CHAPTER 5: A DANGEROUS DEAL

EMBER’S POV

My brain stutters.

“Fake girlfriend?” I repeat. “As in… pretend we’re dating?”

Knox smiles like a wolf who’s just cornered a rabbit. “You catch on fast, Ember.”

The car slides through the icy city, neon and halogen smearing the windows. I half expect him to take it back, say it’s a joke, but King Knox is not a man who jokes.

I stare at his profile—clean, sharp, intimidating as hell—and the last few hours tumble through my head like dice in a rigged game.

I crossed a line with this man. Lines don’t matter to him. He just redraws them to suit himself.

“I don’t get it,” I say, and my voice sounds thin, even to me. “Why me? You could have anyone—”

He cuts a look my way, ice-blue and amused.

“That’s exactly why it’ll work. No one expects me to pick the omega wife of my own subordinate, especially not after tonight’s little airport meltdown.”

He’s right. It’s the kind of power move that’d keep every rumor mill spinning for months.

“But you don’t even know me,” I protest.

“I know enough.” His eyes rake over me deliberately. “I know you’re smart enough to recognize an opportunity when you see one. Beautiful enough to make every alpha in that room jealous when I walk in with you on my arm.” He leans closer. “And I know I want to fuck you again. Everything else is just details.”

I cross my arms, suddenly aware of how tight my sweater is. My cheeks burn.

“It’s only for a week,” Knox says. “One week of holding hands at events and letting everyone believe you’re my latest obsession. In exchange, you get protection, money, and I’ll make sure Gale never bothers you again. If you want the divorce, I’ll sign the paperwork myself. No strings.”

A short laugh escapes me. “So your solution to my cheating husband problem is to become a kept woman for a week. That’s genuinely your best idea?”

He shrugs, though his gaze stays intense.

“The Christmas Summit starts tomorrow. You want to face Gale and his lawyers alone? Or do you want to walk into that resort on my arm and make him shit himself in front of every pack alpha on the continent?”

I go silent. The car’s heater is blasting, but my hands are cold.

“What’s the catch?” I ask, because there’s always a catch.

Knox leans in, voice dropping. “You do what I say. No arguments. That includes in public and in private. If you’re not up for the full girlfriend experience, find another sugar daddy, princess.”

His eyes drop to my mouth, linger there a half-second too long.

I can’t breathe.

He means sex.

Of course he does.

He wants me as a prop, a property, and a fuck toy all rolled into one neat little package. The thought should make me sick. Instead, it sends a pulse of heat straight through my body, turning my bones to jelly.

Sapphire is purring inside me, little traitor.

I open my mouth to argue, but the car is already slowing, pulling up a long drive lined with glittering evergreens. At the end of the lane, a building rises out of the darkness—gargantuan, all glass and intimidating angles, every window ablaze with light.

Mystic Fire Winter Resort.

A valet sprints to open the car door and the cold night air slaps my face, shocking me into the present. Knox is out first, tossing keys to the valet and dropping a bill that looks suspiciously like a hundred.

He circles the car to my side and offers a hand. I ignore it, because if I touch him, I might forget how to walk.

He doesn’t seem to mind. His hand settles on the small of my back, pushing me forward. The entryway is a study in opulence—high glass ceilings, enormous stone fireplace, entire trees inside the lobby hung with silver ornaments and glass moons.

There’s a hush, the way there always is before a bloodbath.

The desk clerk looks up and goes pale, like she’s seeing a ghost. Behind her, two men in tailored suits glance over and immediately drop their voices. I’m not an idiot. Every eye in the place is on Lycan King Knox Volkov. And, by extension, on me.

We cross the lobby, past more security than an airport, and into a private elevator. The doors slide shut with a hiss. Knox hits the button for the top floor and lets out a slow exhale.

“Relax,” he says, glancing sidelong at me.

“I am relaxed,” I lie, voice strangled.

His eyes sweep down my body and linger at my legs, and then he leans in, nose almost brushing my ear.

“You’re still wet, Ember. You really thought I wouldn’t notice?”

My face goes thermonuclear.

He chuckles. “We’ll have to do something about that when we get to the suite.”

The doors open onto a private corridor carpeted in black. At the end, double doors. Knox pushes them open without ceremony.

The penthouse is a cathedral of luxury—windows floor to ceiling, a view of the snow-drowned valley, a modern fireplace already burning, and a bar stocked with more liquor than I could drink in a decade.

Every surface gleams, nothing out of place. It’s the kind of setting where a normal person would feel instantly smaller.

He motions for me to sit. My knees are shaking, so I do.

I don’t belong here. Not just in this room, but in this world. I’m wearing a wrinkled skirt, my thighs still sticky, and I haven’t brushed my hair since the plane. Even my shoes look pathetic on the white marble.

Knox fixes two drinks—whiskey, neat, no questions. He hands me a glass and perches on the arm of a leather chair across from me, suit jacket unbuttoned, blue eyes never leaving my face.

I’m actually in a hotel room alone with the fucking Lycan King. My mind is still baffled.

He waits until I’ve taken two desperate sips before speaking.

“Here’s how this works,” he says, voice suddenly businesslike. “We attend every event together for the next seven days. You do as I say in public and in private. You’ll act like my girlfriend—no less, but also no more. When it’s over, you get a check, and if you want a permanent job, you’ll have it. If not, we part ways. I don’t care if you fuck off to Bali or start a cult.”

I take another gulp of whiskey. It burns, in a good way.

“Why?” I say, because none of this adds up. “Why bother?”

Knox studies me. “You know who Rayana is?”

“Of course.” I remember her from the pack newsletters. Supermodel, business mogul, former girlfriend of the Lycan King. Most gorgeous woman alive, according to Cosmo and every shifter gossip site. “She’s your ex.”

“‘Ex’ is a generous term,” Knox says. “She’s an obsession that refuses to die. She’s back in Alaska, claiming she has six months to live and wants ‘one last Christmas together.’ She’s told every elder in the northern territories that we’re reuniting, she’s milked the sob story for all it’s worth, and if I don’t play ball, she’ll make it a public spectacle.”

“That sounds… dramatic.”

“That sounds like blackmail,” Knox corrects, deadpan. “So, I need a girlfriend. A real one. At least in the eyes of the media and the packs. Someone with just enough public disgrace to be interesting, and just enough dignity to make Rayana look like an idiot.”

It takes me a second to realize he’s talking about me.

“But you could have any woman you want,” I say, and it comes out so pathetic I want to bite my tongue off.

He takes a long swallow of whiskey, then sets the glass down. “That’s the point. I want one no one expects. I want to humiliate Gale, I want to fuck Rayana off my doorstep, and I want a woman who won’t fall apart if I make her scream in a bathroom.”

I stare at him.

“Why not just pay a professional escort?” I blurt.

Knox grins viciously. “I did, once. She tried to blackmail me for an extra fifty grand. I had her deported.”

I believe him.

I weigh my options.

My alternatives are:

(a) go back to a hotel and wait for Gale to ruin my life, or (b) play trophy girlfriend to the Lycan King and get a severance check big enough to make all my problems disappear.

“Say I agree,” I hedge, setting my glass down. “What do you get out of this?”

Knox leans forward, elbows on knees. “What do you think I get out of this, Ember?”

My mouth goes dry. “Sex.”

He doesn’t deny it. “And you’ll enjoy it.”

That cockiness should be a turnoff, but instead it makes me want to see how far he’ll go.

I close my eyes, just for a second. Try to imagine the next week. The gossips, the events, the way the other omegas will stare at me with envy or disgust or both.

The way Gale will absolutely lose his mind. The way I’ll wake up every morning in the arms of a man who knows how to make me come with a single look.

It’s not a fantasy I ever had, but now that I see it, I want it.

“Okay,” I say. “But I have conditions.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Let’s hear them.”

“One: You don’t get to treat me like an idiot. If I have to act like your girlfriend, I get to know what’s going on. No secrets that’ll make me look like a fool.”

“Deal.”

“Two: If this ends in disaster, and I mean real disaster, you help me disappear. No one should have to go back to Gale or face pack exile because their boss wanted to win a pissing contest with his ex.”

Knox’s lips curve. “You’d like Australia. Plenty of wild animals. I’ll have you on a flight in under an hour if it comes to that.”

He’s probably not joking.

“And three…” My face burns so hot it could melt the whiskey glass. “You have to promise to make me come every time. I need to see stars. No exceptions. Because Gale never did, and I refuse to go back to being a sad, unsatisfied omega.”

The silence that follows is so heavy I could drown in it.

Then Knox stands, crossing the space in three steps. He’s right in front of me, looming, heat and energy radiating off him like a wildfire. He takes my chin between his fingers, tilts my head back until I’m forced to meet his eyes.

“That won’t be a problem, darling,” he murmurs. “In fact, starting from tonight, you’ll be lucky if you ever walk straight again.”