Raven:
I stare at my closet like it's an enemy I need to defeat.
It's just a business dinner. I'm his assistant. This means nothing.
Except my hands are shaking as I pull out dress after dress, rejecting each one.
The black one, Nyx purrs in my mind. The one that shows our legs.
"It's a business dinner," I say out loud. "I need to look appropriate."
Appropriate for what? For making our mate lose his mind?
"He's not our mate. He rejected us, remember?"
Then why did you almost let him kiss you in that elevator?
I freeze, my hand on a navy sheath dress.
The elevator.
I can still feel his hand on my waist. I still feel the heat of his body as he caged me against the wall. Still smell his scent, pine and something darker, something that made Nyx want to bare her throat and submit.
For one perfect, terrible moment, I wanted him to kiss me.
I wanted him to close that last inch of distance and claim my mouth with his.
My body had arched toward him without permission, my hands pressed against his chest feeling his heartbeat thunder beneath my palms.
I wanted it.
Even knowing who he is. What he did. What his family took from me.
I wanted Adrian Lockwood to kiss me.
"Stop it," I snap at myself, shoving the navy dress back into the closet.
Why? It's the truth. Our body knows what it wants.
"Our body is a traitor."
Or maybe you're finally admitting that revenge isn't the only thing you feel.
I pull out a black dress with a modest neckline and a slit that stops just above the knee. Elegant. Sophisticated. The kind of thing an executive assistant would wear to a business dinner.
But as I hold it up to my body in the mirror, I see something else.
I see the way the fabric will hug my curves. The way the slit will show just enough leg to be tantalizing. The way the neckline, while modest, will draw attention to my collarbones and my throat.
The throat he was staring at in the elevator like he wanted to sink his teeth into it.
Yes, Nyx purrs, That's the one.
I should choose something else. Something frumpy and shapeless that won't give him any ideas.
But then I remember the look in his eyes when he asked why he could touch me. The desperation and confusion.
The hunger.
He doesn't know who I am, doesn't recognize me as the fat, pathetic girl he rejected eight years ago.
But he wants me.
His wolf wants me.
And suddenly, standing in my tiny apartment with this dress in my hands, I realize something.
I can use this.
I've been so focused on getting access to files, on finding evidence, on destroying the Lockwoods through exposure.
But what if there's another way?
What if I let him get close? Let him think I'm falling for him, let him trust me and bring me deeper into his world?
An assistant can only access so much. But someone he trusts? Someone he wants?
That person could access everything.
I slip the dress on and study myself in the mirror.
The woman staring back at me doesn't look like a victim. Doesn't look like someone planning revenge.
She looks powerful. Dangerous. Like someone who knows exactly what she's doing.
Good, Nyx says with satisfaction. Let him see what he threw away. Let him want what he can never truly have.
"Because when this is over," I say softly to my reflection, "when I've destroyed his family and exposed everything they did, he'll realize the woman he wanted was the same girl he rejected. And that will destroy him more than anything else I could do."
Perfect, Nyx agrees. Now let's make him suffer.
The buzzer rings at exactly six thirty.
Of course Adrian Lockwood is punctual. Alphas always are.
I grab my clutch and take one last look in the mirror. Black dress, my hair loose in waves down my back, a minimal makeup except for red lipstick that makes my lips look fuller.
I look like I'm going on a date.
But this isn't a date. This is work and this is war.
I take the elevator down to the lobby. Adrian is waiting by a sleek black car, and the moment he sees me, he goes completely still.
His eyes track over me slowly. Taking in every inch. The dress, the heels and the way my hair falls over my shoulders.
When his gaze meets mine again, his pupils are dilated and his jaw is tight.
He doesn't say anything. Just opens the car door for me.
I slide into the backseat, hyperaware of his hand on the small of my back as he guides me in. Just a brief touch.
But it burns.
He gets in beside me, and the driver pulls away from the curb.
The car is too small. Too intimate. I can smell him, feel his presence taking up all the space.
"You look nice," he says finally. His voice is rougher than usual, like the words are dragged from somewhere deep in his chest.
"Thank you. I wasn't sure what the dress code was for business dinners."
"It's fine. You're fine." The words come out clipped, like he's forcing himself to keep them brief.
Fine? Nyx snorts. He looks like he wants to devour us.
She's not wrong. I can feel his eyes on me even though I'm staring straight ahead.
"Who will be at this dinner?" I ask, keeping my voice neutral.
"The Bergman Group. They're potential investors in our European expansion." He shifts slightly, and suddenly his thigh is pressed against mine. "You're there to take notes. Handle any documents they want to review. Standard assistant duties."
"Of course."
His hand settles on my thigh.
Not inappropriately high. Just resting there, his palm warm through the thin fabric of my dress.
My breath catches.
"Is this necessary?" I ask quietly.
"Is what necessary?"
"Your hand. On my thigh."
He doesn't move it. "Does it bother you?"
Yes. No. I don't know.
"It's unprofessional," I say instead.
"Probably." But he still doesn't move it. "Tell me something, Ms. Stone. Have you ever worked for an alpha before?"
"No."
"Alphas are territorial. Possessive. We don't share what's ours."
My heart pounds. "I'm not yours. I'm your employee."
"Semantics." His thumb strokes once across my thigh, and I feel the touch everywhere. "You work for me. In my building. At my desk. That makes you mine in every way that matters."
"That's not how employment law works," I manage.
He laughs, low and dark. "Employment law doesn't account for wolf instincts. And my wolf is very clear about what belongs to him."
The car pulls up to the restaurant before I can respond. A valet opens my door, and Adrian's hand finally leaves my thigh.
I can still feel the ghost of his touch as we walk inside.
The restaurant is exactly what I expected. Exclusive. The kind of place where everyone knows everyone, and being seen here means something.
A hostess leads us to a private dining room in the back. The Bergman Group is already seated at a long table.
Three men in expensive suits and two women who look sharp and calculating. All of them stand when we enter.
"Adrian." The oldest man extends his hand. "Good to see you."
"Mr Robert." Adrian shakes his hand, then gestures to me. "This is Ms. Stone, my executive assistant. She'll be taking notes this evening."
All eyes turn to me.
I see the assessment. The judgment. Assistant means I'm invisible. Beneath notice.
"Pleasure to meet you," I say smoothly, taking the seat Adrian pulls out for me.
He sits beside me. Close enough that our shoulders almost touch.
The dinner begins with small talk. Wine is poured. Appetizers arrive. Robert Bergman asks about the Seattle market, about pack territories in the Northwest, about whether the Lockwood Pack has considered expanding into Portland.
I take notes on my tablet, my fingers moving quickly across the screen.
But I'm listening for more than just business talk.
I'm listening for names. Connections. Anything that might tie back to my father's murder.
"And how is Malcolm?" Robert asks. "I haven't seen your father in months."
Adrian's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. The shift is so subtle that someone who wasn't watching him closely would miss it. But I see the way his shoulders stiffen, the way his fingers tighten around his wine glass.
"He's well. Busy doing what retired Alpha's do." The words sound rehearsed, like he's said them a thousand times and no longer thinks about their meaning.
"And the engagement? I heard congratulations are in order."
My pen freezes on the tablet.
"The engagement to Anastasia Harrington," Robert continues, smiling. "A union of two of the most powerful packs in the region. That's wonderful."
"Yes." Adrian's voice loses all warmth, becoming distant and detached, almost like he's discussing a merger instead of a marriage.
"Will she be joining us tonight? I'd love to meet her."
"No. This is business." The finality in his tone makes it clear the subject is closed, the words clipped short as if saying more would reveal something he doesn't want known.
Robert nods and moves on, but I can feel the tension radiating from Adrian's body.
His hand finds my thigh again under the table.
This time, he squeezes.
Like he needs the anchor. Like touching me is the only thing keeping him calm.
I don't have an answer for that.
Dinner continues. The Bergman Group discusses investment terms, expansion timelines, and projected returns. Adrian handles it all with smooth competence that comes from years of these meetings, his responses measured and calculated.
But his hand never leaves my thigh.
And I don't ask him to move it.
We're halfway through the main course when I feel it.
A shift in the air. A presence entering the restaurant.
Multiple sources of Alpha energy..
Nyx goes on alert in my mind.
Adrian's hand tightens on my thigh, his body going rigid.
I look up just as the hostess leads a group into the private dining room next to ours.
The doors are open. I can see clearly.
Richard Harrington. Tall, silver-haired, radiating power. The alpha of the Harrington Pack.
Two other men I don't recognize.
And Anastasia.
She's wearing an emerald dress that probably costs more than my rent, her blonde hair swept up in an elegant twist. She looks like a princess. Perfect and untouchable.
Her eyes scan the room and land on our table.
On Adrian and on me sitting beside him.
On his hand, which is still on my thigh under the table where she can't see it, but somehow she knows.
Her expression doesn't change. But I see her wolf flash in her eyes. Just for a second. Territorial and furious.
"Adrian." Richard Harrington's voice carries across the space between rooms. "What a pleasant surprise."
Adrian's hand finally leaves my thigh. He stands, his face becoming a carefully constructed mask that reveals nothing of what he's thinking or feeling.
"Richard. I didn't realize you'd be here tonight."
"Last-minute meeting with some associates." Richard gestures to his table. "How is your dinner going?"
"Well. We're discussing the European expansion."
Anastasia's gaze slides to me. Her eyes move over my face, my dress, the way I'm sitting close to Adrian, and I see something dark flash across her expression before she smooths it away.
"And your assistant, I see. How thorough of you to bring support staff to a dinner meeting." The words are polite, but there's an edge underneath them that cuts like glass.
"Ms. Stone handles all my documentation needs." Adrian's response is matter-of-fact, dismissive even.
"Now if you'll excuse us, we're in the middle of negotiations."
Richard Harrington's eyes narrow slightly, but he nods. "Of course. Enjoy your evening."
The hostess closes the doors between the two dining rooms.
But I can feel Anastasia's eyes on me through the glass.
Adrian sits back down, his body tense and coiled like he's ready to fight.
"Sorry about that," Robert Bergman says with a forced laugh. "Pack politics. Always complicated."
Adrian nods his head in agreement
.
But his hand doesn't return to my thigh.
And I can't decide if I'm relieved or disappointed.
The rest of dinner passes in a blur of forced conversation and business terms I barely register.
All I can think about is Anastasia in the next room.
The way she looked at me like I was an insect she wanted to crush.
The way Adrian dismissed her so easily and how his wolf bristled with aggression when she appeared.
Finally, the contracts are signed. Handshakes are exchanged. The Bergman Group leaves through the front entrance.
"I'll have the car brought around," Adrian says. "Wait here."
He steps out into the main restaurant.
I gather my things, ready to follow him.
The door to the private dining room opens.
Anastasia steps inside.
Alone.
She closes the door behind her.
"Well," she says softly. "Aren't you enterprising."
I straighten, meeting her eyes. "Ms. Harrington. Can I help you with something?"
"Oh, I think you've already helped yourself to quite enough." She moves closer, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. "One day on the job, and you're already accompanying Adrian to private dinners. Wearing dresses like that. Sitting close enough to touch him."
"I'm his assistant. I go where he needs me."
"You're a replacement secretary." Her voice drops, becoming quieter but somehow more menacing. "You'll be gone in a month like all the others. Do you know how many assistants Adrian has had this year? Four. And you're just the latest."
"Then you have nothing to worry about."
Wrong thing to say.
Her face contorts with rage for just a second before she smooths it back into that perfect mask.
"Let me be very clear," she says, stepping closer.
"Adrian Lockwood is mine. He has been since we were twelve years old. Our packs are allied and our future is set."
"Then why are you here threatening me?"
"Because I see the way he looks at you." She leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "And I destroy threats before they become problems."
"I'm just doing my job."
"You're nobody. A lone wolf with no pack, no connections, no power." Her eyes rake over me with contempt. "Do you really think you can compete with me? Do you think one pretty dress and a few lingering glances mean anything?"
I should back down. Should be the meek assistant and let her have her tantrum.
But Nyx is snarling in my mind, and eight years of rage are bubbling up in my throat.
"I think," I say carefully, "that if you were as secure in your relationship as you claim, you wouldn't be cornering his assistant in a restaurant."
Her hand moves so fast I barely see it.
The slap cracks across my face like a gunshot.
Pain explodes through my cheek. My head snaps to the side. I taste blood where my teeth cut into my lip.
Nyx roars with fury.
RIP HER THROAT OUT!
I stagger back, my hand pressed to my burning cheek.
Anastasia stands there, breathing hard, her perfect composure finally shattered. "Stay away from him. Or next time, it won't just be a slap."
The door opens.
Adrian stands in the doorway.
His eyes land on me. On my reddening cheek. On the blood at the corner of my mouth.
Then they shift to Anastasia.
The temperature in the room drops. His wolf floods the space with so much alpha energy that even I want to submit, want to bare my throat and lower my eyes. The air itself feels heavy, oppressive, like the moment before a storm breaks.
Anastasia goes pale, taking a step back.
Adrian doesn't say a word to her.
Instead, he turns to me.
His eyes lock with mine. Storm gray and wild and absolutely furious.
"Hit her back."
The words hang in the air like a death sentence.
My heart stops.
Anastasia gasps. "Adrian, you can't be serious."
He doesn't even look at her. His gaze stays fixed on me, unwavering and intense.
"Hit her back," he says again, his voice low and dangerous and absolutely certain.
I stare at him, my cheek still burning, my lip still bleeding.
He just gave me permission to strike his fiancée.
The future Luna of the Harrington Pack.
The woman he's supposed to marry.
And the way he's looking at me…
Like I'm his to protect.
Like anyone who touches me deserves to be punished.
Like he'd burn down the world for me.
Nyx goes completely silent.
My hand trembles at my side.
Anastasia backs toward the door, her eyes wide with shock and fear. "You're insane. Both of you. When my father hears about this…"
"Hit her back," Adrian says a third time.
And I realize with perfect, terrible clarity that he means it.
That he's not going to stop me.
and he wants me to do it.
I look at Anastasia. At the woman who humiliated me eight years ago. Who poured wine on my head while the entire pack laughed.
Who just slapped me like I'm nothing.
Like I'm still that pathetic, fat girl who doesn't matter.
My hand curls into a fist.
And I take a step forward.