Chapter 6 The Mask

Early morning. A layer of cold fog pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the top-floor risk control office.

The bathroom faucet ran in a steady stream.

Darcy braced both hands on the cold porcelain sink and stared at her own expressionless reflection in the mirror.

The woman staring back had slightly disheveled hair. And just above her collarbone, a small patch of darkened skin stood out starkly under the harsh fluorescent light. Raw. Tender. Unmistakable.

She cupped a palm full of ice-cold water and slapped it against her face. The biting chill spread across her skin instantly, shredding the last traces of grogginess that still clung to her senses.

She dipped her fingertip into concealer and worked it into that small bruise with painstaking patience. Patting. Blending. Smoothing. Layer by layer, until the mark disappeared completely. The woman in the mirror was once again flawless, pale, untouchable. Only then did she button her shirt all the way up to the top collar and twist her long hair into a tight, no-nonsense ponytail.

She couldn't let anyone smell Asher's cedar-and-snow-pine scent on her. In Kingston Pack's territory, a packless rogue carrying the Alpha King's scent would be dragged before the Elders' Council and branded a "temptress who seduced the leader." A charge that would bring down more trouble than she could afford.

She stepped out of the lounge and walked past the CEO's office. The heavy black wooden door remained shut tight. No light bled through the crack beneath it. The corridor was so quiet she could hear the click of her own heels echoing off the walls. But the air still seemed to hold a ghost of that cold, oppressive cedar scent. The aftermath of last night's storm.

Darcy's steps faltered for a fraction of a second in front of that door.

She didn't stop. She pulled her gaze away and walked back into the risk control office.

Her computer screen flickered to life, and her fingers moved across the keyboard with practiced efficiency, routing the thirty million she'd intercepted last night back into the company's main account, line by line.

Ding.

Her old phone buzzed.

Maeve: Darcy! Fresh croissant at the front desk! Also, heard the top floor triggered a Level 3 lockdown last night. Even the Elders' night patrol got turned away at the perimeter. What happened? Are you okay?

Darcy's fingers froze above the keyboard.

Level 3 lockdown. Even the patrol couldn't get in.

An image surfaced in her mind unbidden. The wall in that dark lounge, covered in claw marks. The sound of his footsteps retreating into that pitch-black office, alone, carrying a weight she couldn't see.

He'd cut off every exit behind her the moment she stepped into that room.

Darcy lowered her lashes and pressed down the strange flutter in her chest.

Darcy: I'm fine. Everything went smoothly.

She turned off the screen, straightened her collar, and walked toward the elevator.

The doors opened onto the main lobby.

Low- and mid-ranked wolves of the Kingston Pack moved through the space in their usual morning rhythm. Some carrying coffee. Others scrolling through tablets. All of them wearing the subtle territorial awareness that came with belonging to a Pack.

Chloe was at the front desk, sorting through a stack of documents. The moment she spotted Darcy stepping out of the executive elevator, the one reserved for the CEO's inner circle, a flash of venomous jealousy flickered behind her eyes. She immediately stepped forward to intercept.

"Darcy!" Chloe's voice came out sugary sweet, deliberately pitched loud enough for the surrounding wolves to hear.

Several nearby employees glanced over. Cold, dismissive stares. In Kingston Group, anyone without a Pack insignia didn't belong in the core circles. They were temporary tools at best, tolerated only as long as they were useful.

Chloe leaned in closer, her nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly, trying to catch any trace of what had happened on the top floor last night. But Darcy's scent-blocking cream had done its job perfectly. There was nothing there. Just the neutral, blank nothing of a scent that gave away nothing at all.

A flicker of disappointment crossed Chloe's face. She masked it quickly, her voice dripping with false concern. "Darcy, you don't even have a formal Pack registration. And last night, the top floor was in complete chaos. If the Elders' Council starts investigating, who do you think they'll believe? You, with no Pack backing? Or the people who actually have insignia?"

Darcy looked at her for two full seconds. Her voice came out flat and mild. "Since when does front desk reception handle North Barrens intelligence work?"

Chloe's smile froze for just a fraction of a second. "I'm just worried about you."

"Then worry less. Knowing too much isn't good for a receptionist's career."

Darcy picked up the paper bag from the counter and walked past her without another glance, stepping back into the elevator.

The doors were just beginning to close when a large, powerful hand caught the sensor panel.

Asher stepped inside. His black-clad guards remained outside. The doors slid shut with a soft thud, sealing the two of them in the narrow metal box.

The air pressure in the small space dropped instantly. Darcy retreated to the corner, her posture cool and professionally distant. "Mr. Kingston."

Asher took half a step forward. His gaze settled on her collar, buttoned all the way to the top, concealing everything beneath.

The air between them was clean. No trace of last night's scent lingered. Nothing.

Too clean.

"You used scent blocker." Asher's voice was low. It wasn't a question.

Darcy met his gaze evenly. "I need to appear here as the project lead. Not as an Omega who's been touched by an Alpha."

Asher's jaw tightened visibly. Those steel-gray eyes locked onto her with an intensity that could have cut glass. "Does it bother you that much being connected to me?"

"It bothers me that people might assume I couldn't get through that door without you."

Asher stared at her, those clear amber eyes that never wavered, never backed down, never gave him an inch. Something in his rigid, icy posture shifted almost imperceptibly.

Darcy looked away, her tone flat and businesslike as she added, "The thirty million fund trail has been sealed into the audit vault. Also, there's an old Northern node in the initial data. Seven years ago, it was called 'Frozen Spine Ridge.' Does that name ring a bell, Mr. Kingston?"

Asher's hand, which had been adjusting his cuff link, paused for just a moment.

The deep flicker in his eyes withdrew, his expression reverting to that absolute, CEO-level composure.

"It rings a bell." He looked at her. "That's not a name that belongs in a company report. Change the node label to the old code, and send the related data to my office separately."

"Just the data?" Darcy asked.

"Miss Clark." Asher's voice dropped lower, his gaze dark and unfathomable as a frozen lake. "In Kingston territory, some old names attract more trouble than forged accounts ever could. And they're especially dangerous coming from your lips."

Ding.

The elevator reached the top floor.

Asher looked away first and stepped out. Darcy leaned against the cold metal wall, watching his tall, rigid silhouette retreat down the hallway. Her fingers brushed lightly against her collar. A flicker of thought passed behind her amber eyes.

Back on the first floor.

Chloe watched Darcy disappear back into the executive elevator unscathed. She turned to the acting PR director, who had just walked over, and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial murmur.

"Director, I got her talking. She doesn't even have a Pack registration. And there's no scent of Mr. Kingston on her at all. He was cold to her in the elevator just now, completely distant. She has no backing. She's nothing more than a disposable tool they're keeping around to take the fall."

The acting director's lips curled into a cold, vicious smile. "A nobody without Pack backing thinks she can step into the core circle? Perfect. Tonight's overseas hedge fund loss report, she'll make the perfect scapegoat."

4:00 p.m. Top-floor risk control office.

Maeve had just walked in carrying a stack of restored-access print files, ready to brief Darcy, when the acting PR director barged in with two subordinates in tow.

SLAM.

A thick stack of documents hit Darcy's desk like a guillotine blade.

"Miss Clark. This is the loss assessment bulletin for the overseas hedge fund project. It needs to be calculated and signed, along with the liability waiver, by 8:00 p.m. tonight. One typo, one decimal point off, and all consequences fall on you."

Maeve's face went pale. She lunged forward, slapping her hand down on top of the file. "This isn't even in the risk control group's scope of work! You're reaching across departments to set her up as a sacrificial lamb!"

She grabbed Darcy's arm, her voice dropping to an urgent, desperate whisper. "Darcy, don't accept this! Under territorial commercial law, anyone without a Pack guarantee who takes sole responsibility for a cross-border risk bulletin, if anything goes wrong, they can revoke your work permit permanently and banish you from the territory! They'll throw you out, and there won't be a single thing you can do about it!"

Darcy turned to look at her best friend. A small smile crossed her face, warm but knowing. She reached over and gently patted Maeve's hand.

"If I back down today, everyone in this building will believe the only reason I'm standing here is because Asher Kingston took a liking to me. That's a leash I'm not willing to wear."

Darcy pressed Maeve's hand once, then pulled the file toward herself. Her expression was calm as still water.

"Leave the file. By eight o'clock, I'll have your answer."

The acting director snorted coldly and led his people out.

The sun was setting. The cedar-scented darkness from the CEO's office next door began to seep through the walls like slow-moving fog.

Darcy picked up her black coffee, now cold, and let her fingers fly across the keyboard. She worked through the file with methodical precision, until she reached the final page.

Her fingers stopped.

The edge of the paper showed a clean, smooth cut line. Perfectly flush. Professionally trimmed.

Three pages had been removed. The most crucial pages. The cross-border risk liability waivers and the board-authorized attachment documents.

Without those three attachment pages, if she signed the report, she'd be deemed to have "unauthorized approved high-risk fund disclosure." She'd not only be stripped of her project lead position. She'd be permanently blacklisted in Kingston Pack's territory. No work permit. No future. No place to stand.

They weren't just trying to make her look bad.

They were trying to erase her.

Darcy glanced at her watch. Three hours until the 8:00 p.m. briefing.

She didn't hesitate. She closed the folder, pulled the encrypted USB drive from her drawer, and plugged it in.

She took a sip of the cold, bitter coffee. Black, no sugar, the way she always drank it when she was about to do something ruthless.

Her fingers tapped out a line of code on the keyboard, and the risk control office's highest-level backup archive opened before her.

If they were so eager to hand her a blade.

Darcy's lips curved into a cold, razor-sharp smile.

Then tonight, she'd give them a performance they'd never forget.