When I finally lifted my eyes again, Finnick was watching me.
Not openly. Not obviously.
But closely enough that it felt like he was tracking every breath I took.
My composure wavered under that gaze. It wasn't aggressive. It wasn't sharp. It was steady, patient like someone who already knew how this would end and was simply waiting for me to catch up.
The air around him felt… tight. Controlled. As if the room itself knew who held authority here.
Then, just barely, the corner of his mouth moved.
Not a smile.
Something quieter.
Something that told me he was entertained.
"Yes," he said calmly. "I'm already mated. It happened a few days ago."
The words landed softly.
Too softly.
My chest tightened anyway.
His eyes flicked toward me.
Only for a second.
But my body reacted instantly, my heartbeat jumping hard and fast, like it had heard a call my mind hadn't given permission to answer.
Before I could form a response, Sarah gasped dramatically beside me.
"What? Mr. Norton, you're already married?" she cried. "That's terrible! All our female readers are going to be heartbroken!"
She sighed mournfully, then leaned forward again, curiosity burning bright. "I wonder what kind of woman your mate is. Is she from one of the powerful families?"
I stayed silent.
My back was straight. My hands rested neatly in my lap. I kept my expression smooth, professional, unreadable.
No one could see the storm moving inside me.
Because the bond he spoke of so easily wasn't distant or theoretical. It wasn't gossip or speculation.
It was real.
It was fresh.
And it was mine.
The strangest part wasn't that he admitted it.
It was the way he did unbothered, composed, as if this truth didn't carry weight. As if he wasn't sitting across from the very woman tied to him by pack law.
As if he were waiting.
Waiting to see how long I could keep pretending this was just another interview.
"Sarah!" I hissed under my breath, reaching out to tug her arm.
That question wasn't on our list. Not even close. It was far too personal and honestly, rude. My heart was still pounding from Finnick's last answer, and the last thing I needed was Sarah digging deeper.
Thankfully, Finnick didn't react the way I feared he might.
He didn't frown. He didn't bristle.
He simply smiled faint, unreadable and chose silence.
That alone reminded me how dangerous his calm was. Not the kind born from kindness, but the kind that came from control.
I cleared my throat quickly. "Alright, that's enough about Mr. Norton's private life," I said, forcing my voice steady. "Let's move on to questions about the company."
I didn't want to linger on bonds, mates, or anything that might expose the tight knot forming in my chest.
The rest of the interview stayed clean and professional. Strategy. Expansion. Market control. Finnor Group's future. Finnick answered smoothly, efficiently, like a man used to command and obedience. By the time we wrapped up, my shoulders finally relaxed.
"I'm glad Glamour Magazine reached out," Finnick said as he rose slightly in his chair and extended his hand. "This was a pleasant interview."
He shook Sarah's hand. Then Jenny's.
When it was my turn, he paused.
Just for a second.
His gaze dropped to my hand.
To the ring.
The corner of his mouth lifted again, slow and deliberate. "That's a beautiful ring."
Heat rushed straight to my face.
I pulled my hand back far too quickly, murmured something that barely sounded like thanks, and turned to follow the others out of the office. I didn't slow down until the doors closed behind us.
Only then did the tightness in my chest ease.
Beside me, Sarah suddenly shrieked.
"Oh my god! I shook hands with the president of Finnor Group!" she squealed. "I'm never washing this hand again. Ever!"
I turned to scold her, already exhausted only to stop short when I saw Finnick's secretary approaching us.
She carried several small, elegant boxes.
"Please wait," the secretary said politely. "This is a small token of appreciation from our president. One for each of you."
Sarah accepted hers like she'd just been handed treasure.
"A gift too?!" she gasped. "Wow, Mr. Norton is really something!"
She opened the box immediately.
Inside was a silk scarf. Chanel. Soft, expensive, unmistakably high-end.
"Of course," Sarah groaned happily. "Of course he'd give something like this. Look! We all have different colors!"
She turned to me eagerly. "Vivian, hurry up and open yours! I want to see what color you got."
I hesitated.
Something in my gut tightened. A quiet warning. I didn't want to open it not here, not in front of everyone.
But Sarah kept nudging me, pestering me until I finally gave in.
I lifted the lid.
And froze.
My breath caught.
I snapped the box shut instantly, my fingers shaking just a little.
"What?" Sarah frowned. "Why'd you close it so fast?"
I forced a smile that probably didn't fool anyone. "It's… just not my style," I said quickly.
I did not wait for a response as I fled for the nearest bathroom.
But my heart was racing.
Because inside that box wasn't just a scarf.
It was a message.
And somehow, without saying a word, Finnick had reminded me that this bond this connection was very real.
And very much under his control.