Chapter 3

But hearing the name in someone else’s mouth made everything worse. His body reacted as if Adrian had spoken directly to him. His cock throbbed. His nipples hardened again against his shirt. Ethan crossed his arms over his chest, trying to hide it.

He needed to focus. Needed to work. Needed to pretend nothing had happened.

But then the private elevator — the one that only went to the executive floors — opened at the far end of the glass corridor.

And Adrian stepped out.

He didn’t come down to the 17th floor. He didn’t need to. Just crossing the upper corridor, visible through the smoked-glass walls, talking to two directors. Impeccable black suit, posture of someone who commanded the air around him. He didn’t even look down.

But Ethan looked up.

And his body betrayed him.

It was instantaneous. Heat surged like fever. His stomach clenched. Between his legs, the flow increased — hot, slick, insistent. Ethan squeezed his thighs so hard it hurt. A low moan escaped before he could stop it. He hunched over the desk, pretending to read something on the monitor, but his eyes were unfocused.

Adrian stopped in the middle of the corridor.

For one second.

Just one second.

But Ethan felt it. As if the alpha had scented the air and caught his trail. Adrian turned his head slowly. Steel-gray eyes pierced through the glass, through the space, through the people, and locked onto Ethan.

Ethan gasped.

His cock gave a painful jump. Something inside him opened — a raw, desperate need he had never felt before. He wanted to crawl over there. Wanted to kneel. Wanted to be touched, scented, bitten.

Adrian clenched his jaw. Turned his back and kept walking. But Ethan saw: the fists balled, the shoulders tense, the stride faster than normal.

He left.

And left Ethan wrecked.

The rest of the morning was torture.

Every time the elevator dinged, Ethan flinched. Every time he heard heavy footsteps in the upper corridor, his body reacted. He went to the bathroom twice just to clean himself — soaked toilet paper, underwear swapped for the spare he kept in his backpack out of habit (thank God he always carried an extra change). But nothing stopped it. His own scent was driving him insane — sweet, honeyed, begging for an Alpha who shouldn’t even exist in his life.

At 11:47, the desk phone rang.

“Moore?” The executive assistant’s voice was dry. “Mr. Blackwood requests your presence in meeting room 32-A. Now.”

Ethan felt his blood freeze and boil at the same time.

“I… now?”

“Yes. Now.”

He stood up. His legs felt like jelly. The walk to the elevator seemed endless. When he stepped into the private elevator — the same one from the incident — Adrian’s scent still lingered. Ethan leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, breathing through his mouth.

It ascended.

The 32nd floor was another world. Absolute silence. Thick carpet. Dark wood doors. The assistant — blonde, gray tailleur, killer stare — led him to room 32-A without a word.

Adrian was there.

Alone.

Standing by the panoramic window, back to the door, hands in his pockets. The sun hit him as if he were the center of the universe.

Ethan stopped at the entrance.

“Close the door,” Adrian ordered without turning.

Ethan obeyed.

Adrian turned slowly.

His eyes were black again. Pupils blown wide. Nostrils flared. He inhaled deeply, as if feeding on Ethan’s scent.

“Sit.”

Ethan sat. His legs wouldn’t have held him upright anyway.

Adrian approached. Stopped two meters from the table. Far enough not to touch. Close enough for Ethan to feel the heat.

“Who are you?” Adrian asked, voice low, controlled, but trembling at the edges.

“I… Ethan Moore. Junior analyst. Started today.”

“Liar,” Adrian growled softly. “You’re not human. It’s not possible.”

Ethan blinked, confused.

“I am human. Always have been. My tests—”

“Your tests are wrong.” Adrian took a step forward. “Or you’re lying.”

Ethan shook his head.

“I don’t—”

Adrian leaned over the table. Hands braced on the surface. Face inches from Ethan’s.

“I feel you,” he whispered. “I feel every drop of you. Sweet. Wet. Needy.” He closed his eyes for a second, as if it hurt. “And my wolf is going insane.”

Ethan didn’t understand half the words. But he understood the tone. Understood the look. Understood the way his own body answered — arching slightly in the chair, neck bared without meaning to, a low moan slipping out.

Adrian recoiled as if he’d been shocked.

“Get out,” he ordered. “Before I lose control again.”

Ethan stood. Stumbled to the door. Opened it. Left.

But the corridor spun.

The world spun.

He ran to the nearest bathroom — the executive one, empty, luxurious. Locked the stall door. Dropped to his knees on the marble floor.

His whole body shook. Fever. Heat. Pain. Need. He curled in on himself, arms wrapped around his stomach. Hot tears streamed down.

“What’s happening to me…?”

Meanwhile, on the 32nd floor, Adrian picked up the internal phone.

“Marcus,” his voice was hoarse, almost unrecognizable. “I want everything on Ethan Moore. Everything. Birth, family, medical records, school history, relationships, address, bank accounts, social media. I want to know who he fucked, who he kissed, what he ate for breakfast. Now.”

A brief silence on the other end.

“Sir… that’s criminal-level privacy invasion.”

“I am the law here,” Adrian growled. “Do it.”

He hung up.

And pressed his forehead to the cold window.

The wolf inside him howled.

Meanwhile, in the bathroom, Ethan tried to stand.

His legs failed.

His vision darkened.

He fell sideways, shoulder hitting the toilet. The world spun faster.

The last thing he saw before everything went black was his own distorted reflection on the marble floor — pale face, sweaty, lips parted in a silent moan.

And then darkness came.