CHAPTER 3

"What the hell do you mean the equipment isn't calibrated?"

Richard’s voice boomed through the mahogany doors of the boardroom before Joshua even touched the handle. It was the same abrasive, jagged edge that used to make Joshua’s knees buckle.

Not today.

Joshua adjusted the high collar of his charcoal suit, the fabric stiff against his throat. Underneath the silk, a patch hummed against his carotid artery, leaking a steady stream of synthetic chemical masking agents. He smelled like a sterile lab—bleach, ozone, and cold steel. Nothing else. No wolf. No Omega. No past.

He pushed the door open.

The air in the room was thick enough to choke on. Richard stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, his shoulders straining against his tailored jacket. Bianca was huddled in one of the leather chairs, her face a mask of practiced fragility. She was dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief.

"Richard, please," Bianca whimpered. "The doctor is just trying to be careful. My chest... it hurts so much."

Richard turned, a snarl dying on his lips as he locked eyes with the newcomer. He froze. The Alpha’s nostrils flared, scenting the air with a desperate, frantic intensity. A flicker of something raw and confused crossed his face—a ghost of a memory hitting him square in the chest.

Joshua didn't blink. He didn't stutter. He walked forward, his heels clicking a sharp, rhythmic tempo on the marble.

"I don't appreciate being kept waiting," Joshua said. His voice was a flat, surgical instrument. No warmth. No recognition. "I have a clinic to run in the city."

Richard’s hand twitched at his side. He stepped closer, his shadow falling over Joshua, heavy and suffocating. "Who are you?"

"Dr. J. Your lawyer should have briefed you." Joshua extended a hand. It was steady. Stone cold. "Mr. Harrington, I assume."

Richard stared at the hand. He didn't take it immediately. He leaned in, his eyes searching Joshua’s face with a terrifying, predatory focus. He was looking for a mole, a scar, a flicker of fear in the pupils. He was looking for the man he’d left for dead in the mud five years ago.

Joshua met the gaze with the dead eyes of a man who had already seen his own funeral.

"You smell... wrong," Richard spat, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble.

"I smell like a man who spends sixteen hours a day in a sterile OR," Joshua replied, retracting his hand when Richard failed to take it. He turned to Bianca, ignoring the Alpha entirely. "Ms. Bianca? Let’s get to it. I don't work for free, and my time is triple your Alpha’s hourly rate."

"Richard!" Bianca gasped, clutching her chest. "He’s so rude! Do we really need this... person?"

Richard didn't answer her. He was vibrating with a strange, aimless energy. He stepped into Joshua’s personal space, the sheer heat of his body radiating through Joshua’s suit. It was the weight of him—that massive, overbearing Alpha presence that used to dictate Joshua’s every breath.

"You're going to fix her," Richard commanded. It wasn't a request. It was the Alpha Command—the frequency that forced every wolf in the pack to drop to their knees in mindless obedience.

The vibration of the command hit the walls, making the glass in the windows hum. Bianca winced, her wolf reacting to the sheer power of it.

Joshua didn't even flinch. He didn't feel the pull. When Richard had let him die, the bond hadn't just cracked; it had shattered into dust. Joshua was biologically deaf to Richard’s voice.

He leaned back against the boardroom table, crossing his arms. "Are you done shouting at the furniture? I have a contract for you to sign."

Richard’s eyes went wide. His jaw literally dropped. No one—no wolf, no human—ignored the Command. He looked at Joshua like he was a glitch in the universe.

"How?" Richard whispered, the word nearly a growl.

"How what? I’m a doctor, Harrington, not a dog. Your posturing doesn't impress me." Joshua pulled a sleek tablet from his briefcase and slid it across the polished wood. "These are my terms. They are non-negotiable."

Richard didn't look at the tablet. He was still staring at Joshua’s throat, watching the pulse point. "I know you."

"You know my reputation. That’s why I’m here." Joshua tapped the screen. "Clause one: Total autonomy. I run the Harrington medical wing. Your pack healers report to me, or they get fired. Clause two: I have my own security. Your enforcers stay out of my way. Clause three: I live off-site. No one follows me home."

Richard finally looked down at the contract, but his hands were shaking. "This is an occupation, not a medical consult. You want to control my territory?"

"I want to do my job without your meathead guards breathing down my neck while I’m holding a scalpel near your mate’s heart." Joshua looked at Bianca, a cold, sharp smile touching his lips. "Unless, of course, her life isn't worth the inconvenience of giving me a key card."

Bianca let out a small, sharp cry. "Richard! He’s trying to take over! You can’t let him!"

"Sign it, Richard," Joshua said, using his name for the first time. It sounded like a slur. "Or I walk out that door, and you can go back to watching her waste away while your healers scratch their heads."

Richard grabbed the stylus. He looked like he wanted to snap it in half. He stared at Joshua for one more long, agonizing second, trying to find a crack in the mask.

"One slip," Richard hissed, leaning over the table to sign the digital document with a violent swipe. "One mistake, and I’ll remind you whose land you’re standing on."

Joshua picked up the tablet and tucked it into his bag. He didn't look back.

"I’ll see you at the clinic at 0800. Don't be late. I hate people who waste my time."

Joshua walked out, his heart finally thudding against his ribs once the door clicked shut. He made it to the elevator before his knees shook. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

"Dani? It’s done," Joshua whispered into the receiver as the elevator dropped. "I’m in. Tell the cleaners to get the secondary safe house ready. We’re going to bleed him dry."