His Nemesis, Her Heartbreak
I never thought there would come a day where I would have my own personal assistant, yet here we were.
Lysander Blackwood. Twenty-six years old. He was a bodyguard, a cook, an advisor, a part-time therapist, and an expert sharpshooter all rolled into one annoying, ash-blond package. If I were being honest with myself—and I rarely was—had he been an Alpha instead of a Beta, I might have actually found him attractive. He had these striking brown eyes and his bleached hair gave him a rebellious, dangerous edge.