Chapter 26

Cora

The company-wide email hit my inbox first thing in the morning.

Subject: “Our New Alpha King”

I stared at the bold headline as the room around me seemed to go still. My coffee sat forgotten at my elbow, steam curling in lazy ribbons. A thousand unread messages blinked in the corner of my screen, but that one line was all I could focus on.

Kingston had secured the majority vote. Effective immediately, he was now Alpha King.

There was no exclamation point or dramatic fanfare. The email was just a line of simple, clinical text. But my chest still tightened as I read it again—and again.

It was done.

Despite the photo scandal. Despite the whispers. Despite the lab fire. Despite the furious headlines that had branded me everything from a seductress to a career-hungry leech to try and bring him down… he’d won.

I closed the email without reacting.

This feeling of stunned surprise carried me into the office. Across the open office floor, people began to buzz. Laughter bubbled up. Someone popped something that sounded suspiciously like champagne. There were high-fives, exchanged looks, and a few happy howls from the more enthusiastic werewolves.

Then the elevator doors opened with a soft chime.

He stepped out like he owned the air around him. He always had that kind of presence, but today, it hit harder. Kingston wasn’t just the CEO anymore. He wasn’t even just the dominant wolf in the room.

He was the Alpha King now.

And the entire floor knew it.

A wave of applause erupted. People stood. Clapped. Cheered. One intern actually teared up.

I stayed seated.

Not because I wasn’t proud. Not because I didn’t want to congratulate him. But because it would’ve felt like crossing a line I was no longer allowed near.

His eyes scanned the room as he nodded in silent acknowledgment of everyone’s praise.

But he didn’t look at me. In fact, his eyes seemed to skim right over my head.

By lunchtime, the work group chat was practically on fire.

VICTORY PARTY THIS FRIDAY! Everyone is invited!

Open bar confirmed. I’m showing up in a tux.

I need to find a dress. This is basically our Met Gala.

In the end, I typed out my contribution to the chat: Wouldn’t miss it.

Because I wouldn’t. Not because I was dying to party, but because people expected me to show up. Smile. Be gracious. Be quiet.

And maybe a small part of me, buried under all the hurt and exhaustion, wanted to see Kingston in his prime.

Even if I couldn’t speak to him.

Even if he wouldn’t see me.

The hotel’s ballroom was a sea of gold and silver, with every chandelier catching light and creating a rainbow of color.

I stepped through the entrance in a simple navy gown, classic and understated—nothing flashy, nothing attention-seeking. The neckline just barely skimmed the tops of my breasts, and the length was modest, hanging just below the knees.

But heads still turned. The tension followed me like a scent trail. Some stared because they recognized me from the tabloids. Some stared because they were surprised I’d come at all.

I kept my chin high and moved through the crowd with a practiced ease, accepting drinks I didn’t sip and smiling at people I barely knew.

A string quartet played softly in the background. Waiters passed hors d’oeuvres on mirrored trays. Laughter floated through the room, too high and bright, like everyone was a little too eager to prove how celebratory they felt.

Then I spotted her making her way over to me.

Amy.

She was all red lips and a white dress, glowing like a spotlight was following her around. Her smile curved into something sweet and sharp as she made a beeline toward me.

“Cora,” she breathed, as if seeing me brought her genuine joy. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

She reached out and took both my hands in hers before I could dodge her touch. Her skin was soft. Her grip, firm. Performative.

“You look beautiful tonight,” she said warmly. “Really.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Did you hit your head on the way in?”

She laughed—too loudly. “Okay, I deserve that.”

I stayed quiet.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” she continued. “For everything that happened. I didn’t handle the fallout of Zach and me very well since we’ve been on and off, and… I got swept up in the office gossip machine to vent.”

Her smile was tight, and her words were too sugary to be purely sweet. They were honeyed, but I heard the acid underneath. Amy didn’t regret what she did—she regretted being caught.

Still, I gave her a slow nod. “Thanks for saying that.”

She tilted her head, faux-humble. “I just hope we can start over. You know, clean slate?”

“I won’t forget what you did, Amy,” I said. “And I’m sure Kingston won’t either. I wasn’t the only one you almost hurt with that little stunt.”

Her smile faltered, just for a heartbeat.

Then she recovered and looped her arm through mine like we were best friends. “You wouldn’t dare say anything, would you?”

I looked down at her manicured hand on my arm, then back up at her face.

“You don’t know what I’d dare to do.”

She didn’t let go of my arm. In fact, her grip only tightened.

“Fine. You want to make a big deal out of it, then you should go talk to him, you know,” she said lightly. “Kingston. He’s here already, of course.”

I scoffed, caught off guard by the imagery. “I doubt he wants to see me. And I’m not going to ruin his night talking to him about your betrayal.”

Amy leaned in. “You act so big and bold, but you know he wouldn’t care to hear what you have to say. He’d probably just block you out again.”

There it was—that little push.

She wanted something to happen. Whether it was a scene or a stumble or something she could whisper about later, I couldn’t tell. But she was stirring the pot. That much was obvious.

I carefully removed her hand from my arm. “Thanks for the suggestion.”

Then I walked away.

I spotted Kingston near the balcony, talking to one of the Eastern pack elders. He was in a dark three-piece suit, sharper than usual, every line of it tailored to perfection. A silver lapel pin marked his new status. Alpha King.

He looked like power incarnate.

I didn’t approach or interrupt. Instead, I lingered at a distance, watching him through the glass.

The way his jaw tensed slightly when someone mentioned his former Alpha King opponent, Brad. The brief flicker of irritation when the elder misquoted a policy. The calm, calculating way he adjusted the conversation without outright correcting the person speaking.

He was already doing the job. Already leading.

But when his eyes flicked toward me, just for a second, and I felt it.

That pulse of something electric and painful and unresolved.

He didn’t smile. Neither did I.

But we saw each other.

And for now, that was enough.

Strangely, I was struck by a sensation. Not anger or unresolved hatred. But something like peace.

I had gotten us both out of that awful situation, had cleared the air so that we could both thrive. Me. Just myself, alone, could claim the credit for this moment, for saving Kingston’s candidacy, securing his spot as the Alpha King, and clearing my name.

I’d survived the worst of the storm.

And I was still standing.

I told myself ten different times to turn around.

Just walk away. Go home. Don’t make things worse.

But my feet wouldn’t listen. Not tonight. Not after everything that had happened.

I took a deep breath and started toward Kingston, steadying the champagne flute in my hand as if it were some sort of shield. He was alone by the balcony again; his guests had departed to refresh their champagne flutes.

The soft glow from the chandeliers bathed him in gold, making his suit look darker, his presence even more untouchable.

But just as I reached the edge of the dance floor, someone stepped into my path.

“Cora.”

I blinked, startled. “Rock?”

He looked at me with panic in his eyes.