Chapter 13

Cora

Rock had offered to watch Riley for a couple of hours while I went out for groceries. At first, I hesitated, but Rock had waved it off with a grin and insisted that he didn’t mind.

So I left them with strict instructions and my phone volume turned all the way up, just in case.

When I returned after a few hours with two tote bags full of ingredients for my next baking endeavor, my phone buzzed.

My heart did a little jump when I saw who it was.

It was Kingston calling.

As he spoke, he sounded slightly uncomfortable asking me for tutor recommendations. I wondered if he was simply not used to reaching out to others for help as the Alpha of his pack.

As I walked through the front door, Rock turned the corner to greet me with Riley trailing close behind.

“Cora!” Rock exclaimed. The air smelled like peanut butter and finger paint.

Abruptly, the call disconnected.

I stared at the screen, pulse racing.

Why had he hung up so abruptly? Was that an accident? Either way, I didn’t have time to unravel the mystery now.

“Mom!” Riley shouted, rushing past Rock, still in the dinosaur pajamas he insisted on wearing every Saturday.

“Hey, little man,” I laughed, crouching so he could tackle me with a hug.

“Rock and I painted pictures and had sandwiches, and he even taught me how to do a werewolf growl. Want to hear it?”

I glanced up to where Rock stood in the doorway, arms crossed, smirking. Riley growled from low in his chest, not quite fearsome, but the noise had the potential to grow with him into something shocking.

“You're amazing,” I said, aiming the compliment at both of them.

Rock shrugged. “He’s a quick learner.” Then, he lowered his voice for my ears only. “You sure he’s not part wolf?”

“No,” I said, smiling faintly. “Just stubborn like one. Why don’t you stay for a bit? I’m making something that’ll be worth the wait.”

I set the groceries down and pulled out the pie recipe Rock had once scribbled on a napkin for me during lunch break. He’d sworn it was a delicious old family recipe for werewolves, and I felt that I owed him a thank-you for his impromptu babysitting.

I made it just the way he described—down to the coarse sea salt sprinkled on top.

When I pulled it out of the oven, the whole apartment smelled like warmth and comfort instead of paint and hastily made sandwiches. I sliced a piece and handed it to Rock on a small plate, careful not to look too proud of myself.

He took one bite and let out a low hum. “Damn. Just like my grandma used to make it. They’re so good it almost makes me forget about performance review week.”

“Almost?” I teased.

“Almost,” he grumbled. “You know Kingston decides every single one himself? Even for assistants. If your numbers are good, you get a bonus. If not, enjoy your stale breakroom coffee for another year.”

I groaned and dropped onto the couch beside him. “So I need to impress a man who heard me call him an evil capitalist.”

“Basically.”

I groaned, taking another large bite of pie to push down my rising nerves.

Over the next few days, I overcorrected in every possible way. Arriving early. Taking on double tasks. Organizing the supply cabinet alphabetically and by expiration date. I even color-coded the office lunch duty chart, which no one had asked for. I was trying desperately to be perfect, or as close to it as I could be.

But ever since that strange, abruptly truncated phone call, Kingston had been colder than usual. He barely looked me in the eye and responded to every update with a curt nod or a clipped “fine.”

I couldn’t make sense of his strange behavior. One minute he was calling me asking for advice, and the next he could barely stand to glance my way. It stung more than I liked to admit.

And then came the reminder of the tutoring request.

“I need that list within the next day. Find someone qualified,” Kingston had said, not even glancing up from his screen. “Someone my son can actually learn from.”

That was all he gave me. No age range, no teaching style, no timeline. Just a simple, terse instruction.

But I had tutored during college to pay my rent, and I knew how to screen people. So I took it seriously. I reviewed dozens of resumes, set up virtual interviews, and even asked Riley what kind of teacher he would like, just to get a child’s perspective.

I narrowed it down to three finalists, each of them skilled in early education and trained in werewolf-child behavior.

They also happened to all be Alphas. Tall. Confident. The kind of men who filled a room with their overwhelming presence.

Admittedly, that may have been a mistake.

“It looks like you’re not picking a tutor,” Kingston said flatly when he saw them. “You’re auditioning boyfriends.”

I was so stunned I nearly dropped my tablet.

“What? No—I mean—they’re qualified! I did plenty of research.”

He didn’t look convinced. And I hated that. Hated how quickly he’d judged me. Hated that I felt the need to prove something.

So I did what I always did: I prepared.

At the end of his meetings that day, I approached his office with my tablet in hand.

“Three minutes,” I said when I knocked. “Please just spare me three minutes. That’s all I need.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop me. I took that as permission.

I brought up my presentation slides. “Each finalist has a background in early childhood education and experience working with hybrid children. They’ve also passed screenings for psychological stability and emotional regulation.”

Kingston stayed quiet, his fingers steepled below his chin patiently, so I kept going.

“Your current schedule leaves a five-hour weekday gap in your son’s active support time. That’s a critical window for emotional bonding and self-regulation. I mapped each candidate’s availability against your most consistent calendar blocks. Here—see?”

I showed him the color-coded chart. I could feel myself blushing under his critical eye, but I powered through.

“I based the final picks on discipline philosophy, play therapy experience, and references from other mixed-species families.” I swallowed dryly before adding, “Their appearances were incidental.”

When I finished, I waited.

He didn’t speak right away, but he didn’t mock me either. He leaned back in his chair, eyes skimming the chart, expression unreadable.

Then, quietly, he said, “You put a lot of work into this.”

I blinked. “Of course.”

For a moment, something unreadable passed between us. Then—

A knock on his office door.

Amy’s voice cut through the tension. I resisted the urge to glare at her as she stepped into the room, her smug face making me grit my teeth.

“There’s an issue,” she said.

Kingston sat up straighter. “What kind of issue?”

Amy hesitated. “A big one. The medical equipment report from the Sales Department. There’s a discrepancy in the data… and it’s already affected the new drug trials.”

I felt a chill race down my spine.

“That’s not possible,” I said. “I cross-checked the final document twice—”

“They traced the version back to your office,” Amy said, stepping in with a tablet.

Amy hovered over me as I looked at the screen, her cloying perfume nearly choking me.

I stared at the document she had pulled up. The numbers were wrong. They were off by a digit, but it was still undeniably incorrect.

And now the entire project was at a standstill.

“I didn’t— I wouldn’t—” I stuttered.

But Kingston’s gaze had already turned cold.

Ice.

“A full halt has been issued until the damage can be assessed,” Amy said.

The weight of it hit like a concrete block.

This wasn’t just a typo.

This was worth millions in research.

This was months of work.

And it had my name on it.

I had just barely begun to earn back a sliver of his trust, and in one moment, it all cracked open again.

And this time, I wasn’t sure I could fix it.