice shrieks through the speaker so loud I yank the phone from my ear. “What have you done?”
I close my eyes, patience already thin. “I can’t recall anything deserving of being screamed at.”
“Micala tried to commit suicide!” she roars. “She left a note saying she’s carrying your child and you refused to take responsibility. What did you do?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You said tried? So she didn’t succeed?”
“Of course not, she’s a vampire! But the child, Zachary! She lost the child. Your child!”
My jaw clenches so hard it aches. “It was not mine. Order a DNA test. You’ll see the truth.”
“You need to go to her,” she demands. “Beg her forgiveness. Fix this!”
“I will do no such thing.” My voice drops into a growl. “Goodbye, Mother.”
I hang up before she can say another word. My entire body vibrates with fury. My parents are always meddling, always blind to Micala’s madness.
The phone rings again almost immediately. My temper spikes, if it’s one of them, I’ll shatter the damn device. But the screen shows Mace Redwood. Relief crashes over me.
“Hey, Mace,” I answer, my voice dropping its edge.
“You. Me. Smell of the Roses bar. Fifteen minutes.” He hangs up.
I lean back in my chair, staring out at the endless snow. For the first time today, my lips curve into the ghost of a smile.
Exactly what I need.
