15

Inside the study, his personal Beta, Fadil, stood upright with full respect, reporting as if delivering the results of a war patrol.

“Alpha Declan, as per the previous report the opposing party’s strategy to pressure our company has finally collapsed. They’ve announced bankruptcy. An hour ago, I also submitted the acquisition plan according to your orders.”

Fadil paused, then continued carefully.

“But their CEO is asking for the acquisition price to be raised by another two billion.”

Declan sat back in his black leather chair, his fingers flipping through the documents page by page with calm movements. His face was blank, showing no emotion like a wolf that had already smelled its enemy’s fear before the war even began.

From his expression, it was clear he had expected that demand.

“No need,” he said shortly.

His tone was cold, sharp, leaving no room for argument.

“Let them wait two more days. In the end, they’ll come to us by bowing, begging us to accept.”

Fadil nodded without hesitation.

For years at Declan’s side, he had witnessed hundreds of business battles that felt no different from territorial wars between packs. The weak were eaten. The careless were destroyed.

 Declan always won.

Fadil had been Declan’s Beta since they both graduated from business academy and Declan took over control of the Jordan Pack and turned the company into a new kingdom built on the bones of competitors.

Almost every time, Declan could find the enemy’s weak point with terrifying precision, then deliver the final blow that left no chance of recovery.

In three years, Declan not only defended the throne as the Alpha of the business pack, but expanded their influence threefold. Fadil had never seen anything like it in his entire life.

If the Alpha said the enemy would return… then the enemy would return.

Fadil held his breath for a moment, yet remained standing in place.

Declan finally lifted his gaze slightly, as if only now realizing something was unfinished.

“Any other reports?” he asked.

“There’s one more thing.” Fadil’s voice sounded hesitant for the first time. He swallowed, then said, “Peakmoon Pack contacted us recently. They want to open a new business but right now they’re short on investment.”

The moment that name left his mouth, the air in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

Declan’s gaze darkened.

His aura usually only a pressure you could feel but not see now thickened, making Fadil instinctively square his shoulders harder, as if his body had to be ready to receive the Alpha’s wrath at any moment.

Peakmoon Pack.

To Declan, it wasn’t merely a partner pack.

It was Zara’s pack, the Luna he had never truly accepted, yet whose name was already written into a marriage bond forced by the elders.

Declan had almost never lost in investments.

Only one exception: Peakmoon.

Every fund he threw into that pack always evaporated. Failed. Sank. As if there was a curse that swallowed Jordan's money whole.

But Peakmoon had a weapon that even an Alpha as strong as Declan found difficult to fight.

They always took the long way around.

They approached Trisha Declan’s grandmother, the old woman respected by the entire pack, whose single word could make even the most stubborn Alphas bow their heads.

Everyone knew Jordan Pack didn’t like Zara.

Even Declan himself had never truly liked her.

Yet Trisha treated Zara like her own flesh and blood like a child she protected with claws and fangs.

And every time Peakmoon mentioned Zara’s name in front of Trisha, the phone would ring on Declan’s desk. A gentle command yet impossible to refuse.

The investments weren’t huge. Not enough to shake the foundation of Jordan’s power.

But the failures happened again and again.

That was enough to make Declan feel like he was being toyed with.

Declan fell silent for a long moment, his dark eyes unmoving, like a wolf weighing whether to bite or let the prey live a little longer.

Fadil wasn’t sure whether he should step back and give the Alpha space to think.

But right then, a soft knock sounded at the door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Declan didn’t look up.

“Come in.”

The door opened slowly.

Zara stood at the threshold, hesitating for a fraction of a second before stepping inside. Her scent soft, distinct, mixed with something faint like rain on soil shifted the atmosphere of the room.

Not warmer.

But it's more complicated.

Inside, Zara saw Fadil.

Fadil gave a polite smile, nodded respectfully, then greeted her in a tone that still acknowledged Zara’s position as the Alpha’s wife.

Zara returned it with a small nod.

At Declan’s side, Fadil was one of the few people who still treated Zara like Luna Jordan even though everyone knew that in this pack, the title was like a crown that had never truly been placed upon her head.

Fadil immediately stepped back, gathered the files in his hands, then excused himself without much sound.

The door closed.

Now only the two of them remained.

Declan stayed seated, not even lifting his head. His voice was flat, cold, like ice scraped by a blade.

“What is it?”

Zara walked forward, then placed a document on Declan’s desk.

The papers were neat, their edges aligned, as if she had arranged all of this with extremely steady hands.

“I remade this document,” Zara said. “And I need your signature.”

Declan finally raised an eyebrow slightly yet still didn’t look at her face.

“What document?”

Zara opened her mouth to explain.

But before a single word could leave her lips, Declan seemed to suddenly recall Fadil’s report. The corner of his mouth lifted into a cold smile, not a warm smile, but the smile of an Alpha who had just found a reason to strike.

“So fast.”

Zara froze.

Declan leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp now, piercing through Zara as if he wanted to read the intentions hidden behind her ribs.

“In such a short time,” he continued, “your pack has already contacted you?”