Chapter 3

"This is just a hallucination," Nichole muttered over and over like she was chanting an exorcism spell.

​Her hands flew up, gripping her head which throbbed increasingly harder. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, massaging both temples in a circular motion.

​"Yes, this is just a hallucination. Damn discount beer. The factory must have accidentally dropped some illegal drugs in it. I'm going to sue that minimarket tomorrow... yeah, right after I wake up from this long sleep."

​Hearing his secretary's frustrated muttering, Samuel's jaw clenched. His pride as an Alpha Werewolf and as an arrogant CEO accustomed to having his every word obeyed was clearly rebelling.

​He had just revealed his biggest secret, and this woman actually considered him a side effect of cheap liquor?

​What an absolute insult.

​The sound of Nichole's bed creaking could be heard, as if a heavy weight had just risen from it.

​Then, the sound of heavy, bare footsteps padding against the wooden floor of Nichole's apartment rang out, walking closer with slow yet threatening steps.

​Nichole held her breath, still keeping her eyes squeezed shut, refusing to face reality.

​A dark shadow suddenly fell over her face, blocking the morning sunlight. Someone was now towering right in front of her.

​"Hey," the baritone voice sounded much closer now. Right above her head. The voice carried an aura of absolute dominance that made the air around them suddenly feel thin. "Open your eyes, Nichole."

​"I don't want to. You're not real. You're just an optical illusion from my traumatized brain after being cheated on last night," Nichole babbled stubbornly, still massaging her temples.

​"Nichole." Samuel's tone turned ice-cold. "I said, open your eyes right now."

​Nichole's instinct, trained to obey this man for years, worked faster than her common sense. Automatically, her eyelids fluttered open.

​Because she was still sitting on the wooden floor, her gaze didn't immediately land on her boss's face. Her line of sight was straight ahead, right at eye level.

​Nichole's world seemed to stop spinning. Her brain, overloaded since last night, officially short-circuited entirely.

​The first thing that greeted her sight when she opened her eyes wasn't a friendly smile. Nor was it a logical explanation. Rather... the prideful anatomy of Mr. Samuel King hanging freely, impressively, and completely uncensored.

​The thing was now only a few inches from the tip of her nose. The man stood towering with both hands on his hips, as if challenging Nichole to physically deny his existence.

​Silence filled the room as Nichole digested what exactly she was looking at right now. Then, realization hit her like a recklessly speeding car.

​"AAAAAAAHHHH! GET THAT AWAY FROM MY FACEEEE!"

​Nichole's shrill scream shattered the morning silence. She scrambled backward in a panic, getting away as fast as possible until her back hit the wall.

​"Put your clothes on, sir! Oh my god! My eyes are tainted! I could sue you for sexual harassment in the workplace!"

​Samuel didn't budge. He merely looked down at his secretary, who was cowering hysterically in the corner of the room, looking very satisfied with her reaction.

​"You were the one who insisted I was a hallucination," Samuel said casually, his tone sounding slightly arrogant. "Do you believe I'm here now?"

​"Yes! Yes, I believe you! You're very real and you're here! Now please put something on, for God's sake!" Nichole screamed from behind her fingers.

​A long, condescending sigh was heard. "You humans are truly dramatic about natural things."

​Even so, the sound of retreating footsteps could be heard. Until finally, the man's voice rang out again.

​"I've covered my lower half with your blanket," Samuel said in a bored tone.

​"Now get up, make me my usual black coffee with no sugar, and we need to have a serious talk about your behavior dragging me along the sidewalk last night."

​Nichole peeked cautiously. Sure enough, her boss was now back sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapping Nichole's favorite pink doll-patterned blanket around his waist.

​This nightmare, it turned out, had only just begun.

​Nichole stood frozen in her small kitchen. Her coffee maker hummed quietly, dripping thick black liquid into a cup.

​While waiting for her boss's order of black coffee without sugar, Nichole tried hard to digest what had just happened.

​One by one, the fragments of last night's memories began piecing together in her head.

​Nichole grabbed her coffee cup and downed it in one gulp. The bitter taste immediately kickstarted her nervous system. She jolted, blinking her eyes a few times. Good, she thought, relieved.

​At least her brain was starting to function again. She felt much more 'sober' now. Her alcohol-induced hallucinations must have evaporated.

​Driven by curiosity and a desperate need to find a logical explanation, Nichole reached into the pocket of her wrinkled skirt and pulled out her phone.

​With slightly trembling fingers, she typed in a single keyword: "Werewolf".

​She hit the search button, half hoping to find hidden scientific articles, government conspiracies, or at least news about a rare genetic disorder that caused sufferers to grow excessive hair and howl at the full moon.

​However, her search results were instead flooded with rows of digital book covers featuring shirtless, muscular men and fragile-looking women under the moonlight.

​They all pointed to links for online romance novels.

​Nichole scrolled down her screen, reading the titles inwardly with her eyebrows knitting closer together.

​"Bride for the Alpha"

​"The Wolf CEO's Human Mate"

​"Rejected by the Cruel Alpha"

​"Entangled in the Possessive Lycan's Forbidden Love"

​"Pregnant with the Ruling Alpha's Twins"

​Nichole fell silent. She turned off her phone screen and slowly placed it on the kitchen counter as if the device had just cursed her.

​Wait a minute, Nichole thought, her now-clear brain beginning to draw conclusions.

​She wasn't crazy. She was just heartbroken and drunk last night. Werewolves weren't real. Wolf-men were merely fictional characters, not a real biological phenomenon.

​So, if she wasn't crazy, and if all the absurd events this morning weren't a prank... then what explanation was left?

​Nichole turned her body slowly, hiding herself behind the kitchen divider wall. She peeked toward the living room.

​There, Mr. Samuel King was sitting on the edge of her folding bed. The man still had Nichole's pink blanket wrapped around his waist, contrasting with his handsome face that always looked cynical.

​Right now, Samuel's dark eyes were sweeping across every corner of Nichole's cheap studio apartment.

​His gaze stopped at the plastic wall clock with its dead hands, then moved down to the faux fur rug that was bald in some spots, and ended on Nichole's pile of dirty clothes in the corner basket.

​The arrogant man's face wrinkled, showing a very thick expression of judgment, as if he were inspecting a chicken coop that didn't meet his company's sanitation standards.

​Seeing that sight, Nichole's jaw clenched. Her fear instantly evaporated, replaced by a strange sympathy and a very logical realization.

​That's right, Nichole thought while nodding slowly to herself. That arrogant man is the crazy one. The pressure of work must have ruined her boss's sanity.

​The burden of leading a multinational company had caused Mr. King to suffer a psychological breakdown, hallucinating that he was a fictional monster from a trashy novel, and then somehow the man ended up naked on the roof of his own company's building before Nichole accidentally brought him home.

​Everything suddenly made sense! Her boss was a madman who needed a psychiatrist's help, not a mythical werewolf.