Chapter 3
Elsa
The Valtor family estate rivals the Stone mansion in grandeur, though it lacks the aggressive architecture. Old Mr. Valtor's 70th birthday celebration is filled with pack elites, and his displeasure at Drake's absence is evident in his furrowed brow.
"Drake couldn't make it?" he asks after my third toast to his health. My liver's going to fail before this night is over.
"Urgent business matter," I lie smoothly, maintaining my professional smile. Yeah, the urgent matter of getting his dick wet with his new plaything. "He sends his deepest regrets and this gift." I present an antique watch that I'd selected myself.
Mr. Valtor grunts, somewhat appeased. "At least he sent his competent assistant."
At least someone recognizes competence when they see it. His son, Mike Valtor, appears at my elbow. "Father, let me show Ms. Hale the new eastern wing. I'm sure she'd appreciate the architecture."
The old man waves us away, and I follow Mike, knowing this is my chance to address the report issue. Focus, Elsa. Get the job done and get out. Mike leads me down a hallway to a private study, closing the door behind us.
"Now," he says, his voice dropping an octave, "let's discuss how you'll make up for that disastrous report."
Before I can respond, his hand is on my waist, sliding lower. "You are so sex, unaccompanied? Drake must not value you much."
Shit. Another entitled man who thinks Omegas are just walking fuck toys. My skin crawls where he touches me, nothing like the electric response Drake's touch elicits. I step back, maintaining my professional smile. "Mr. Valtor, I've brought the corrected projections. Perhaps we could review them?"
He laughs, stepping closer. "I'd rather review what's under that tight skirt of yours."
The door swings open, and Drake stands there, Vera clinging to his arm like a decorative accessory.
She's wearing the same emerald dress Drake gave me for my birthday last year—the one I never got to wear. You thieving little bitch. My wolf snarls silently, territorial rage flashing hot in my veins.
"Interrupting something?" Drake's voice is deceptively casual, but I catch the predatory gleam in his eyes.
Mike steps back, smoothing his suit. "Just discussing business."
I maintain my composure. Two can play this game. "I asked the waiter to knock in five minutes," I explain to Drake. "With you here, I knew he wouldn't try anything... serious."
Drake's jaw tightens. Without a word, he grabs my arm and pulls me into the adjacent changing room, locking the door behind us.
"Playing games, Elsa?" His voice is dangerously low.
Fuck you and your double standards. "Solving problems," I counter. "Someone had to save the Valtor deal after Vera's mistake."
His hand shoots out, gripping my throat—not hard enough to choke, but enough to assert dominance. "You think you're clever."
"I think I'm good at my job." Despite everything, heat pools between my legs. My scent changes instantly, broadcasting my arousal to his sensitive nose. I hate that my body still wants him even when my mind wants to claw his eyes out.
Drake leans in, his scent overwhelming me. Pine and smoke and power—my wolf rolls over, belly up. "You're mine to do with as I please. Remember that."
His mouth crashes against mine, brutal and possessive. I should fight, should push him away— but holy shit, the way he tastes makes me forget everything —my arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. His hands tear at my clothing, and I claw at his shirt buttons, our mutual hunger overtaking reason.
He lifts me against the wall, his hardness pressing against my core through our clothing. His eyes have gone full wolf now, golden irises consuming the human brown. "Tell me you want this," he growls.
"Fuck you," I gasp, even as my body arches toward him. I hate you. I want you. I hate that I want you.
A commotion outside interrupts us—raised voices and the sound of breaking glass. Drake freezes, then curses under his breath. He sets me down and straightens his clothing.
"Stay here until you're presentable," he orders, then slips out the door.
Bastard. Always leaving me hanging. I straighten my clothing with trembling hands, my body still burning from his touch. I take deep breaths, forcing my wolf features to recede, willing my scent to normalize before I return to the party.
When I return to the main hall, I find Vera standing mortified beside a fuming Mike, whose expensive suit is now stained with red wine. Vera's hands tremble as she attempts to blot the stain with a napkin.
"I'm so sorry," she whimpers. "I'm allergic to alcohol, and when you insisted I drink—"
"Enough," Drake cuts in, placing a protective arm around Vera. "It was an accident."
Old Mr. Valtor raises an eyebrow. "Your employee should know better."
"She's not just an employee," Drake says coldly. "She's my mate. Naturally, I'll cover any damages."
My mate. The words hit me like a physical blow. My wolf howls in anguish inside me, the pain so sharp I nearly double over. Ten fucking years I've been warming your bed, bearing your cock, losing your child, and she's 'your mate'? Something cracks inside me, a fissure splitting my carefully constructed façade. I taste blood as my lengthening canines pierce my lower lip.
Drake turns to me. "Elsa will stay to make amends. I need to take Vera home—she's clearly upset."
Of course. She spills wine and gets an escort home. I lose a baby and get ordered back to work. And just like that, I'm left to clean up another mess while he plays the protective Alpha to Vera.
It's nearly 3 AM when I finally return to my home, exhausted from smoothing ruffled feathers and finalizing the corrected deal. I freeze when I see Drake sitting on my couch, scrolling through his phone as if he belongs there.
"How did you get in?" I ask, dropping my keys on the table.
"I own the building," he reminds me. A detail I try to forget—that even my home isn't truly mine. Nothing in my life is really mine, is it? Not my job, not my home, not even my own fucking body.
As he stands, I catch the scent of Vera's strawberry perfume clinging to his skin. Mixed with another scent I recognize all too well—sex. My nostrils flare, the scent triggering a visceral response—jealousy claws at my insides, my wolf pacing and snarling.
"You fucked her," I say flatly. Not a question.
Drake doesn't deny it. "I'm considering making things official with her."
"Official?" The word feels like acid on my tongue. A low growl escapes before I can stop it.
"Yes," he says, adjusting his cufflinks. "I want to try a proper relationship. She's... sweet. Obedient."
Unlike me, goes unsaid. Obedient. That's what you want? A brainless doll who says yes to everything?
"Are you staying the night?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
Drake heads to the door. "No. I have an early meeting."
With Vera, probably. In her bed.
After he leaves, I sink to the floor, my back against the door. My wolf is curled tight inside me, wounded and whimpering. For ten years, I've been his secret, his possession, his toy. Now I'm being replaced.
I touch my flat stomach, thinking of the child that could have been. The child that might have changed everything. A solitary tear slides down my cheek, and I don't bother wiping it away. Would you have loved me if you knew? Would it have mattered at all?