Chapter 39 Boundary
Sable’s POV
The city at night felt like a cage. Lights stacked on lights, windows burning like watchful eyes. I leaned against the cool glass of my apartment window, arms folded, but even the distance of twenty floors couldn’t shake the weight of the boardroom.
His eyes.
Kier’s eyes.
It didn’t matter that five years stretched between us. It didn’t matter that I’d built walls thick enough to hold back wolves and men alike. The second he walked in, the air shifted, and the bond reminded me what it was—merciless, alive, and hungry.
And then I’d thrown my words at him. Ironclad will need to decide if it wants to be chosen… or if it’s content to be feared.
I hadn’t meant to sound like I was speaking to him directly. But I had been.
A knock rattled the door before I could bury the thought.
“Who is it?” I called, voice sharper than I intended.
“It’s me,” Jenna’s voice answered, muffled through the door.
I sighed and pulled it open. Jenna stepped inside, arms full of takeout bags, her dark curls pulled into a messy bun. She looked at me the way only a friend could—equal parts concern and exasperation.
“You didn’t answer your phone,” she said, dumping the food on the counter. “So I figured you were either dead, drunk, or brooding. Judging by the state of you—” She pointed at my bare feet and the wineglass abandoned on the coffee table. “—I’m going with option three.”
I rolled my eyes, sinking onto the couch. “Brooding isn’t a crime.”
“It is if it keeps you from eating,” she shot back, tossing me a container.
“You didn’t waste any time leaving,” she said, shutting the door behind her.
“Was I supposed to stick around and toast champagne?” I shot back, rubbing at my temples. “I made my point. That was enough.”
She crossed the room and dropped into my armchair, legs swinging over the side like she owned the place. “You didn’t just make a point, Sable. You lit a damn match and threw it at a powder keg. You should’ve seen their faces—Donovan looked like he was about to pass out. And Kier…”
Her pause was deliberate, baiting me.
I turned sharply. “Don’t.”
“Oh, come on.” Jenna leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “You can pretend all you want, but I was sitting three feet away. I saw the way he looked at you. Like the rest of us had vanished.”
My stomach twisted. “That’s not what it was.”
Her brow arched. “Then what was it?”
I opened my mouth, but no words came. Because I didn’t know. Because part of me didn’t want to admit the truth: that the way he’d looked at me had burned hotter than it ever had before. Like five years hadn’t dulled it—if anything, it had sharpened the hunger.
“He’s Ironclad,” I said finally, retreating to logic. “He’s the client, Jenna. That’s all that matters.”
“Bullshit,” she said flatly. “He’s not just a client. He’s the Kier you used to tell me about—the one who made you laugh, your first kiss, the one who you said felt like…” Her voice softened. “Like home.”
The word sliced me open. Home. It wasn’t fair. Because home was supposed to be safety, comfort, belonging. Not a bond that threatened to swallow me whole.
“That was another life,” I whispered. “I chose to leave it.”
“And yet here you are,” Jenna countered, “shaking like you just saw a damn ghost.”
I dropped onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. “You don’t get it. The mate bond doesn’t care what I want. It doesn’t care that I walked away, that I built this life. All it does is pull.”
She studied me for a long moment. “Then maybe stop pretending you can outrun it.”
I lifted my head, glare sharp. “And what—just fall back into his world? Let the bond decide my life for me? I won’t do it, Jenna. Not again. Freedom means nothing if I hand it over because some ancient magic says he’s mine.”
Jenna leaned back, exhaling. “I’m not saying surrender. I’m saying face it. Because whether you like it or not, you’re tangled up in this now. And if you keep pretending otherwise, it’s going to eat you alive.”
Her words lodged in my chest. Because she wasn’t wrong.
The truth was, I hadn’t stopped feeling his pull in that boardroom. Every glance, every word was a battle. And the worst part? A part of me—the traitorous part—had wanted to close the distance, not widen it.
My phone buzzed on the table. We both glanced at it. Donovan’s message lit the screen: Follow-up with Ironclad confirmed. Friday morning. Be ready.
Friday. Just two days.
I swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the phone until my knuckles whitened.
Jenna gave a low whistle. “Round two. Guess you don’t get much time to run.”
“I’m not running,” I said quickly. Then softer, “I’m not.”
She didn’t argue. She didn’t need to. We both knew I was lying.
I pushed to my feet, pacing to the window again. The city lights blurred against the glass, as restless as my own reflection staring back. Somewhere across this skyline, Kier was awake too. I felt it in my bones, in the thrum of the bond under my skin.
“I won’t let him decide my life,” I said finally, more to myself than to her.
“Then set the boundary,” Jenna said, standing to leave. She paused at the door, her gaze steady. “But be prepared to bleed for it.”
The door clicked shut behind her.