Chapter 7 Absolute Control

The red error pop-ups on the screen stung her eyes.

Darcy tried several reverse traces, but every data chain broke at the exact same point. The authorization layer. The missing pages. Whoever had done this was clean. Without the highest-level access to the underlying database, there was no way to conjure legal authorization out of thin air.

Three hours until the 8:00 p.m. briefing.

Darcy grabbed the cold black coffee from her desk and took a long gulp. The bitter, icy jolt hit her system like a slap, forcing her brain into absolute clarity.

Can't reconstruct it? Then don't.

She abandoned the attempt to recreate the missing attachments. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, compiling the file access logs from the past half hour, the trimming marks on the paper, and the PR department's operational records into a single encrypted package. She locked it into the group's highest-level audit vault with maximum security clearance.

At the same time, she reopened the draft bulletin and embedded a new clause at the end. A "Risk Isolation and Liability Tracing Provision."

"In the absence of the original authorized attachments, this bulletin only confirms known public information. All cross-border risks not explicitly authorized by the Board shall be borne in full by the initial data-submitting department."

She set up a double lock. The external release would confirm legal compliance, while the internal risk report would pin liability squarely on the PR department.

[WARNING: High-risk audit operation triggered. Highest-level alert synchronized to CEO terminal.]

The moment that line flashed across her screen, the risk control office's sensor door slid open silently.

The air shifted. Cedar and snow pine flooded the room like a tide.

Asher walked in, flanked by his chief aide and personal guards. He'd changed into a dark gray bespoke suit, and his steel-gray eyes were cold as frozen iron.

Darcy didn't turn around. Her hand remained poised above the submit key, her voice calm and flat.

"Without board authorization, the PR department has no authority to require the risk control lead to assume liability for raw data. The missing attachments and trimming marks have already been synced to the audit vault. The bulletin can be released on schedule at eight. As for responsibility."

"Responsibility doesn't need to wait until eight."

Asher didn't slow his pace. He walked straight to her desk, bypassing the acting director, who had been hovering nearby, clearly about to scurry forward and make excuses, without so much as a glance. His eyes swept across the audit code on Darcy's screen. His voice dropped low.

"Since when does the PR department dictate risk control rules in Kingston territory?"

As he spoke, his right hand came to rest on the edge of her desk. Barely half a palm's width from her own hand. It was subtle, almost casual, but it drew an invisible line across the workspace. A line that said: this side is mine.

The acting director's forehead broke out in cold sweat. "Mr. Kingston, the timeline is tight. This was legacy data from before."

"The PR department is hereby placed under direct CEO oversight." Asher cut him off, his gaze slicing through the man like a blade. "My chief aide will take over all related matters. As for you, surrender your access and leave. Now."

The acting director's jowls trembled. He opened his mouth, closed it, then slunk out without a word of protest.

The room fell silent.

Asher turned to Darcy, still composed, still seated at her desk as if none of this had disturbed her. He reached out with one long finger and closed her laptop screen with a soft click.

"Miss Clark. During this 48-hour agreement, your brain is this group's most valuable asset. I don't need my billion-dollar merger's Chief Risk Officer wasting her time cleaning up the messes of incompetents."

He glanced at his watch, his tone clipped and cold. "Go rest. At 7:00 p.m., change into formal wear. You'll accompany me to the territory's welcome banquet."

He withdrew his hand and turned to leave.

Darcy looked down at her own hand, still hovering above the mouse. She paused for half a second. Then she pressed the shutdown key.

The risk control office was quiet now, save for the fading remnants of cedar in the air.

"Did you see who he just threw out?"

Maeve slipped in, crouching low, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and worry. "That old bastard's insignia was issued by the Elders' Council. One of the few senior wolves in this whole building who's untouchable. No one dares to cross him. And Asher didn't even let him finish his sentence."

She paused, her voice dropping even lower.

"Also, tonight's welcome banquet. The Pack calls it the 'Hunt Night.' Everyone who walks through those doors has a bloodline, a wolf form, and an Elder backing them. You're not wearing any mark at all. They'll circle you. Every single one of them will be watching, waiting for a crack."

Darcy leaned back in her chair, her fingertips brushing the cool surface of the desk.

"That's exactly why I can't hide." She stood up. "If the Alpha opens the door for me, I can't cower behind it like prey. Time to get changed."

6:30 p.m. Top-floor lounge.

The chief aide delivered a gown. An elegant, tailored dress in deep forest-green heavy satin. The high-standing collar rose to just beneath her jawline, perfectly concealing the small dark mark that still lingered above her collarbone.

But beneath the dress, nestled in a velvet-lined compartment of the box, lay something else. A black-and-gold temporary insignia bearing the Kingston Pack's storm-wolf crest.

"This is Mr. Kingston's instruction." The aide bowed respectfully. "Without an insignia, the Elders' Council will question your right to enter."

Darcy looked at the badge. The mark of protection. The stamp of territorial belonging. A symbol that said she belonged to someone.

She didn't take it.

Instead, she reached into her own bag and pulled out her standard-issue company ID badge. The cheap metal one with her photo and the words "Risk Control Department." She pinned it to the left chest of her gown, just above her heart.

"I attend as the Chief Risk Officer of the merger project," Darcy said, her voice steady. "Not as anyone's appendage."

The aide paused, visibly surprised. He opened his mouth as if to insist, then thought better of it. He bowed and withdrew.

Darcy stood before the mirror, pressing scent blocker into her skin until every trace of her natural scent was sealed away. To the ordinary wolves in the banquet hall, she would register as nothing. No pack. No rank. No scent. Just empty air in human shape.

She studied her reflection one last time. The deep green gown, the high collar, the plain metal badge pinned above her heart. She looked like a project lead attending a corporate function. Nothing more. That was exactly what she wanted them to see.

Tap. A soft sound from outside. The faint, layered vibration of a high-ranked Alpha's footfall.

Darcy opened the door and stepped out.

Asher stood in the hallway, dressed in black-and-gold formal wear, the storm-wolf insignia gleaming on his chest. Broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, every line of him cut with the precision of a blade. The air around him was heavy enough to press against her skin.

His steel-gray eyes swept over her. The deep green gown. The high collar. And on her left chest, not his insignia, not the Pack's emblem, but her plain, unremarkable company ID badge.

His pupils contracted sharply.

She'd fooled every other wolf in the building, but not him. Even through the scent blocker, that faint, clean sweetness of her pierced straight through to his senses. And the deliberate refusal of his mark, wearing that cheap badge like a declaration of independence, was a statement so clear it might as well have been shouted.

He reined in his reaction. His expression smoothed into controlled composure. He extended his left arm, elbow slightly bent. An invitation.

"Ready to step into the hunt, Miss Clark?" His voice was low and steady.

Darcy looked at the arm extended before her. She didn't hesitate. She placed her hand on his forearm, graceful and composed, as if she'd done it a hundred times. Through the fabric of his sleeve, she could feel his muscles tighten instantly at her touch.

"As long as you don't expect me to play prey, anytime, Mr. Kingston." She tipped her chin up to meet his gaze, eyes clear and unafraid.

Asher turned his head to look at her. A flicker of dark gold passed through the depths of his eyes, there and gone like a spark in the dark. His voice dropped lower, something unreadable threading through it.

"I never saw you as prey."

He tightened his arm slightly, drawing her closer as he led her toward the private territorial elevator that descended directly to the main banquet hall.

The doors slid open silently. And the full weight of the Hunt Night pressed in from the other side. The city's pure-blood wolf elite, gathered in one hall. The pressure of their combined presence was suffocating.

Darcy stepped forward without faltering. She kept her chin high, her shoulders back, her expression unreadable. If they wanted to circle her, let them. She'd been circled before. She was still standing.