The First Day

7:00 AM. I arrived at Blackwood Tower with a stomach full of nerves and a paper cup of coffee that I immediately spilled on my skirt.

Perfect start.

I dabbed at the stain with a napkin, took a deep breath, and walked inside. The lobby was quieter at this hour—just a few security guards and the cleaning crew. No judgmental receptionists. No wolves staring at me.

I took the elevator to the sixtieth floor, stepped out into the black marble hallway, and stopped.

My desk was there. Right outside Alistair Blackwood's office. A sleek glass surface, a computer, a phone, and a single orchid in a white pot.

And on the keyboard, a sticky note:

"Coffee. Black. No sugar. My office. 7:15. Don't be late. —A.B."

I glanced at my watch. 7:03.

I had twelve minutes.

I found the executive kitchen on the same floor—a small room with a espresso machine that cost more than my first car. I figured out how to use it, poured a cup of black coffee, and carried it to his office door.

7:12.

I knocked.

"Come in."

His voice was the same as yesterday. Low. Rough. Angry.

I opened the door.

Alistair Blackwood stood by the window, his back to me, his hands clasped behind him. He wore a charcoal suit today, perfectly tailored, and his hair was combed back. He looked every inch the billionaire CEO.

He also looked like he hadn't slept.

"Your coffee," I said, setting the cup on his desk.

"Leave it."

I didn't move.

He turned. His eyes—whiskey-colored this morning, no gold—scanned me from head to toe. Lingered on the coffee stain on my skirt. Returned to my face.

"You're early."

"You said not to be late."

"I said don't be late. Early is almost as annoying."

I bit back a response. "Noted."

He walked to his desk, sat down, and picked up the coffee. He took a sip. His expression didn't change. "Acceptable."

"High praise."

His eyes flicked up. "Don't get comfortable."

He spent the next hour testing me.

"Call this number. Get me a meeting with the CEO of Sterling Industries. Today."

I made the call. The assistant laughed at me. I called back. And back again. By the fourth call, I had the meeting.

He handed me a stack of documents. "Organize these by priority. The red tabs are urgent. The blue tabs can wait. The yellow tabs go in the shredder."

I organized them in fifteen minutes. He reviewed my work, grunted, and said nothing.

He asked me to schedule a flight to London for tomorrow. Then cancel it. Then rebook it for next week. Then change it to Paris.

I did it all without complaining.

By noon, my head was pounding and my feet hurt from the cheap heels I'd bought at a thrift store. But I was still standing.

"You're still here," Alistair said, not looking up from his computer.

"Where else would I be?"

"Most people quit by lunch."

"I'm not most people."

He looked up then. Something shifted in his expression—curiosity, maybe. Or annoyance that I wasn't breaking.

"We'll see," he said.

At 1:00 PM, Victoria appeared at my desk. "Lunch. You have thirty minutes. The cafeteria is on the third floor. Don't take longer."

I didn't go to the cafeteria. I ate a protein bar in the stairwell and reviewed the afternoon schedule.

At 2:00 PM, I walked into Alistair's office with a stack of contracts for him to sign.

He was on the phone. His voice was ice.

"I don't care if the deal falls through. I'm not paying that price. Tell them to lower their offer by twenty percent or walk away."

He slammed the phone down and looked at me. "What?"

"Contracts for signature."

"Put them on the desk."

I set them down. As I turned to leave, he said, "Wait."

I stopped.

"Close the door."

I closed it.

He leaned back in his chair, studying me. "You haven't asked."

"Asked what?"

"About the mate bond. About why I haven't rejected you. About anything."

I met his gaze. "You'll tell me when you're ready. Or you won't. Either way, I'm here to do a job."

His jaw tightened. "You're playing a dangerous game, Clara."

"I'm not playing any game. I need this job. I need the money. And I need to stay off the streets." I paused. "Whatever the Goddess decided between us... that's secondary."

He stared at me for a long moment. Then he laughed—the same cold, humorless sound from yesterday.

"You really are different."

"So I've been told."

He picked up his pen and started signing contracts. "You can go."

I went.

At 5:00 PM, my shift ended. I gathered my things, straightened my desk, and walked to the elevator.

But before I could press the button, the door to Alistair's office opened.

"Clara."

I turned.

He stood in the doorway, his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up. The gold was back in his eyes—just a flicker, but I saw it.

"Tomorrow," he said, "wear something that fits."

I looked down at my skirt. The stain had dried into a dark brown splotch.

"This is all I have."

His expression didn't change. But something in his posture softened—barely.

"There's a clothing allowance in your contract. Use it."

Then he closed the door.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the oak door, my heart pounding.

A clothing allowance.

I hadn't even read the contract. I'd been so desperate for the job that I'd signed without looking.

When I got back to my tiny apartment that night, I pulled out the folder Victoria had given me. I read every word.

The salary was generous. The benefits were good. And the clothing allowance was real—five hundred dollars a month.

But there was also a clause I hadn't noticed before.

"The assistant agrees to accompany Mr. Blackwood to business and social events as required. Failure to do so will result in immediate termination."

I stared at the words.

Business events. Social events. Where other wolves would be.

Where Derek and Lydia might be.

I closed the folder and set it on my table.

One day at a time, I told myself. Just survive one day at a time.

But as I lay in bed that night, staring at the cracked ceiling, I couldn't stop thinking about the way Alistair had looked at me. The gold in his eyes. The way his voice had softened, just for a moment.

He's not Derek, I reminded myself. But that doesn't mean he's safe.

I fell asleep with my hand on my chest, where my old mate mark used to be.

And for the first time in three years, I dreamed of golden eyes.