CHAPTER 4

DELIA WHITAKER POV

"Is that really something we should be speculating about, Kellan?" I ask, keeping my eyes fixed on the driving range at Silvermere Country Club.

Kellan Rhodes leans in close, lowering his voice. "Look at him, Delia. He hasn't smiled once since he stepped out of the vehicle. If the Alpha didn't get what he wanted from his Luna last night, someone is going to pay for it today."

I look over at Rowan Calloway. He stands on the manicured grass, swinging his iron with fluid, deadly precision. The ball cuts through the air, dropping clean into the far hole with a quiet thunk.

Beside him, Alistair Winslow—the visiting Alpha of Digital Sports Technology—swings wild, missing his mark by thirty paces. Alistair wipes his slick forehead and signals for a servant to bring over refreshments.

I immediately step forward, carrying a chilled bottle of water and a hand towel. "Alpha Calloway."

Rowan takes the towel without a word, dabbing his brow as Alistair steps up, his small, predatory eyes scanning my body from head to toe.

I wear a high-collared white shirt and a fitted skirt that stops at my knees, my long hair pinned back to reveal my neck. It is standard, formal pack attire for an administrative assistant, but Alistair’s gaze lingers on my chest with dirty, open lingering heat.

"Alpha Calloway," Alistair sneers, a vile grin spreading across his face. "Your new assistant isn't just young. She's built like a prime breeding female."

Rowan's posture goes entirely still. "You flatter her, Winslow."

Alistair takes a heavy step closer, his eyes locked onto mine. "Tell me, sweetheart—do you know how to handle a golf club?"

"I don't, Alpha Winslow," I answer coldly, taking a step back. I take the empty water bottle from Rowan's hand, keeping my tone strictly professional. "Excuse me."

As I turn to step away, Alistair's thick hand shoots out, grabbing my waist and squeezing my hip hard. "If you don't know, let me show you how a real Alpha handles a female."

My wolf snarling inside my veins, I don't hesitate. I slam the sharp heel of my shoe directly down onto his instep.

Alistair howls in shock, dropping his grip as he stumbles backward, glaring at me with red-rimmed eyes.

I step behind Rowan instantly, my heart pounding against my ribs. In a high-level territorial negotiation, striking a visiting Alpha is ground for immediate dismissal—or worse, pack punishment.

"Alpha Winslow," Rowan's deep voice rumbles, cutting through the heavy air like a broadsword. "She belongs to Calloway Tower."

His tone is flat, but the lethal alpha pressure rolling off his skin turns the grass around his boots ice-cold.

Alistair freezes, his jaw working as he takes in Rowan's expression. He raises his hands in a fake gesture of peace. "Ah! My mistake, Calloway. I apologize. I thought she was just company staff. Since you haven't claimed her fully yet, I assumed she was open stock."

"Apologize to her," Rowan says smoothly, twirling the iron in his grip with terrifying calm. "Now."

Alistair's face darkens. "Calloway, we are talking about a major supply contract. She is just a low-tier female in your administration—"

The humiliation of being called a plaything stabs straight into my heart, bringing back the bitter memories of three years ago when my reputation was dragged through the mud.

"Alpha Winslow," I step out from behind Rowan, my chin lifted high, my voice echoing across the green. "Do you speak to the females in your own pack like this? Or do you only assault women when you think there are no repercussions? Being an Alpha doesn't give you the right to treat staff like cattle."

Kellan steps up beside me, his hand resting on his sidearm. "Calloway Corporation does not do business with packs that disrespect our administrative officers, Winslow."

Alistair looks between Rowan’s deadly silence and my glaring eyes, realizing he has crossed a line he cannot walk back. "Miss Whitaker... I apologize. I spoke out of turn."

Rowan swings his club with sudden, terrifying force. The white golf ball snaps off the metal head, whistling past Alistair's ear by a millimeter before embedding itself deep into the trunk of a oak tree behind him.

Alistair falls to his knees, his face pale as death, sweating through his collar.

Rowan doesn't even look down at him. He turns on his heel, walking toward the private path. "We're done here."

I grab my leather briefcase, rushing to keep pace with his long, dominant strides. "Alpha Calloway... thank you for backing me."

Rowan continues walking, his tall frame blocking the wind as he speaks without turning his head.

"The ones in the wrong are those who use power to harass you," Rowan rumbles, his voice carrying an absolute authority that makes my chest swell. "Never bow your head to a predator in this city. You represent the Calloway Pack. You do not suffer in silence for anyone."

My eyes burn with unexpected tears. For three years, no one had ever stood up for me like that. No one had ever told me I wasn't to blame for someone else's filth.

"Understood, Alpha," I say, my voice thick with gratitude.

Rowan stops, glancing back over his shoulder. Seeing the unshed tears in my eyes, his harsh facial lines soften slightly. "You held your ground well. Don't ruin it by crying now."

"I'm not crying," I say quickly, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

Kellan catches up to us at the perimeter gate, checking his tablet. "Alpha, I've already notified the logistics division. The supply contract with Winslow's territory is formally terminated."

Canceling that contract means Calloway Corporation loses its primary micro-chip supplier for the northern territory defense systems, creating an immediate operational crisis. Yet Rowan didn't hesitate for a single second to protect my dignity.

By three o'clock that afternoon, we are boarded on the private pack transport flying straight to the Capital to secure an emergency replacement deal with Mercer Technologies.

Two weeks of brutal, non-stop negotiations follow. I manage every schedule, every contract draft, and every pack security detail alongside Rowan until the ink on the new contract is dry.

On our final evening in the Capital, with our flight back to Briarford City scheduled for the next morning, Kellan joins me in the hotel lobby.

"Delia," Kellan says, buttoning his jacket. "I'm heading out to the central market to pick up some regional herbs for my family. Do you want to come along?"

"I actually need to buy some local wolf-silk scarves for Elspeth and my sister Bryony," I say, checking my purse.

Kellan looks back toward the private elevator bank where Rowan is stepping out, wearing a dark wool coat. "Alpha Calloway... are you joining us? Or do you need to select a gift for your Luna?"

Rowan pauses. The memory of the male voice answering my phone two weeks ago flashes behind his eyes, making his jaw tighten. But as he looks at me, his cold demeanor shifts.

"I'll come," Rowan says simply. "A mate gift should be selected in person."

My stomach does a strange, tight flip. Shopping for a gift for his Luna while walking beside him through the crowded Capital market feels dangerously intimate, but I push the thought down and follow him out into the crisp evening air.