Chapter 5: Secondary differentiation

Cassian didn’t even flinch at the jab. Instead, his dark eyes gleamed with a slow, wicked heat, his smirk widening into something filthy and thoroughly unbothered.

“I’ve banged plenty of men, Captain,” Cassian purred, his voice dropping into a low, smooth vibration that rattled right against the velvet seat. “Betas, Omegas… but I’ve never had an Alpha. Especially not one who tries as hard as you do to play the big, bad CEO.”

Christopher gazed at him for a minute wondering why Cassian was teasing him and disturbing his life. They were like this in college, always insulting each other but now they were grown ups in a company shouldn't the man child grow to an adult.  

He responded with a cold, sharp huff of laughter, setting his crystal glass down onto the marble table with a deliberate, heavy snap. He leaned in, his silver-grey eyes narrowing into razor-sharp slits.

“If you’re that desperate to get laid, Collins, I know a few cheap men downtown I can refer you to,” Christopher sneered, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Since you clearly lack the skill to pick up an Alpha on your own.”

Without waiting for a response, Christopher stood up, buttoning his suit jacket with fluid, practiced ease. He didn't give Cassian a second glance as he turned on his heel and walked straight out of the private lounge, leaving Cassian sitting alone in the dim amber light, swirling his whiskey with a dark, amused smile.

By Friday afternoon, the atmosphere in Ashford International’s main boardroom was stifling.

The entire board of directors was assembled to review the blueprints for the upcoming Helios Project. A high-stakes, multi-billion-dollar bio-tech venture that Christopher had personally spearheaded. Christopher stood at the head of the long ebony table, unbuttoning his collar slightly as a sudden, intense wave of heat flushed through his body.

He swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the edges of the podium. His vision blurred for a fraction of a second, a strange, terrifyingly familiar ache throbbing at the base of his neck.

Just exhaustion, he told himself, forcing his voice to remain steady as he pointed to the projected metrics. “The initial phase will require thirty percent of our liquid capital allocated to—”

His voice cut off. The air in his lungs suddenly felt like liquid lead. A blinding spike of pain shot straight down his spine, and the floor beneath his feet seemed to tilt violently.

Impossible. He was an Alpha. The strongest Alpha of his generation. His body didn’t fail. Not like this. Yet this feeling felt familiar, like a distant memory he couldn't access

Across the table, Damian Ashford sat sipping his tea, his eyes narrowing into cold, calculating slits, watching his nephew’s sudden instability with a quiet, mysterious satisfaction. Beside him, Cassian leaned forward, his usual arrogant posture completely vanishing. His dark eyes flicked sharply from Christopher’s pale, sweat-sheened face to his own father, Fabien, and then straight to Damian, silently observing the unspoken exchange between the two older men.

“Mr. Ashford?” one of the board members asked, stepping forward in concern. “Are you—”

Christopher opened his mouth to reply, but the room went completely black. His knees buckled, and his heavy frame hit the hardwood floor with a deafening thud.

Panic erupted instantly.

Someone shouted his name, sharp with panic. Chairs scraped violently across the floor. Several people rushed forward.

Damian stood more slowly than everyone else. Looking down at his unconscious nephew, his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

“Call an ambulance! Now!” Bill yelled, rushing to his side and dropping to his knees beside his boss.

Within forty-five minutes, the private VIP wing of St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital was locked down.

Bill stood in the hallway, his hands trembling as he ended a call with Evelyn Ashford the grand matriarch of the Ashford family and Christopher’s grandmother. Minutes later, the elevator doors slid open, and Evelyn marched down the corridor, her silver cane thudding rhythmically against the pristine tile

She sat without moving, her cane resting between her hands. Though age had silvered her hair, nothing had dulled the authority in her gaze.

Dr. Noah Vance, the chief of medicine and a trusted family physician, stepped out of the private examination room, closing the heavy doors behind him.

“Chairwoman,” Noah said in a hushed, grave tone, stepping away from the lingering staff. He leaned in, whispering the detailed diagnostic results directly into her ear.

Evelyn’s aristocratic face tightened, a rare flicker of shock crossing her weathered features before she instantly smoothed it over into an iron mask. She grabbed Noah by the forearm, her voice dropping into a fierce, dangerous whisper.

“Nobody can know about this, Noah,” Evelyn commanded, her knuckles white against her cane. “Not the board, not the press, and especially not Damian. Do you understand me? Wipe the primary record.”

“Understood, Madam Ashford,” Noah murmured, nodding solemnly.

Just then, heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. Damian strode around the corner, his suit immaculate, a look of contrived worry plastered across his face.

“Mother!” Damian called out, stopping in front of them. “I came as soon as I heard. What happened to Christopher? Is he alright? The board is in a frenzy.”

Evelyn turned slowly, fixing her son with an icy, unreadable stare. “He is fine, Damian. It was simple exhaustion and stress from running this company while fixing your department's regulatory mistakes.”

Damian’s eyes flicked to the closed hospital door, a subtle, skeptical sneer tugging at his mouth. “Stress? He collapsed cold in front of twenty-three shareholders, Mother. If the boy is physically unfit to handle the pressures of acting CEO, I am more than prepared to step in and lighten his load.”

“He is perfectly fit,” Evelyn snapped, her voice cutting through the hall like a blade. “And he does not need your help. Go back to the office, Damian.”

Damian stared at his mother for a long, tense beat before letting out a soft, breathy huff. “If you say so.”

He turned around and walked down the corridor toward his waiting assistant. The moment they stepped into the private elevator, the mask dropped from Damian’s face, replaced by a triumphant, ruthless grin.

“Call the loyalists on the board,” Damian ordered his assistant coldly. “Start rounding up votes. The moment Christopher falters again, we strike. Soon, I will finally take the throne.”

His assistant paused, adjusting his glasses in slight confusion. “Um… sir, you mean the CEO chair?”

Damian shot him a lethal glare. “Just make the goddamn calls.”

Inside the dimly lit VIP room, the quiet hum of heart monitors filled the air.

Christopher groaned, his thick lashes fluttering open as consciousness slowly returned to him. His head throbbed violently, his entire body feeling strangely sensitive, bruised, and feverish.

He pushed himself up against the pillows, wincing as he looked around the room. Evelyn sat in an armchair by the window, while Dr. Noah stood at the foot of the bed holding a secure medical tablet.

“Grandmother…?” Christopher rasped, his voice rough and dry. He swallowed hard, rubbing his temples. “What the fuck happened to me? I just… passed out.”

Evelyn stood up, stepping toward the bed, her face heavy with a mixture of intense sternness and quiet dread. She looked at Noah and gave him a faint nod.

Noah stepped closer, holding the tablet firmly, his expression unreadable as he met Christopher’s silver-grey eyes.

“Christopher,” Noah said softly, choosing his words with absolute precision. “The fainting spell wasn't caused by exhaustion or work stress.”

Christopher narrowed his eyes, a sudden, cold knot of dread tightening in his chest. “Then what was it, Noah? Speak plainly.”

Noah took a deep breath, looking straight into Christopher’s eyes.

“Your blood tests and hormone scans came back,” Noah revealed quietly. “Christopher… your body has just undergone a secondary differentiation.”