CHAPTER 5

The ink on his collarbone looked weathered, as if it had been etched into his skin years ago. If Jessa’s gossip held any weight, those digits—V25—had to be the birth date of the person who owned his heart.

I knew for a fact that Grant’s birthday fell in the spring, and the high elders of the Walker line were all winter-born. It certainly wasn't about me; my own birth-marking was in late autumn.

What could drive a man as frigid and calculating as Grant Walker to do something so permanent, so almost... sentimental? He must have been utterly consumed by this person. Suddenly, a wave of nauseating regret washed over me. Why hadn't I checked his status before that drunken moment of madness?

I had my own code. I didn't care how powerful or magnetic an Alpha was; I wasn't the type to interfere with someone else’s bond.

"Jessa," I whispered into the slate, "do you know anyone in his inner circle born on the twenty-fifth of August?"

"How would I know that? Westline Holdings is the apex predator of the corporate packs. Grant is the Alpha of the entire Walker lineage. I’m just a scavenger at the edge of his territory; I don't get invited to see his private records."

"You seem to know plenty when it suits you," I muttered.

"Wait!" Jessa’s voice spiked. "I think the pack’s lead counsel, Brooke Caldwell, has a summer birth-date. I saw her credentials once. She’s lethal, polished, and breathtaking. There were rumors everywhere when she accompanied Grant to the Solstice Gala. I’ll find a visual for you."

"Don't bother," I said, cutting her off.

The pieces fell into place with a sickening click. No wonder Grant had been so brutal at dinner. He was protecting his reputation. By treating me like dirt in front of the others, he was ensuring that if I ever tried to claim we’d shared a bed, I’d look like a delusional liar.

To lead a pack like Westline, you had to be a master of the long game.

I hung up, scrubbed my face, and forced myself to focus on the new territorial outlines on my screen. My mother’s apothecary bills were piling up, and I didn't have the luxury of pining over a man who viewed me as a liability.

I worked until my eyes burned, completely ignoring my slate as it flickered to life repeatedly in the shadows. It was only when I finally prepared to collapse into sleep that I saw the notifications. Three missed voice calls from Grant, placed hours ago, and a single text.

“Contact me the moment you are awake.”

My heart hammered. What did he want? A formal threat? A bag of gold to buy my silence? If I took a single coin from him, it would turn what happened into a transaction.

I started to type: Let’s act as though the ritual night never occurred. Your secrets are safe with me.

But as my thumb hovered over the send icon, I stopped. I didn't want a link to him at all. I deleted his contact entirely, severing the digital tie. That should give him the peace of mind he wanted.

I fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep, only to be jolted awake by Howard Pierce screaming through the speaker of my slate.

"Hand over the Westline Holdings project folders to Anna immediately! You're off the file!"

"Sir, I—" Before I could finish, the line went dead.

I scrambled out of bed, adrenaline surging. I needed to find the contract to hand it over, but as I tore through my luggage, the leather folder was nowhere to be found. I distinctly remembered having it when I arrived at the resort.

Then, the blood drained from my face.

The VTN ROOM.

In my panicked flight at dawn, I must have left the pack’s most sensitive documents right there on the nightstand. Which meant Grant Walker was currently holding my entire career in his hands.