2

Sage’s POV

Sunlight stabbed through my eyelids like tiny daggers of regret.

I groaned and tried to roll over, only to realizetwo things simultaneously: one, I was naked, and two, these sheets had a thread count higher than my credit score.

My eyes snapped open.

Floor-to-ceiling windows. City view that belonged on a postcard. Bedroom furniture that probably cost more than my car.

And a chandelier hanging over the bed because apparently rich people needed fancy lighting even when they were unconscious.

“Oh god,” I whispered to the empty room. “What did I do?”

Memories from last night came flooding back in vivid, mortifying detail.

The bar. The tequila.

The insanely hot stranger who’d listened to me complain about being compared to breakfast food. And then… oh god, and then.

My face burned hot enough to fry an egg.

I sat up, clutching the silk sheets to my chest, and looked around for my clothes.

My pink dress was draped over a chair that probably belonged in a museum.

My shoes were by the door. My dignity was nowhere to be found.

The other side of the massive bed was empty and cold. He’d left already.

Of course he had. This was what one-night stands were—one night.

Strangers who didn’t owe each other morning-afters or explanations or anything beyond what happened between those sheets.

Except those sheets had been really, really good.

“Stop it,” I told myself firmly. “You’re not doing this. You’re not catching feelings for a guy whose last name you don’t even know.”

A note sat on the nightstand, written in sharp, precise handwriting:

‘Had early meeting. Coffee’s in the kitchen. Help yourself to breakfast. – K”

Not even a full sentence. Fantastic. I found my dress and pulled it on, doing the world’s most awkward walk of shame through a penthouse that looked like it belonged in an architecture magazine. The living room alone was bigger than my entire apartment, all modern furniture and expensive art and windows that made you feel like you were floating above the city.

The kitchen was a shrine to marble and stainless steel.

I felt like I should take my shoes off before entering.

True to his word, there was a full pot of coffee waiting. I poured myself a cup in a mug that probably cost more than my weekly grocery budget and tried not to think about how this was the nicest kitchen I’d ever been in.

That’s when I saw it. A business card on the counter, black with silver lettering.

‘Kael Thorne’

*’CEO, Thorne Enterprises’

My hand froze halfway to my mouth.

Kael Thorne. Kael Thorne.

“No,” I said out loud. “No, no, no.”

I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and googled him.

The first result was a Forbes article: “Kael Thorne:

The Ruthless Alpha Reshaping Corporate America.”

My stomach dropped.

I scrolled through the search results, each one worse than the last. Billionaire CEO. Youngest person to ever run a Fortune 500 company.

Known for destroying competitors without mercy. Rumored to have made a rival CEO cry during a board meeting.

There were pictures too. Professional headshots where he looked cold and intimidating, candid shots from charity galas where he looked bored and untouchable, and one particularly unflattering paparazzi photo where he was glaring at the camera like he wanted to murder it.

“I slept with a billionaire,” I said to the empty penthouse. “I hate-fucked a BILLIONAIRE.”

This was bad. This was very bad.

I downed the rest of my coffee and grabbed my shoes. I needed to get out of here before—

My phone buzzed. A text from Mara: *The pack council wants to talk to you about last night’s behavior. You embarrassed everyone. You need to come apologize.*

I stared at the message for a long moment.

Then I blocked her number.

Then I blocked Nash’s number.

Then I walked out of Kael Thorne’s penthouse with my head held high, even though I was doing the walk of shame in a wrinkled pink dress and last night’s makeup.

The elevator ride down felt like descending from heaven back to reality. By the time I hit the lobby, I was firmly back in my regular life where I was unemployed, broke, and had just made the worst/best decision of my entire existence.

The doorman didn’t even blink as I walked past.

Clearly he was used to morning-after departures.

Outside, the city was already awake and bustling. I called an Uber with my nearly- maxed-out credit card and tried to figure out what the hell I was going to do with my life now.

**Two Months Later**

I stared at the three pregnancy tests lined up on my bathroom counter like they were going to spontaneously change if I glared hard enough.

They didn’t.

All three showed the same results. Two pink lines. Positive. Pregnant.

“This isn’t happening,” I whispered. “This is not happening.”

Except it was. The nausea, the exhaustion, the weird craving for pickle juice at 3 AM—it all made horrible, terrible sense.

I was pregnant with Kael Thorne’s baby.

I sank down onto my bathroom floor, which was cold and slightly gross because my apartment was a dump, and tried to breathe through the panic.

Two months ago, I’d had a boyfriend, a best friend, a place in my pack, and a stable if low-paying job.

Now I had none of those things, plus a baby on the way from a one-night stand with a billionaire who probably didn’t even remember my name.

My phone rang, making me jump. Unknown number.

I almost didn’t answer. Unknown numbers were usually debt collectors or spam calls about my car’s extended warranty.

But something made me pick up.

“Hello?”

“Is this Sage Draven?” A woman’s voice, crisp and professional.

“Yes?”

“This is Margaret Chen from Thorne Enterprises.

Mr. Thorne is looking for a new executive assistant. Your name came up in our candidate search.

“Would you be available for an interview tomorrow at 9 AM?”

I blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“An interview. For the executive assistant position. Are you available tomorrow morning?”

My brain stuttered trying to process this. “I… I never applied for that position.”

“Nevertheless, your name came up. Mr. Thorne would like to meet with you. Are you available?”

I looked at the eviction notice on my counter.

Then at my nearly empty bank account on my phone.

Then at the pregnancy tests.

What choice did I have?

“Yes,” I heard myself say. “I’ll be there.”

“Excellent. Nine AM sharp. Don’t be late. Mr. Thorne hates tardiness.” She rattled off an address and hung up before I could ask any follow-up questions.

I sat there on my bathroom floor, surrounded by positive pregnancy tests, holding a phone that had just offered me a job interview I never applied for.

With the father of my unborn child. Who had no idea I was pregnant.

“Well,” I said to the empty apartment. “This is going to be a disaster.”

—

The next morning, I stood outside Thorne Tower at 8:45 AM, wearing my only professional outfit and trying to convince myself this was a good idea.

The building was sixty floors of glass and steel that seemed designed specifically to make people feel small and insignificant.

Everyone walking through the revolving doors looked expensive and important, like they belonged in this world of power suits and corporate dominance.

I definitely didn’t belong. My blazer was from a thrift store.

My shoes had a scuff I’d tried to hide with a Sharpie.

And I was pregnant with the CEO’s baby, which seemed like the kind of thing that should disqualify you from a job interview.

“You can do this,” I muttered. “You just have to get through the interview without vomiting or fainting or blurting out that you’re carrying his child. Easy.”

I walked through the revolving doors into a lobby that looked like it cost more than my entire neighborhood. Marble floors, modern art, and a reception desk that could probably run a small country.

“I’m here for an interview,” I told the receptionist, who looked like she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine. “With Mr. Thorne.”

She checked her computer, her perfectly manicured nails clicking against the keyboard.

“Sage Draven?”

“That’s me.”

“Fifty-eighth floor. Ms. Chen will meet you at the elevator.” She handed me a visitor badge that probably cost more than my rent.

“Don’t be late.”

The elevator ride felt like ascending to my doom. My stomach churned—whether from nerves or morning sickness, I couldn’t tell. Probably both.

When the doors opened on the fifty-eighth floor, a woman in her forties was waiting.

She was impeccably dressed, with sharp eyes that seemed to assess and judge me in the span of two seconds.

“Miss Draven. I’m Margaret Chen.” She didn’t offer her hand. “Follow me.”

We walked through a maze of glass offices where people worked with the focused intensity of those who feared their boss.

Everyone looked stressed, caffeinated, and slightly terrified.

“Mr. Thorne’s last three assistants quit without notice,” Margaret said conversationally.

“The position requires someone with resilience, discretion, and a very thick skin.”

“What happened to them?”

“He happened to them.” She stopped in front of massive double doors.

“Wait here.”

Through the crack in the door, I could hear a man’s voice—Kael’s voice—speaking rapidly in what sounded like Mandarin.

The conversation seemed heated.

My hands were sweating. This was insane. I should leave right now, before he saw me, before this got even more complicated than it already was.

The door opened. Margaret gestured for me to enter.

“He’ll see you now.”

I stepped into the most intimidating office I’d ever seen. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the entire city.

Sleek furniture that probably cost more than most people’s cars.

And behind a massive desk, with his back to me, was Kael.

He was on the phone, still speaking rapid Mandarin, and I had a moment to just look at him.

Dark hair, broad shoulders, the kind of presence that filled a room even when he wasn’t moving.

Then he spun around, and our eyes met.

Everything stopped.

His eyes widened just slightly—the only sign that he recognized me.

Then his expression went completely neutral, professional, giving nothing away.

“I’ll call you back,” he said into the phone in English, then hung up without waiting for a response.

The silence stretched between us like a chasm.

“Miss Draven,” he said finally, his voice perfectly controlled. “Please, sit down.”

I managed to make it to the chair across from his desk without tripping. My heart was hammering so hard I was sure he could hear it.

“Mr. Thorne,” I said, proud that my voice didn’t shake.

His lips quirked slightly at my formal tone. “I see you remember me.”

“Kind of hard to forget.”

“Indeed.” He leaned back in his chair, studying me with those intense gray eyes. “Margaret tells me you’re here about the assistant position.”

“I am. Though I’m still not sure how my name came up since I never applied.”

“I have people who find talented candidates.” His expression gave nothing away. “Your name was… familiar.”

Heat flooded my cheeks. We both knew exactly why my name was familiar.

“Mr. Thorne—”

“Kael. We’re past formalities, don’t you think?”

The agenda of just how past formalities we were made my skin burn. “Kael. I appreciate the interview, but I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because we…” I gestured vaguely between us.

“You know.”

“Had a mutually enjoyable evening two months ago?” He raised an eyebrow. “I fail to see how that disqualifies you from employment.”

“It’s unprofessional.”

“It would be unprofessional if we were currently involved. We’re not.” His voice was matter-of- fact, business-like. “Unless you’re planning to make it an issue?”

“No,” I said quickly. “No issue.”

“Good. Then let’s discuss your qualifications.” He picked up a folder from his desk. “You worked at The Sunrise Diner for three years. Managed schedules, handled difficult customers, trained new employees. That suggests organizational skills and the ability to deal with challenging personalities.”

I blinked. “How do you know all that?”

“I told you. I have people.” He set down the folder. “The position pays two hundred thousand a year, plus benefits and a signing bonus. You’d start Monday.”

My jaw literally dropped. “Two hundred thousand dollars?”

“Is that a problem?”

“That’s more money than I’ve made in my entire life.”

“Then I suggest you accept the offer.” He stood, coming around the desk to stand in front of me.

Up close, he was even more intimidating.

“Unless you have somewhere better to be?”

I thought about my eviction notice. My empty bank account.

The three pregnancy tests in my bathroom trash.

“No,” I said quietly. “I don’t have anywhere better to be.”

“Then we have a deal.” He extended his hand.I stared at it, knowing that the moment I took it, everything would change. I’d be working for the man whose baby I was carrying. The man who had no idea I was pregnant.

I should tell him. Right now. Before this got even more complicated.

But two hundred thousand dollars. Plus benefits. Plus a signing bonus.

That was enough to take care of a baby. To get out of my terrible apartment. To finally, finally get my life together, get my life together.

I took his hand. “Deal.”

His fingers closed around mine, and I felt that same electric current from two months ago.

His eyes darkened slightly, and I knew he felt it too.

“Margaret will handle the paperwork,” he said, but didn’t let go of my hand. “Try not to disappoint me, oatmeal.”

The nickname made my breath catch. He remembered.