"Ahhhh——" Eden Collins suddenly shrieked with excitement from her seat at the computer, frantically waving at Ada Clara, who was sitting quietly on the sofa reading a magazine. "Clara! Come look at this — cosplay!!"
"Who's cosplaying?" Clara asked absently. "Got you this worked up?"
Collins's face was alight with excitement. "Someone on Ist just posted a photo — this user called 'C-Cup' was walking along the Bund scenic trail five days ago and actually caught a cosplay car-sex scene on camera..."
Collins dragged Clara over to the screen and pointed at a dark, blurry photograph. "Look at that — what a massive dog! Those pointy ears, and that thick tail — oh my God... it's insane, ahhhh——"
Clara looked at the image on the screen, and the color instantly drained from her face. Against the black night sky sat a supercar, and draped across its hood was a slender feminine figure, a hulking beast resembling a dog pressing down on top of her.
The photo had been taken from a distance and from the side. The night was too dark — only faint silhouettes were visible, and neither face could be made out.
"Why are you getting so worked up over nothing?" Clara turned away, her expression complicated. "Cosplay is nothing new. You're overreacting."
"The thing is, it looks almost impossible to tell if it's real or staged. 'C-Cup' says he heard sounds — like a dog, but also like a wolf — so it was probably a wolfdog, which would explain the size of the shadow." Collins shook her head in disbelief. "These days people really commit to the bit! But honestly, what's the difference between cosplay and a regular car hookup?"
Clara's expression went flat. "If you're that interested, go try it yourself."
"I have zero Libido in that!" Collins' attention snapped back to the screen. "God, people really have nothing better to do. It's already been shared tens of thousands of times. The comments are almost at ten thousand too — everyone's debating whether it's a wolf or a dog in the cosplay, though most people think wolfdog. Some are even begging people to track down the license plate number."
Clara's face went bloodless. She stared intently at the photo. The license plate was not visible in the shot. Only then did she quietly exhale.
Collins cracked her knuckles eagerly. "Judging by the car, it's definitely some world-class luxury model. People's tracking skills are insane these days — do you think they'll pull the Bund road camera footage and figure out the plate number?"
"It's just gossip to kill time — don't believe a word of it." Clara gave Collins a light tap on the head. "The blogger probably just Photoshopped the whole thing for attention. Ist pulls stunts like this every other day, and they almost always turn out to be fake. Only you would fall for something like this."
Collins grinned. "What if it's real though? Better to believe it might be than to dismiss it entirely."
"I give up on you." Clara returned to the sofa and picked her magazine back up, but after two pages she felt too restless to focus. She stole a glance at her best friend, who was now completely absorbed in scrolling, then quietly took out her phone and sent a Fak message to "Baby": Where are you? Something happened.
Five minutes later, Baby replied: At the office. Coming right now.
Clara was taken aback: Wasn't your flight supposed to be tonight? I was going to pick you up at the airport. Wait — I'll be there in a minute.
"Hey." Clara pocketed her phone and smiled at Collins. "My guy got back early. I've got to go — I'll make it up to you with dinner next time."
"Look at you." Collins groaned. "The moment a man shows up, friends don't exist anymore. Fine, go roll around in bed. But next time I'm making your man pay through the nose for a meal."
"Absolutely." Clara grabbed her bag and headed for the door. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."
She went downstairs, stepped out of the alley, flagged down a cab, and headed straight for Ruan International.
The pretty receptionist at the front desk broke into a radiant smile the moment she saw Clara. "Miss Ada, the President is in a meeting right now. Please wait in his office."
"Thank you." Clara clicked down the hallway in her heels with practiced elegance toward the executive office.
"Honestly..." The moment Clara was out of earshot, the receptionist's bright smile faded. She turned to the polished-looking woman beside her and sighed. "Some people have all the luck. Reeling in a man that handsome and that loaded. She looks fine, but there are way more gorgeous women in this company — how does she keep the President's attention?"
Cara Nora, the HR specialist nearby, gave a thin smile. "He doesn't fish in his own pond." She didn't understand young people these days — dolling themselves up every day trying to lure successful men. Wanting to be a mistress and broadcasting it to the world. Ridiculous.
"That's not necessarily a rule," the receptionist said, swaying her figure as she turned back to sort through some documents, her voice sugary. "A man of the President's caliber can have any woman he wants. I give it time before he loses interest in Miss Ada."
"You've only been here a little over a month — there's a lot you don't know." Cara Nora laughed lightly, took the documents, and walked away — then stopped after a few steps and turned back. "The President and Miss Ada have been through a great deal together. They're not married yet, but what they have runs deep. She's not someone just any woman can displace."
The receptionist smiled and said nothing more. Please. Sour grapes. There was no wall that couldn't be chipped away — only women who didn't try hard enough.
Since Clara came by the office so often, the staff had long since come to regard her as the lady of the house. She walked through unimpeded and let herself into the executive office.
It was vast and immaculate. On the spotless desk sat a framed photograph: a young girl in a white gauze dress and a pale blue embroidered sun hat, seated in an endless open grassland, laughing brilliantly as she embraced a large and powerful steppe wolf. The wolf sat docilely in her arms, tongue lolling out to lick her fair cheek.
Clara reached out and let her fingertips trail lightly over the wolf's ear in the photo. A quiet, contented smile crossed her lips. Time had slipped away so quickly — somehow, in what felt like a blink, several years had passed. Those golden days of youth were gone and could not be reclaimed.
"Clara."A low, magnetic voice sounded behind her. A pair of broad hands settled onto her shoulders. A face of cold, sculpted beauty slowly broke into a look of indulgent warmth.
"What are you so lost in?"
His dark suit was tailored impeccably, without a single crease. His features were sharp and perfect as if carved from stone, and his deep, cool amber eyes looked down at the woman seated before him, softening imperceptibly with tenderness.
The sudden voice made Clara jump. She stood up and pressed a hand to her startled chest. "You said your flight was tonight — why are you back early?"
"I wanted to see you. Finished my business ahead of schedule." His cool fingers toyed with her earlobe as he leaned down and pressed his tongue to her bare cheek. "Did you miss me?"
Clara pushed him away, her stomach knotting with anxiety. "Joshua, I need to talk to you about something."
"It can wait." Rory Joshua lifted her smoothly into his arms and carried her toward the private room.
"What are you doing?" Clara panicked. "This is serious—"
"The sky could be falling and it would still have to wait." He set her down on the table, and everything else ceased to matter.
"Mm—" There had been no preamble. Clara winced at the sudden pain and clutched his neck tightly, swatting him in frustration. "That hurts — be gentler."
"Clara." He kissed her deeply. "I've been going out of my mind."
The blunt words flooded her cheeks with heat. She lay back and held him close, surrendering to the pleasure he gave her.
In the midst of it all, Clara felt something soft and warm brush across the back of her hand. She reached back — and felt a thick, heavy tail. She bit her lip, perspiration sliding from her brow, breathless. "Mm... your tail — pull it back in."
She looked up at Joshua and startled. His ears had moved — without her noticing, they had shifted to the top of his head, pointed and erect. Clara quickly reached up to cover them, whispering, "You promised me you wouldn't shift."
"Baby." The corners of his mouth revealed two sharp fangs. "It's just the two of us. What are you afraid of?"
Her lips were covered before she could answer. His fang grazed the tip of her tongue. She held him with one arm and quietly pressed her palm over his ear with the other—
"President—"
The door swung open without warning. A striking, curvaceous woman stepped in. "The meeting is about to start."
"Get out." Joshua's voice was ice — utterly devoid of warmth. He pulled Clara tightly against him as his body shuddered, carrying her with him over the edge.
Clara buried her face in his chest, mortified beyond words, wishing the floor would swallow her whole.
The woman at the door clenched her jaw, turned, and pulled the door shut behind her. Joshua caught his breath slowly, his shifted features fading back to normal. He straightened his clothes and kissed Ada Clara's face. "Clara — I have an urgent meeting. I'll take you to dinner after."
"Wait." Her face still flushed, Clara smoothed her rumpled dress, then pulled out her phone and held it up in front of him, her voice edged with frustration. "See for yourself. I told you not to do things like that out in the open — now someone's photographed it and put it online. It's already spreading everywhere. How am I supposed to face anyone?"
Joshua looked at the photo on her phone and couldn't help but laugh. "You rushed all the way here for this? You can't make anything out in that picture. Don't worry about it."
"I'm scared something will happen." His dismissiveness only deepened her unease. "What if someone figures out what you are?"
"All right, I'll be more careful." He pinched her flushed cheek with fond indulgence. "Go handle my meeting. Wait for me here."
Clara opened the wardrobe, took out a change of clothes, and slipped into the bathroom to shower. Warm water rained down from the overhead showerhead, and as it did, the image on Ist surfaced again in her mind, unsettling and persistent.
She came out toweling her damp hair to find Faithe Elsie — Joshua's secretary — standing by the window. At the sound of footsteps, Faithe Elsie turned and looked Clara over with cold, measured eyes. "Does everything you two do have to be this reckless?"
Still flustered from earlier, Clara hesitated before answering quietly. "Did you want something?"
"When are you going to leave him?" Faithe Elsie crossed the room toward her, heels clicking. "You know about what's online. What exactly are you trying to do — get him killed?"
"That's between him and me." Clara turned away, her voice cooling. "It has nothing to do with you."
"Don't you love him?" Faithe Elsie demanded, her composure cracking into anger. "If you love him, you should think about what's best for him. His existence cannot be exposed. If this ever gets out—"
"If you think you can take him away from me, you're welcome to try." Clara met her gaze steadily, her voice quiet but firm, cutting her off. "I've said it before and I'll say it again — whatever happens between us is our business. Outside interference isn't welcome."
"You—" Faithe Elsie's fury broke the surface. Her fangs appeared at the corners of her lips, and her pale, slender hand twisted in an instant into a set of razor-sharp claws. "Who do you think you are?!"
"I'm his woman." Clara held her ground without flinching. "Whatever you're hoping for — Joshua and I both see it perfectly clearly. But what he and I have isn't as fragile as you imagine. You won't be able to drive a wedge between us."
"You're not the same kind. He's only interested in you because you're a novelty. He'll come back to me eventually."
"Then wait until he's tired of me." Clara stifled a yawn. "Now please leave. I'd like to rest."
Faithe Elsie shot her a withering glare, turned, and slammed the door behind her.
The moment the door closed, the composure Clara had maintained crumbled. She sank into the sofa, drew her knees to her chest, and buried her face against them.
What do I do?
Can we really walk this road together until we're old?
In this world — is there truly a place where Joshua can belong?