Chapter 1

My hands were shaking as I balanced the tray of champagne glasses. The Crown was packed tonight—wealthy businessmen in thousand-dollar suits, women dripping in expensive jewelry.

Just get through tonight, Iris. You need this job.

I was weaving between tables when it happened. My foot caught on something, maybe a chair leg, and the tray tilted. Three glasses crashed to the floor, champagne and crystal exploding across the marble.

The entire restaurant went quiet.

"You stupid bitch!"

Mr. Harris, a regular who always complained about everything, shot up from his seat. His face was red with rage, and champagne was dripping from his navy suit jacket.

"Look what you've done! This suit is worth five thousand dollars!"

My manager, Roger, rushed over. His expression told me everything I needed to know. I was screwed.

"I'm so sorry," I stammered, dropping to my knees to clean up the glass. "It was an accident—"

"Accident?" Harris grabbed my wrist, yanking me back up. His fingers dug into my skin. "You'll pay for this. Every damn penny."

The other diners were staring now, some pulling out phones to record. My cheeks burned with humiliation.

"Miss Blackwood," Roger's voice was ice cold. "Mr. Harris is right. The cleaning bill alone will be several hundred dollars, not including his suit."

Several hundred dollars. Money I don't have. Money I can't get.

"I can pay you back," I said desperately. "When I get my paycheck next week—"

"Next week?" Harris laughed harshly. "I don't think so. I want compensation now."

He was still gripping my wrist. Hard. I could feel bruises forming under his fingers, but I was too scared to pull away.

That's when everything changed.

"Let her go."

The voice came from behind me. Deep, commanding, with an edge that made the hair on my neck stand up. The entire restaurant seemed to freeze.

Harris's grip loosened instantly.

I turned around and saw him. Tall, probably six-foot-three, with dark hair and the kind of face you see on magazine covers. His suit was perfectly tailored, clearly expensive, but it was his presence that hit me like a physical force.

Alpha.

The word popped into my head automatically. I'd never been around a real Alpha before, but there was no mistaking that energy—powerful, dangerous, completely in control.

He was staring at me like he'd seen a ghost.

Why is he looking at me like that? Do I know him?

"This doesn't concern you," Harris blustered, but his voice had lost all its strength.

The stranger's gray eyes never left my face. "It concerns me now."

Something passed between the two men—some kind of silent Alpha dominance that I didn't fully understand, but Harris felt it completely. His face went pale and he stepped back, releasing my wrist.

That's what Alpha authority looks like. I've heard about it but never seen it in person.

Roger cleared his throat nervously. "Sir, I apologize for the disturbance. We'll handle this internally—"

"No need." The stranger reached into his jacket and pulled out a wallet. He counted out several bills without looking at them. "This should cover the suit and any other expenses."

Those are hundreds. He just handed over at least two grand like it was nothing.

Harris grabbed the money eagerly, muttering something about "proper compensation" before scurrying away to his table.

Roger looked between me and the stranger, clearly confused. "Thank you, sir. That's very generous."

"She's done for the night," the stranger said, still watching me with that intense stare. "Tell her she's quit."

Wait, what?

"I—I can't quit," I said quickly. "I need this job."

He finally looked away from my face, glancing around the restaurant with obvious distaste. When his eyes came back to me, they were softer.

"Come with me."

It wasn't a request.

Roger was nodding enthusiastically. "Of course, sir. Miss Blackwood, please gather your things."

This is insane. I don't even know this man's name.

But what choice did I have? I was probably getting fired anyway after tonight's disaster.

I retrieved my purse from the staff locker and met him at the restaurant's entrance. He was waiting by a black car that looked like it cost more than my apartment building.

"Get in," he said, opening the passenger door.

I should say no. I should walk away. Normal people don't get into cars with strangers, especially not strangers who can throw around money like that.

But I got in anyway.

The interior was all leather and expensive electronics. It smelled like cologne and something else—something clean and wild that made my heart race faster than it should have.

Is that his natural scent? Alphas always have that distinctive smell. He slid into the driver's seat and started the engine without saying anything.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Coffee shop down the street. We need to talk."

His voice was calmer now, but I could still feel tension radiating off him. Every few seconds, he'd glance at me with that same shocked expression.

He keeps looking at me like I'm someone else. Someone important.

"What's your name?" he asked suddenly.

"Iris Blackwood."

He repeated it slowly. "Blackwood."

The way he said my last name made my stomach flutter. Like it meant something to him.

We pulled up to a small coffee shop that was nearly empty. He chose a corner booth, away from the few other customers.

"Coffee?" he asked.

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

He came back with two cups and sat across from me. Up close, he was even more intimidating. His Alpha energy was almost overwhelming—there was something predatory about the way he moved, like a hunter who'd found exactly what he was looking for.

Sebastian Wolf. Of course. Even his name screams Alpha.

"I have a proposition for you."

Here it comes. This is the part where he turns out to be a creep.

"I'm listening."

He reached into his jacket again and pulled out a checkbook. My heart started pounding as he began writing.

"I want to take care of you," he said without looking up. "Financially. Completely."

Take care of me? What does that mean?

He tore off the check and slid it across the table.

The amount made me gasp.

One hundred thousand dollars.

"This is for the first month," he continued. "Rent, food, clothes, whatever you need. In exchange, you spend time with me. Dinners, events, companionship."

I stared at the check. The numbers seemed to blur together.

One hundred thousand. That's more than I make in two years. That's enough to pay off my student loans, my credit cards, everything.

"Why me?" The question came out as a whisper.

He was quiet for a long moment. When he finally answered, his voice was rough with emotion.

"Because you remind me of someone."

Someone? What does that mean?

"You need money," he continued. "I need companionship. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement."

But the way he was looking at me said it was more than that. Much more.

He's not just looking for companionship. He's looking for someone specific. And somehow, I fit the description.

"I don't even know your name," I said.

"Sebastian Wolf."

The name suited him. Strong, a little dangerous.

"I need to think about this," I said, though my hands were trembling as I held the check.

"Of course." He pulled out a business card and placed it next to the check. "Call me tomorrow with your answer."

He stood up, leaving his coffee untouched.

"Sebastian?" I called after him.

He turned back.

"The person I remind you of... who is she?"

Something dark flickered across his face. "Someone I lost."