CHAPTER 4

The role of a liaison in a territorial firm might sound prestigious, but everyone in the pack knew the subtext: it was about baring your throat and pouring the wine.

Grant’s words stung like a silver burn across my skin. Did he really think I was that type of wolf? Did he think Howard had served me up to him like a ritual offering after last night?

I felt the heat crawling up my neck, but I forced myself to stay still. I couldn't afford to walk out. I needed this position—the medicinal herbs for my mother’s fading health cost more than my monthly stipend. If I lost this job, I lost her.

The air in the room turned brittle until Howard broke the silence with a greasy, forced chuckle. "He’s always been an analyst, Alpha Walker. I simply thought that since you and Mars both hail from Havencrest, you might find common ground over a meal. That’s the only reason he’s here. If his presence offends you, I’ll have him removed immediately."

Howard shot me a look that practically shoved me toward the door. I was halfway out of my seat when Grant spoke, his voice a low, heavy vibration.

"Sit."

"Mars, did you hear? The Alpha told you to sit," Howard chirped, his tone changing instantly.

I sat, my spine as rigid as a spear. Howard’s eyes burned into me, silently demanding that I fill Grant's chalice. I reached for the carafe, but Grant’s large, scarred hand moved faster, covering the rim of his glass before I could pour a drop.

"Howard," Grant said, his gaze fixed solely on my manager. "If you intend to keep your standing in the Prosperity Consortium, stop using these amateur diversions. I’ve been tracking the Westline Holdings project myself. Your pack is overextended. Submit the request for a secondary bond to cover the territory's loss immediately. Minimize the damage while you still can."

It was an ultimatum, plain and simple. Grant’s brows were knit in a shadow of pure irritation.

"Of course, Alpha. My apologies. Next time, I will ensure—"

"There won't be a next time."

Grant stood abruptly, his presence filling the room until it felt like the walls were closing in. He swept out with his secretary, leaving the air heavy with the scent of cedar and cold judgment. He never looked at me once. Not a single glance to acknowledge that we had shared the same breath only hours before.

The second the door thudded shut, Howard’s composure shattered. He turned on me, his face flushing a mottled, angry red.

"What good are you? You couldn't even manage a smile? Did you think the Alpha of Westline came here to look at your miserable, stone-cold face?"

"Sir, acting as a social distraction isn't in my contract," I replied, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. "I wasn't trained to be anyone's entertainment."

"You’re baring your teeth at me now? Do you have any idea the political capital I spent to get him in this room? I thought you were a valuable asset, but you’re dead weight when the hunt begins! I should cast you out of this firm tonight!"

He spat one last curse and stormed out, leaving me alone in the oppressive silence of the private hall.

It was the most humiliating moment of my professional life. I expected to break down, but the tears stayed locked behind a wall of numbness. I’d known since I joined this corporate pack that the lower your rank, the more you had to endure.

I just hadn't expected Grant to be so cruel. I thought... I thought after last night, knowing I was a novice, he would have granted me some shred of dignity. The rumors were right: Grant Walker was a machine, devoid of warmth.

I was limping back to my room when my slate buzzed. It was Jessa.

"Mars? Why did Howard just scrub your name from the Team 3 comms? What the hell happened in there?"

"Nothing."

"Did the Alpha-trap fail?" Jessa’s intuition was sharp, even when she was trying to be funny. "I always suspected a man like Walker was too disciplined for such things. They say he’s practically an ascetic."

I let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "An ascetic?"

If he was an ascetic, then who was the beast who had claimed me in the VTN ROOM?

"That’s just the reputation he keeps," Jessa continued. "Word is, he’s already devoted to someone—a soul-bond he’s been carrying for years."

Jessa’s gossip sparked a memory of the marks I’d seen on Grant’s collarbone last night.

It wasn't just a pack mark. It was a date.