Chapter 5

Genevieve's POV

The Next Day...

"How much longer until we arrive?" Nora asked the cab driver, slightly leaning forward so that he could hear her clearly.

"Em..."

Before he could respond to her, she turned back to me and excitedly grabbed my arm, pointing ahead of us.

"We're here, we're here."

My gaze followed her outstretched finger, and I saw a signpost with the words 'Welcome To The Alpha King's Region' written on it, and the photo of a gigantic, jet-black wolf with striking yellow eyes sitting majestically was also beside the words.

Maybe I was just feeling overwhelmed by everything I've been through recently, but there's something about the wolf that scares me yet comforts me—my mind is definitely messed up, because why the heck am I having a connection with the picture of a wolf?

"I wonder what the Alpha King's region would look like," Nora's voice pulled me back to reality.

"It can't be any different from every other pack," I replied.

She simply nodded in agreement, then continued staring outside the window, even though there was nothing to see since we're still driving past woods. Me, on the other hand, was thinking about my interview. I pray the Moon Goddess doesn't make me meet very strong opponents.

---

Minutes Later...

Nora and I stared outside the window in awe as our cab driver drove through the big gates of the Royal Citadel.

Towering stone arches stretched toward the grey sky, flanked by elite Royal Enforcers in crisp, silver-embossed armor. The sheer scale of the place was intimidating—a fortress carved from dark granite and cold marble, designed to make anyone feel utterly insignificant. Nora's jaw dropped, her wide eyes darting between the armed guards and colossal walls, while my lips parted in a quiet gasp.

My hand instinctively clutched my handbag over my stomach, and I couldn't help the hammering I was feeling in my chest as my heart started working overtime. Why am I suddenly feeling nervous? Or could this be what people call "feeling intimidated?"

Before the driver could proceed any further, we were stopped by two hefty men. Although they were dressed in tailored suits, judging from the Bluetooth in their ears, I knew they were palace guards. They approached the vehicle, and one of them knocked on the glass.

Nora and I exchanged looks; we couldn't hide the panic in our eyes.

"State your business at the Royal Palace," the one who looked like the lead guard between them barked. He bent down slightly, scanning the cab's interior.

I swallowed hard when his sharp gaze settled on me. I quickly pushed my fear aside and replied in a firm voice. "I'm here for the personal cook job interview."

He pulled up an iPad I didn't notice he was holding before. "Your name?"

"Genevieve Rivers."

He scrolled through his iPad for a while before raising his head and signaling for Nora and me to get out of the cab. We were confused, but got out without asking any questions.

"This is the Alpha King's palace, not anyone can barge in," he threw the cab driver a harsh, scolding glare.

"Oh, that's our fault. We are sorry," I apologized quickly. Nora paid the cab driver, and he drove off.

The guard assessed us once more. "Take them to the inner courtyard," he told the second guard.

"Come with me, ladies."

Nora and I followed the guard.

---

We've been walking for more than twenty minutes. We've taken so many turns and passed by so many guards, but we're still yet to arrive at the inner courtyard.

"Fuck! My legs are getting tired. Just how big is this place?" Nora whispered to me.

"It's a palace, after all," I whispered back.

I guess we forgot that werewolves have heightened hearing because the guard heard everything we said, so he replied, "We are almost there."

"Oh. Thank you," Nora said.

He looked at us over his shoulder, simply with a small smile. This guard seems friendlier than the other one.

True to his words, after walking down a long marble corridor, we arrived at the main examination wing. But just as we reached the massive mahogany doors leading into the main hall, the guard extended an arm, blocking Nora's path.

We both gave him a confused look. "Is anything—"

"How many of you are getting interviewed?" he cut off her words.

"Just me," I answered.

"Then you are not allowed inside," he told Nora. "Accompanying guests wait in the outer courtyard lounge. Only applicants cross this threshold."

Nora pouted as she faced me with sad eyes. She squeezed my arm tightly before leaning in to whisper, "You've got this, Eve. I'll be right outside."

I gave her a reassuring but tense nod before stepping through the heavy doors completely alone.

The moment the doors clicked shut behind me, the bustling noise of the grand hall dropped into a suffocating silence. Dozens of candidate chefs—dressed in pristine, custom-tailored culinary coats and holding high-end equipment cases—turned in unison.

Their eyes scanned my simple dress and plain apron, and hushed, mocking whispers broke out across the hall. I sighed mentally. I can't blame them for judging me because I would also judge me if I were them. I mean, they're all professional chefs, and I definitely have a very slim chance of winning them.

Before the gossip could escalate, the door at the front of the hall burst open, and a tall, sharply dressed man with blond hair, commanding posture, and a powerful aura walked in.

"Welcome, candidates." His voice was not so deep, but it boomed effortlessly across the expansive space. "I am Bailey Wood, the Alpha King's beta."

He's the King's beta, yet he's commanding so much aura? I couldn't even imagine how much aura the king would carry.

He didn't waste a single second on pleasantries. Beta Bailey clapped his hands twice, and on cue, a long line of palace maids and servants filed into the room, wheeling in individual cooking stations equipped with portable gas stoves, pristine stainless-steel utensils, and crates of fresh, high-grade groceries for every single candidate.

"The first phase of your interview begins now," Beta Bailey announced, taking a step forward and resting his hands behind his back. "You have access to every ingredient before you. Prepare any meal of your choice—one that showcases your peak skill, speed, and flavor profile. You have one hour once the clock starts."

Beta Bailey left, and we all started our interview. Since I wasn't a professional chef and I don't want to blow up this chance, I decided to play it safe and opted for something simple yet comforting—.

I thought they'd be attacking me for looking out of place, but they didn't. Everyone was focused on themselves and was trying to make their meals. Realizing the clock was ticking, I set to work, too.

---

When the final bell rang, the maids from earlier came back and collected our dishes on silver trays and carried them toward the King's study.

After an agonizing forty minutes of silence, the grand doors slammed open, drawing everyone's attention. Beta Bailey re-entered the hall, holding a thick leather folder with an unreadable expression.

My brows furrowed in confusion when I noticed the maids returning everyone's dishes, and they were all untouched. What is going on?

"His Majesty received every submission, but unfortunately, only one submission passed," Beta Bailey said.

My shoulders slumped as his words crushed every ounce of hope I was clinging onto. I stared expectantly toward the door, waiting for a maid to bring back my dish.

"Genevieve River."

I froze immediately Beta Bailey called my name. Oh, no! I guess my dish was the worst.

"Who is Genevieve Rivers?" he asked again.

I hesitantly raised my hand. "Me, sir."

His eyes scanned from my head to my toes. He stayed silent for a brief moment before saying, "Come with me."

I didn't look at anyone, but I could feel their murderous gaze on me as I followed him. We walked through a labyrinth of marble corridors, and soon, we stopped before a pair of double doors made of polished mahogany, guarded by four heavy-set Lycan soldiers.

Beta Bailey knocked twice and pushed one of the doors open. "The chef, Your Majesty," he squeaked, gesturing for me to enter with him.

The private dining room was bathed in soft, warm lighting. At the far end of a massive dark-oak table sat a man, a half-empty glass of amber whiskey in his hand. The dish in front of him was still untouched.

"Step closer," a deep, baritone voice echoed off the high ceiling. The voice was smooth as velvet, yet heavy with an undeniable, crushing authority.

He said just two words, and I found my body listening to him. I took three steps forward into the light. "Your Majesty—"

My words stuck in my throat the second I raised my head. I locked gaze with a very familiar pair of green eyes. He rose to his feet as I pointed an accusing finger at him.

"The Stranger In Room 1688?!"

"MATE!" we both exclaimed simultaneously.