The Wolves Watch

I stayed seated longer than I should have, still stunned and still calculating how badly I had just screwed myself. Then I heard my name.

“Raina Cole?” I turned instantly. The woman from HR… the one with the pearl necklace and clipped, smiling authority stood at the door, holding a folder too neatly.

“Yes,” I said, my voice neutral. She smiled in that way only corporate professionals could. Kind in tone but deadly in intent.

“Would you mind stepping into my office for a quick check-in?”

Check-in. That word sounded polite yet empty. It was chosen like it hadn’t been dragged from a script. People noticed and eyes flicked. Someone raised a brow. I stood, smoothed my skirt, and followed her out.

The HR floor smelled like lemon polish and quiet tension. No music and no chatter, just hushed voices behind glass doors. We passed a wall of framed “Employee Values” quotes that felt like satire now. Inside her office, everything was symmetrical. A vase of orchids. Two mugs on a tray. A Wolfe Industries logo on the wall - clean silver on matte black. She gestured for me to sit so, I did.

“I just wanted to take a moment,” she began, opening the folder, “to welcome you and get a sense of how your morning’s gone.”

“It’s been… eventful.” I gave her the most measured smile I could manage.

“Yes, well. Orientation days tend to be.” She chuckled. Then she looked down at the folder. And then back up. Her smile didn’t move but her eyes did.

“I heard there was a bit of an encounter outside the building earlier,” she said, voice smooth but barbed. “Something about a valet issue… and an exchange of words with a member of the team?” I swallowed.

No point lying. There were witnesses and probably video.

“I didn’t know who he was,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “He was aggressive with someone, and I reacted. That’s all.”

“Of course,” she said. “No one’s accusing you of anything.” She paused and closed the folder gently. “But Mr. Wolfe has a particular way of working. He has high expectations which comes with high stress. I just want to make sure you’re… aware.” I kept my face still.

Translation: You’ve been flagged and you are now being watched. Not punished - yet; but there are eyes on you now.

“I understand,” I said. She paused again and folded her hands. Her pearls clicked together.

“Just stay focused. Keep your head down. Deliver results. I’m sure this will all smooth over quickly.” It wasn’t a warning. It was a line drawn in invisible ink.

I nodded once, stood, and left the room with my spine straight, my teeth clenched, and my heart crawling up my throat.

This wasn’t just a job anymore. It was survival. And I had walked into the lion’s den in heels.

By the time I got back to the main floor, the tone of the office had already changed.

Desks buzzed with low voices and polite keystrokes, but the air felt heavier, like the building itself had inhaled and hadn’t exhaled yet. My assigned workspace was tucked between two larger departments—an open-plan bullpen with faux glass dividers, flickering LED lights, and a thousand eyes that knew more than I did.

No one said anything but they all noticed me now. I sat at my desk. The chair squeaked. My login screen blinked too long and the screen background was a grayscale Wolfe Industries logo glaring at me like a bad omen. A voice cut through the air like a blade.

“All hands to conference room four. Now.” That was Cazien Wolfe - my new boss.

His words not shouted or rushed. They were just spoken with the gravity of someone who never needed to repeat himself. The chairs scraped, heels clicked and conversations died mid-sentence. I stood, smoothed my skirt again - a nervous habit I was starting to resent - and followed the current of bodies down the hall.

He was already in the room leaning against the far wall like he owned time itself. His hands were in his pockets, suit jacket off, dark shirt rolled to the elbows again and tie draped over the back of a chair like a warning flag. A large screen displayed a real-time report; numbers, graphs, projections but no one looked at it. Everyone looked at him. He nodded to his assistant. She handed him a tablet.

He didn’t check it.

“I’ve reviewed the intern placement reports,” he said, his eyes scanning the room, calm and cold. “And I’m not interested in wasting time. So here’s how this will go.”

He began calling out names, assignments, teams and department leads. One by one, people nodded, thanked him and moved aside. Then—

“Raina Cole.” My name dropped like a stone into a still lake. I stepped forward. Just enough to be seen. My throat tightened. He didn’t look at me.

“You’ll be working under Senior Director Carlson in Digital Strategy. New campaign needs fast thinkers. Creative minds.” He paused before saying, “And those who don’t take direction personally.” Laughter fluttered through the room. It wasn’t loud or kind.

It was cruelty - packed behavior. He moved on like he hadn’t just drawn blood. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t smile or cry. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking away.

I said, “Thank you,” steady and short, and turned back to my seat without waiting for his permission but I felt his eyes following me.

I sat down again with my pulse thudding in my throat like a ticking clock. He had just delivered his first move. Public humiliation, dressed as professional detachment. And the worst part? He hadn’t even raised his voice.

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

I didn’t knock. I didn’t care that it was a corner office with a view of the skyline, or that it probably had some silent sensor that tracked entry like a fortress. I didn’t care that his assistant looked up sharply and tried to stop me, voice clipped with panic.

“Mr. Wolfe isn’t…”

“He’s expecting me,” I lied, walking past her without slowing down.