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I was practically sprinting through the streets of New Athens, dodging commuters like some desperate, badly dressed Olympic contender. People shouted as I brushed past them, bags swinging and papers almost flying out of my arms. I kept apologizing to each one because, even in panic mode, my instincts insisted on being polite.
"Excuse me—sorry! My bad! Please don't sue me!" I shouted, narrowly avoiding a collision with a guy carrying a tray of iced coffees.
My lungs felt on fire, my legs were screaming, and my brain... well, it was mostly busy cursing Rowan for having that ridiculous stamina that ruins lives and messes up schedules.
Why did I let him go so hard on me last night and this morning?
Oh right. It's because I have the self-control of a kid going wild in a candy store.
I raised my arm and waved frantically at an approaching cab. Luckily, the driver took pity on me, probably because I looked like a sweaty, breathless little man having an existential crisis at 8:40 in the morning.
As soon as I sank into the back seat, I let out a long, dramatic groan.
"How late?" the driver asked, glancing back at me in the mirror. Yelp, I guess it was just so obvious.
"Just under twenty minutes late," I muttered, rubbing my face in frustration. "Which means I'll be exactly fifteen minutes late to my doom."
He snorted. "Workplace?"
"Fairchild Innovations, please," I said to him gravely, like I was confessing to a crime. "My boss is going to kill me."
The cab sped through the traffic, and I sat there, frantically trying to smooth down my hair and wipe off the glowy aftermath of my night with Rowan. I still smelled faintly like a post-concert backstage encounter, praying Xavier wouldn't pick up on it. Then again, my boss had the scent-detection skills of a hunting wolf, so I wasn't exactly counting on miracles.
When we finally arrived at Fairchild Innovations, my stomach dropped.
The building loomed over New Athens like a gleaming titan, slick glass walls reflecting the morning light, sharp metallic edges that looked like they were crafted with intention, and the Fairchild logo all elegant in silver at the front. Even the air around it felt different, crisp and intimidating, like the building itself judged you the moment you got close.
Inside, the lobby stretched wide and tall, with cool marble floors that clicked loudly under quick footsteps and cascading ceiling lights that looked like floating crystals. There was also a huge holographic display showcasing everything from medical exo suits to environmental engineering tech.
Fairchild Innovations was all about cutting-edge solutions, mixing medicine, technology, and environmental science into one big empire of brilliance that was kind of scary.
And I worked here. Somehow.
Employees walked around with this intense purpose that suggested they hadn't slept since the last fiscal year. Everyone looked so polished and put together that I felt like an exhausted noodle in a bowl filled with sharp corporate knives.
I rushed across the lobby, ignoring the confused looks tossed my way. Someone even rolled their eyes. I caught the end of some whispers:
"Here we go again."
"Isn't this the third time this week?"
Rude, but fair.
I hit the elevator button like it had insulted my entire lineage and waited impatiently. My reflection in the mirrored elevator doors stared back at me: a twenty-four-year-old omega posing as a beta with messy dark hair, flushed cheeks, and a panicked look in my eyes.
Great. So professional.
As I tried to catch my breath, I finally decided to address the invisible audience in my head, because if there was ever a moment for some self-awareness, it was now.
My name is Theodore Pierce.
We don't talk about my middle name, so don't ask.
Theo, for anyone who's known me longer than five minutes. I'm your average twenty-four-year-old ome– I mean beta, just trying to get by with as little drama as possible.
People in my life, including my parents... they would describe me as hardworking, responsible, soft-spoken, disciplined, polite, dutiful older brother, and all those other words that scream, "This guy has his life together!"
I wish I could say that was true.
Underneath that shiny surface and perfectly ironed shirts, I'm actually a bit of a party animal who would hop from bed to bed just to keep my brain from exploding.
If my parents ever caught wind of that, they'd probably hold a funeral for the son they thought they raised.
Still, despite my chaotic inner life, I manage to keep up the perfect employee act, because for the past three years, I've been the personal assistant to:
Xavier Fairchild.
Yes, that Xavier Fairchild.
The hottest, richest, most dangerously attractive alpha in the whole country. The kind of guy people write fanfiction about—omegas would throw themselves at him. Heck, even betas and some alphas stare too long whenever he walks by.
And he was my boss.
My stone-faced, cold-hearted, impossible-to-please boss.
Everyone feared him. He never smiled, joked, or cared about anything but work. He glared like it was his full-time job and seemed allergic to small talk.
And unfortunately, I adored him. He somehow snagged my heart... and now I was late to his meeting.
Perfect. Just perfect.
Finally, the elevator doors slid open, releasing me onto the executive floor. The air up here felt different—colder, quieter, sharper. Each step echoed in that intimidating hallway lined with dark wood panels and frosted glass offices. People looked up as I hurried past—some offered sympathetic glances while others shook their heads as if they were ticking off yet another one of my mess-ups.
And honestly… they weren't wrong.
I'd been slipping up lately.
At first, I was the model employee… arriving early, organizing every appointment with military precision, handling paperwork like I was born with a stapler in my hand. But recently? Let's just say my nightlife got a little too lively—clubs, drinks, questionable decisions, and a string of eager partners didn't exactly lead to a well-rested, focused personal assistant.
Theodore Pierce, a paragon of responsibility by day, and a reckless menace to society by night.
I'd already been late twice this week, forgotten to send an important confirmation email yesterday, and mixed up two client documents last Friday while recovering from a night that had left me... a little rearranged. Xavier didn't say anything, but his glare had been enough to make me feel like he was considering whether firing me would boost company efficiency by at least thirty percent.
If I messed up again—really messed up—he might actually let me go. And he wouldn't even flinch while doing it. Xavier Fairchild wasn't sentimental, patient, or forgiving. He definitely wouldn't tolerate a PA showing up late, smelling like last night's passionate adventures.
Losing this job would practically be the end of me.
Well, not literally... but my parents would definitely hire a priest for me.
I hurried down the final stretch of the hallway, catching my breath, palms still sweaty and nerves shaking with anticipation. The big glass doors of the boardroom loomed like the gates to my own personal trial. Through the frosted panels, I could see shadows, people moving around, papers rustling, someone pointing at a screen—the meeting had already started.
Of course it had.
I stopped right in front of the door and closed my eyes for a second, trying to gather the last bits of dignity I had left. If I opened this door and Xavier looked at me like he did last time, with that cold, perfectly sculpted glare—gods, I might just melt right into the carpet.
"Alright, Theo," I whispered to myself, adjusting my tie even though it was already perfect. "You can do this. Just... don't look directly into his eyes, don't ramble, don't trip, don't embarrass yourself, don't smell like Rowan, don't sweat too much. Don't—"
Someone walking by muttered, "He's talking to himself again," but I chose to ignore that.
I placed my hand on the door handle, mentally prepping for the moment Mr. Xavier Fairchild's icy gaze locked onto me like a sniper's aim.
God help my soul.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door.