The Wolves Watch

It was Monday, her first day interning at Rainer PR, and she’d already messed up. Her black skirt was a thrift store find but, it clung to her hips stylishly and her heels crushed her toes yet she did not mind. Today was a defining moment when her life could change forever.

The walls of the Wolfe Tower elevator were steel and mirrored; cold and unforgiving as her reflection stared back like an accusation. Her hair was twisted into a last-minute bun, brown eyes wide with nerves behind crooked glasses. Her skirt hugged her hips too tight, like it didn’t belong to her. Her blouse? Secondhand. Coffee-stained.

She swallowed hard. Raina scrubbed at the coffee stain on her blouse in the Wolfe Tower elevator. The fabric clung to her breast like punishment, the stain blooming dark and ugly across her chest. She hissed under her breath, dabbing at it with a napkin she’d found in her coat pocket... crumpled, useless and fraying at the corners.

“Fuck,” she muttered, the word small but sharp in the sterile silence of the elevator.

Another memory crashed in uninvited. She remembered the swing chains creaking with Isla’s voice slicing through her like glass,

“Little Ray, always a mess.”

A crowd of kids laughed with judgments. She bit down on the ache, jaw clenched. She’d survived worse. She would survive this.

The elevator dinged open, and the air changed—cool, citrus-scented, expensive. She stepped onto the 47th floor. Everything gleamed. Chrome. Glass. Money. The woman behind the reception desk was too perfect... manicured fingers typing with indifference, red lips pursed in judgment. Her stare swept over Raina like she was a cracked dish at a fine-dining table.

Raina cleared her throat. Her badge hung around her neck like a noose.

“Raina Cole,” she said. Her voice barely held together.

The receptionist’s eyes didn’t blink. “Executive floor. Office 70B.” No smile. No warmth.

Raina’s stomach dropped.

Executive? That had to be a mistake. She was a bottom-tier intern, not some rising star. Her hands clenched around her bag. Another memory crashed to the fore, Isla’s smirk while walking out with parents who never even glanced at Raina again. She was left behind and forgotten.

She forced her legs to move. One step. Then another.

The elevator to the 70th floor felt like a trap. The walls were all made of glass and mirror, reflecting every flaw, every crack in her.

She checked her phone again. The email glowed, just like it had that night.

Start Monday. Office 70B. Report to C. Wolfe.

No interview. No explanation. Just an offer that had fallen from the sky hours after she sold Isla’s photo through that shady celeb-scandal app. Five thousand dollars - no questions asked.

The doors opened.

She stepped out—and walked straight into a voice that stopped her cold.

“Get him on the phone. I don’t care if he’s in a board meeting. He answers when I call.”

The tone was velvet over a blade.

Raina froze.

At the end of the hallway, a man stood with his back to her, phone at his ear, suit molded to his body like sin. Dark charcoal, expensive, cut like it had been tailored with a scalpel. His broad shoulders flexed as he ended the call, then turned slowly.

Purposefully.

Storm-gray eyes met hers.

Her stomach dropped. Her knees buckled.

Him.

The man from LUXE. That stare.

Heat flushed her body like a match lit from the inside. She couldn’t breathe. He walked toward her, every step deliberate, his eyes locked on hers. No hesitation. No mercy.

“You’re early,” he said, voice low, a smirk tugging at his lips like he expected her. Raina’s lips parted. Her voice didn’t work.

“I—I’m Raina Cole. Intern.”

His gaze dragged over her. The coffee stain. The trembling fingers. The way she couldn’t hide the pulse hammering in her throat.

“Cazien Wolfe,” he said, holding out a hand. “Your boss.”

His palm met hers. Hot, strong and possessive but, something inside her snapped awake. He turned before she could answer, gesturing for her to follow. She did. Because what the hell else could she do? Her boots echoed behind him, her breath shallow. The air thickened with his scent... sandalwood and smoke and something darker, sharper, like control. Like power. His office was a cathedral to capitalism. Glass, mahogany, and the endless sprawl of Manhattan glittering through floor-to-ceiling windows. He leaned against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, watching her like a wolf who already knew how the hunt would end.

He tapped a tablet, slid it across the desk.

“Recognize this?”

Raina stepped closer. Her eyes dropped. Her heart stopped.

The LUXE photo.

Isla’s lips. His hand. That kiss. Her watermark.

Every drop of blood in her body drained to her feet.

“How—” Her voice cracked.

“You took it,” he said, no smile now. “You sold it.” He stepped into her space, his breath warm, intimate and dangerous. “That makes you a problem, Raina Cole.”

Her body locked up. Her fingers curled into fists.

“I didn’t know it was you,” she whispered, the truth naked in her throat. He didn’t flinch. Just smiled, cold and sharp.

“Doesn’t matter.” He straightened. “Clause 9B of your contract. Proprietary conduct. You’re bound to me now.”

She flinched. The word bound hit too deep.

“Or ...” He didn’t need to complete the sentence. His stare already said it all. The threat was soft. But it landed like a punch. Her throat closed. She wanted to scream. To run. But this job—it was her out. Her only way off the streets. Her only shot at a better life.

She looked up and met his gaze - steeling herself.

“What do you want?”

His eyes searched hers. For a split second, something flickered there... something human. Then it was gone.

“Loyalty,” he said. “You shadow me. Every room, every deal. You’re my hands. My voice. My fucking shadow. One slip up, I bury you.”

******************

Her desk sat just outside his office.

Glass. Cold. Exposed. The chair squeaked as she sat, heart still slamming in her chest. Her laptop blinked to life, the screen sterile and white.

She was trapped. Her phone buzzed. It was Malika.

She picked up with low voice, “Malika, I’m fucked.”

“I got your message,” Malika’s voice cracked with static, but her concern cut through. “Spill.”

“He knows about the photo... My boss...” Raina whispered, glancing at the frosted glass. Cazien’s silhouette shifted behind it—broad and restless. “He’s got me on some clause now like he owns me.”

Malika exhaled, sharp and loud. “Jesus, Raina. Can't you quit?”

“I can’t.” Her voice trembled. “This job—it’s everything.”

There was a little silence before Malika’s spoke again, softer this time. “Girl, watch your back. Try not to get involved in rich people problems.”

Raina hung up. Her fingers drifted to the edge of the desk. She could still feel his fingers on her wrist. His voice in her ear.

****************

The day bled into meetings and briefings. Raina followed him everywhere, his shadow in heels. He moved like he owned the air. Controlled every breath in every room. She watched him bend men with words, crush deals with a look, charm executives with half a smirk.

And every so often when no one else was looking, his eyes would flick to her - sharp, curious and possessive.

By nightfall, her body was wrecked. Her blouse clung to her back. Her thighs ached. Her glasses fogged with the heat of too many rooms, too many stares. She stood outside his door, files in hand.

He stepped out, jacket off, shirt undone just enough to expose the sharp cut of his collarbone. His throat. That glimpse of skin wrecked her.

“You’re still here.” Not a question.

She nodded.

He stepped closer. Too close.

His fingers brushed her wrist as he took the files. The contact sparked like electricity down her spine.

He lingered. Smiled.

“Go home, Raina,” he murmured.

She turned and fled. Boots loud on polished floors.

The city sparkled outside the elevator like a trap laced in diamonds. Her phone buzzed. It was Malika. She ignored it. All she could feel was Cazien’s heat still on her skin.

She remembered her first photo gig — the thrill and power. She’d played the game well before. But this time, the rules were twisted. And her body didn’t know if it wanted to run… Or beg.

She stared at her reflection in the elevator glass.

Eyes wide. Lips parted. A woman on the edge.