CHAPTER 3

If those Alphas were exiled from the Ryder territories, they were socially dead. To be barred from the inner circle of Ryder Global was to be stripped of influence, connections, and status in the city. They begged and scraped for mercy, but Cole didn't even acknowledge their existence. At a flick of the manager's hand, the bouncers hauled them out like unwanted strays.

Once the trash was cleared, Cole returned to his seat without so much as a glance in my direction. He was a statue of cold control again.

I followed him. My pride was bruised, but I wasn't ungrateful. "I wanted to thank you," I said, standing by the edge of his table. "For what you did just now."

I gave a polite, dignified nod to Mason Clark, who was watching us with a predatory grin. Even though I was a fallen socialite working for tips, I refused to lose the poise my mother had drilled into me since I was a pup.

Mason smirked back, clearly seeing why Cole had broken his own rules for me. Cole, however, kept his eyes on his drink, ignoring me entirely.

Then I saw it. The white linen on the table was stained with red. Blood was dripping from Cole's hand.

"You’re hurt," I said, my voice shifting into the professional tone I used at the medical center. "Let me tend to that."

I didn't care if he was a billionaire tycoon or an Alpha; to me, he was a patient. Mason watched, fascinated—he knew Cole had shattered his glass in a silent fit of possessive rage when those men touched me.

I signaled for a medical kit. Without waiting for permission, I took his hand. His skin was burning hot, his pulse thrumming with raw power, but I didn't flinch. I cleaned the glass shards from his palm with focused precision. Cole didn't speak, but he didn't pull away either. He let me touch him, his golden eyes tracking my every move.

"The lacerations are deep," I whispered, wrapping the gauze tightly. "Stay away from water for the next two days. You don't want an infection to set in."

I packed the kit, expecting the usual wall of silence. But as I turned to leave, his voice stopped me cold.

"Do you know how to handle a vehicle?"

I blinked, confused by the sudden shift. "I do, but... I usually take the tunnels. I haven't driven in years."

Cole didn't care. He tossed a heavy set of keys onto the table. "Drive me."

I looked at his bandaged hand and felt a pang of guilt. He’d helped me three times today; the least I could do was get him home.

Mason watched us walk out, chuckling to himself. "I guess there really is a 'next time'..."

I’ve never been behind the wheel of a four-hundred-thousand-dollar piece of machinery before. Most of my life was spent in the back of town cars until the Mercer name fell apart.

"It's just gas and brakes, Ivy," I muttered to myself.

It was not.

By the second intersection, the calm in the car vanished. I mistook the accelerator for the brake and blew through a red light, narrowly missing a transport truck. The screech of tires and the roar of horns filled the air. My heart was thundering against my ribs.

"How exactly did you get licensed?" Cole asked, his voice dangerously low as he gripped the door handle.

"It’s been a while!" I snapped, my face heating up.

I looked at him, expecting a lecture. But in the dim light of the dashboard, his gaze was intense, dark, and lingering on my lips. The tension in the car shifted from 'near-death experience' to something far more primal.

"Forget the penthouse," he rumbled. "You live a block from here. Go to your place."

"Fine," I breathed.

When I finally parked outside my crumbling apartment building, my back was damp with sweat. "We’re here. Do you want to call your driver to pick you up?"

Cole didn't answer. He just stepped out of the car. By the time I caught up, he was already standing at my door, looking like a god in a graveyard.

"Open it," he commanded.

My inner wolf whined in warning. Sleeping with Blake’s uncle was a disaster waiting to happen. If the pack found out, my reputation would be shredded beyond repair.

But then I remembered the sleep I’d had last night. Since my father, Richard, was hauled away and my life shattered, I’d been a ghost, staring at the ceiling for hours in the dark. Only with Cole’s scent surrounding me had the insomnia broken. I needed that peace.

I pushed the door open.

He didn't even wait for the bedroom. He had me against the hallway wall, his hands stripping away my clothes with a hunger that made my knees weak. I barely managed to lead him to the bed before he moved over me.

His scent—cedar, rain, and Alpha—filled my senses, silencing the noise in my head. When he moved inside me this time, there was no pain, only a desperate, mounting heat.

"So eager..." he growled against my throat.

He claimed me with a ferocity that left me breathless, his hands marking my skin. I felt a tension coiling in my core, a pressure I'd never known.

"Please... Byron... Cole... please!" I gasped his name, lost in the rhythm.

He froze for a heartbeat at the sound of his name, then redoubled his pace. The cheap bed creaked under the force of his thrusts until I shattered, a muffled cry escaping me as I clung to his shoulders. He followed a moment later, his weight grounding me as we both drifted into the first real sleep I’d had in months.

The next morning, the sun was a harsh reminder of reality. Cole was already dressed, standing by the window.

He didn't mention the night. He simply handed me a thick, embossed business card.

"If you have issues with the distribution at the SkyDeck, contact this man."

I looked at the card. Noah Pierce. Executive Assistant to Cole Ryder. The Pierce family was high-ranking, but this card only listed him as Cole's right hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Ryder."

"I have a summit to attend. I'm leaving."

After the door clicked shut, I looked at the card and felt a sharp, bitter pang in my chest. I had wanted a night of peace, but to him, this was clearly just another transaction. I was a job, and he was the boss.