Chapter 15
Night fell.
Alpha Gideon dined in his penthouse apartment.
Frank poured decanted red wine into a glass.
“Any word from the headhunters?”
Alpha Gideon asked, sipping.
“Elliot sent a new candidate list,” Frank replied.
“Said to take a look when you’ve got time.”
He chuckled, adding, “I peeked at it. That Vivian from the car accident’s on there.”
“Oh.” Alpha Gideon set down his glass.
“Grab the tablet.”
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His tone was casual, but Frank, who’d served him for over twenty years, knew that was as good as a spotlight.
Frank fetched the tablet from the study and handed it over.
Alpha Gideon scrolled through the candidate list.
He’d rejected several batches already.
He needed a chief secretary who could manage, wield authority, look sharp, navigate departments and
partners, and handle his affairs–big and small.
“Vivian’s young but no slouch,” Frank said.
“Climbed from staff to manager at Helixon council in four years. Half the pack’s growth is thanks to her.
Plenty of packs tried to poach her, but she was untouchable–her mate’s Alpha Adrian. Word is, though, he’s cozying up to the Quinn pack’s fourth daughter, and Vivian quit in a huff. Poor thing, throwing it all away…
Frank chattered on.
Alpha Gideon’s gaze lingered on the screen, where a she–wolf in a sharp black suit radiated confidence and
poise, her spirit unyielding.
He couldn’t help but recall their encounters: her flustered, defeated look; her fragile, broken moments; and today–trying so hard to impress, only to flee in embarrassment.
A twinge of irritation stirred in his chest.
He’d been too harsh.
I woke past nine, padding to the kitchen in my slippers to boil a pot of water for noodles. The scent of chicken broth filled the air when my phone pinged with a text.
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Chapter 15
From Frank.
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Ever since I’d asked about Alpha Gideon’s measurements, he’d gone radio silent–no replies, no acknowledgment, like I’d crossed a line.
Now, he’d sent a string of numbers and a message: Alpha Gideon says you owe him a suit. Thought you
might need guidance picking one out.
I stared at the screen, dumbfounded. “…What?”
What was this about? A twisted joke? A way to remind me I’d made a fool of myself?
Was he… giving me another shot?
The thought sparked, bright and hopeful, then fizzled out.
No, don’t be delusional.
More likely, he was preempting me using the suit as an excuse to pester him again–a polite warning to quit
playing games.
I wanted the job, sure, but not enough to grovel.
Not after the way he’d dismissed me at the golf course.
Cautiously, I replied, “Got the measurements. I’ll buy the suit soon and mail it to you.”
No need to drag this out.
Frank relayed my response to Alpha Gideon, I later found out.
“Vivian says she’ll mail the suit.”
“Mail it?” Alpha Gideon, in platinum–rimmed glasses, paused mid–page in his book.
His eyes narrowed slightly, like he was weighing the words.
“Hm,” he grunted, his elegant fingers flipping to the next page, seemingly unbothered.
Frank, who’d served him long enough to read between the lines, pressed,
“Should I… nudge her?”
“She’s not interested” Alpha Gideon said coolly.
The next day, I hit the shops, determined to get this over with.
Halfway through the first store, I noticed it–a car lingering at the curb, same make, same tinted windows,
even after I’d moved to the next block.
Someone was tailing me.
Alpha Adrian, no doubt.
Paranoid as always.
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I scoured the sprawling pack’s department stores, hunting for a suit matching the ash–gray one he’d worn
that day–same fabric, style, craftsmanship.
Two hours in, my legs ached, and I still hadn’t found it.
It wasn’t that ash–gray suits were rare, but Alpha Gideon’s screamed bespoke tailoring, the kind that came
with a monogram and a price tag that made regular wolves wince.
Slumped on an outdoor bench, I pictured him receiving a cheap knockoff–his aristocratic sneer, the way he’d
probably toss it in the trash without a second glance.
Disdain dripping from every word if I ever ran into him again.
“Ugh, whatever.”
I stood up, brushing off my jeans.
I marched back into a store I’d scoped out earlier, grabbed a close–enough ash–gray suit, and handed over the
measurements.
The clerk, fetching the order, gushed, “Your mate’s got a killer build. Model material, huh?”
Model? I smirked.
Alpha Gideon would probably take that as an insult–like being called “pretty” was a slight to his authority.
Bag in hand, I texted Frank for a mailing address.
As I typed, I caught a flash of movement across the street–the shadowy figure in the car snapping photos,
no doubt sending them straight to Alpha Adrian.
Let him see I’m moving on, even if it’s just buying a suit for another alpha.
I planned to mail the suit straight from the mall, but Frank didn’t reply
. Annoyed, I hauled it home, tossing the bag on the living room couch before heading upstairs to shower.
The afternoon was spent packing the last of my odds and ends–books, mugs, the photo of me and Cassie
from our cub days.
Nine days left until the bond severance. Nine days until I was free.
Surveying the home I’d lived in for years, a pang of sadness hit.
I’d designed this place–every piece, every detail, even a cozy nursery in the spare room, painted soft yellow,
for a future pup we’d talked about endlessly.
Built for a lifelong bond, now I was jumping ship halfway, leaving it all behind.
In the study, I opened a long–neglected drawer and found an old USB drive, its casing scuffed.
Curious, I plugged it into my laptop.
Photos of me and Alpha Adrian flooded the screen–high school, college, our first hunt together.
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He’d been so clean–cut back then, so earnest, his smile reaching his eyes when he looked at me.
Flipping through the memories, I laughed at the awkward way we’d danced at prom, cried at the photo of our
mating ceremony, when he’d whispered “forever” in my ear.
Transported back to those days, when love had felt like a promise, not a lie.
I suddenly ached to visit that version of Alpha Adrian–to sit with him, to say goodbye.
To tell him he’d break my heart someday, and to beg him not to.
That evening, Alpha Adrian came home for dinner–a rarity, these days.
I hadn’t cooked for him. Nor did I want to.
I tossed him a bucket of instant noodles, probably expired by a year, from the back of the pantry.
Alpha Adrian stared, incredulous. “This is what you’re feeding me?”
“Eat out if you want,” I said, turning back to the stove.
You love everything out there–other she–wolves, other beds, even the crap tastes better than home.
I was practically shoving him out the door, making it easy for him.
His good mood from the suit photos plummeted.
“Other mates cook hot meals for their wolves. You’re giving me ramen?”
I bit back a retort.
At least there’s no arsenic in it–that’s my last bit of mercy.
I didn’t bother arguing.
“There’s a mushroom hot pot I was gonna eat. You can have it.”
Alpha Adrian’s anger flared, his voice rising. “You forgot I don’t eat mushroomes?”
I smacked my forehead, feigning surprise.
“Oops, slipped my mind.”
His face turned to ice, his jaw tight.
He glared at me, unyielding, then stormed out of the kitchen and upstairs, the floorboards creaking with his
rage.
I carried my hot pot to the dining room, flipped on a comedy show, and ate while laughing, even though the
jokes weren’t that funny.
Anything to drown out the sound of his footsteps overhead.
Later, I heard him sulking in his study, the door ajar.
Muttering to himself about “ungrateful mates” and “waste of a suit.”
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He’d spent three hours convinced I’d bought the suit for him, that I was finally coming around, no more
tantrums.
Even if he hadn’t warned me he’d be home for dinner, shouldn’t I have run out to grab ingredients?
Shouldn’t I have fussed over him, like a “good mate“?
And forgetting he hated mushroomes? How could I?
His mood hit rock bottom,.
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I heard him head to the closet, no doubt searching for the suit he thought was his.
After a few minutes of rustling, he emerged empty–handed, about to come ask me where I’d hidden it. But he
stopped at the door, turning back.
His eyes scanned the closet.
The dresses, the shoes, the coat he’d given me for our anniversary–all packed into boxes, waiting by the
door.
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