Chapter Six

Tracy Xander’s POV 

Sam Zach had been two years ahead of me back when I was still in school, a name that carried weight even then, someone whose work people followed long before they ever met him in person. 

Years ago, when his company reached a point where progress stalled and nothing seemed to move forward, his mentor had recommended me without hesitation, placing a level of trust in my abilities that I had not yet fully claimed for myself. 

He had not been wrong. 

I took that single opportunity and turned it into something real, something that could not be overlooked or dismissed, building alongside my team one of the earliest AI-driven medical diagnostic systems, where every line of logic was precise, every model carefully constructed, and the final accuracy rate far surpassed what others in the field had managed to achieve at the time. 

When the project was released to the public, it did not simply enter the market quietly. 

It disrupted it. 

And Sam kept his promise. 

Twenty percent equity, transferred to my name without hesitation, without conditions, without delay. 

Since then, the company had grown steadily, expanding beyond its early expectations into something far more powerful, its profits rising year after year, its influence spreading across territories and industries alike. 

And true to his word, Sam deposited my dividends every quarter without fail. 

I had never been just a contributor. 

I had always been a shareholder. 

Three years ago, Alpha Chandler had looked at me across the table, his tone casual, almost offhand, as though he were speaking about something inevitable. 

“You should learn financial management,” he had said. “Eventually, you will need to handle the pack’s finances.” 

I believed him. 

So I walked away from everything I had built. 

Just like that. 

I buried myself within his domain instead, trading one world for another without hesitation, without questioning whether I would ever return. 

Long nights replaced everything else, endless reports and figures filling my days until there was nothing left but numbers and responsibilities, as I balanced accounts down to the last detail, cut unnecessary costs, stabilized failing flows, and ensured that everything worked in his favor, quietly, efficiently, without asking for recognition. 

And in return, there had been nothing. 

My gaze lowered slightly as the thought passed, not lingering long enough to take root, yet not shallow enough to disappear entirely. 

Then I lifted my phone and typed my reply. 

“I accept your invitation.” 

The response came almost instantly. 

My phone rang. 

“So you have decided?” Sam’s voice carried clear surprise, though it was not concealed. “You are finally coming back?” 

I glanced at the document resting in my hand, my tone steady, without hesitation. 

“Yes. But I will need a month. I still have to complete my resignation process.” 

There was a brief pause on his end before his voice softened, something more genuine settling beneath it. 

“I will be honest, I am both surprised and relieved. Tracy, we need you back.” 

I did not respond immediately. 

For a brief moment, doubt surfaced quietly within me. 

The field had moved quickly. 

Three years was not a short time. 

“I have been away from it for a while,” I admitted. “I do not know if I can catch up.” 

Sam did not hesitate. 

“Your core algorithm still has not been surpassed,” he replied with certainty. “Do not underestimate yourself.” 

Then, as though remembering something suddenly, his tone shifted slightly. 

“There is a CADD seminar next week. They specifically asked for you. Will you attend?” 

I nodded instinctively before realizing he could not see me. 

“Yes.” 

If I was truly going to leave everything behind and return to my own path, then hesitation was no longer something I could afford. 

“Good. I will confirm it.” 

After the call ended, I did not allow myself even a moment to linger. 

My focus returned immediately to the work in front of me. 

… 

That night, I sat at my desk, the soft glow of the screen casting a pale light across the room as files, research data, and updated models filled my view once more. 

Line by line, I rebuilt what I had once left behind. 

What surprised me most was not how difficult it was. 

It was how quickly everything came back. 

I had not lost my edge. 

I had only set it aside. 

Dinner sat untouched on the table for longer than I realized, the warmth long gone by the time I reached for it out of habit rather than hunger. 

Alpha Chandler still had not returned. 

I took a few bites before setting the fork down again, the motion quiet, almost absent-minded. 

Across the room, Jennie watched me, concern slowly forming in her expression. 

“Ma’am… you have not been eating much lately. Are you feeling alright?” 

Instead of answering directly, I crouched slightly near the coffee table and reached for the calendar I had placed there the day before. 

I tore off the page. 

July 2nd. 

The paper crumpled easily in my hand before I dropped it into the trash. 

“No,” I said lightly. “It is just the heat.” 

Even Jennie could tell that something was wrong. 

But the one person who should have noticed, who should have understood without needing to be told, had noticed nothing at all. 

Jennie pressed her lips together and said no more, because in her mind, the explanation was simple. 

Alpha Chandler had not returned home for days. 

Of course I would be affected. 

Later that night, after my shower, I stepped out while drying my hair, the quiet hum of the dryer filling the space around me, and then I stopped. 

Alpha Chandler was there. 

Walking upstairs, a briefcase in his hand, his presence as composed and distant as ever. 

For a brief second, surprise flickered across my expression. 

Since everything had begun to fall apart between us, he rarely returned. 

So why tonight? 

The thought passed just as quickly as it came. 

I said nothing. 

I simply turned away, continuing to dry my hair as though his presence made no difference at all. 

The low hum filled the silence between us. 

He glanced at me once, briefly, indifferently, before walking past and entering the study. 

The door closed behind him. 

That was all. 

I was used to it. 

Even so, something in my chest tightened faintly, a subtle pressure that I pushed down before it could grow into something more. 

Once my hair was dry, I returned to my desk, my attention settling once again on the materials displayed across the screen. 

If I wanted my life back, then I would have to work harder than I ever had before. 

There were no shortcuts left for me. 

… 

From the study, faint sounds of movement carried occasionally through the silence, the quiet rhythm of work continuing late into the night. 

At some point, I heard footsteps. 

A pause. 

Then movement again. 

I did not look up. 

I did not need to. 

In the past, the moment Alpha Chandler returned, I would already be there, preparing everything he might need before he asked for it, water placed within reach, quiet reminders given gently, my attention always fixed on him. 

Now, none of that remained. 

And neither of us spoke of it. 

A while later, the faint vibration of a phone broke the silence beyond the door. 

It did not concern me. 

Whatever belonged to him no longer had anything to do with me. 

So I kept my eyes on the screen, my focus steady, my expression calm, as though nothing beyond my own path held any meaning anymore.