Chapter 4
Elsa
I dragged my exhausted body into Stone Industries, last night's scene still playing in my mind. Drake's cold voice, Vera's strawberry perfume lingering on his skin, his declaration that he wanted a "proper relationship" with her—all of it cut like knives.
Fuck you, Drake. All this time together and this is what I get.
But my career had to continue. My mother still needed her expensive silver toxicity treatments, and in this wolf society, an Omega without protection had almost no chance of survival. And that's what really pisses me off—I need the bastard even when I hate him.
The elevator doors opened, and I took a deep breath, adjusted my expression, and straightened my shoulders. But when I walked toward my desk, I stopped dead—Vera was sitting in my chair, her fingers dancing across my keyboard.
My personal items were gone—photos, pen holder, even my custom chair cushion. In their place were Vera's pink notebook and strawberry-shaped air freshener.
A surge of white-hot rage shot through me. That conniving little bitch is literally erasing me.
"What's going on?" I kept my voice controlled, hiding my shock and anger, though my wolf was snarling, urging me to rip her throat out.
Vera looked up, a flash of triumph crossing her face before morphing into that fake "scared" expression I'd come to know so well. "Oh, Elsa! I'm sorry I didn't tell you. Drake says he needs to mentor me closely, so..." Her voice trailed off, those big eyes filled with manufactured remorse.
Mentor? Is that what they're calling it now? He just wants your tight little ass within groping distance.
"Of course. Close 'mentoring.'" My wolf howled, wanting to tear apart this woman who was taking everything from me.
But I only nodded and asked, "Where's my desk now?"
Vera pointed to an empty desk in the corner of the office area, far from Drake's office, far from the core area, next to the copier and break room. The corporate equivalent of exile.
"Your things are all there ," she said softly, as if this were a minor thing.
I saw other secretaries and assistants pretending to work, but I knew they were all watching this drama unfold. Elsa Hale, once senior assistant and Drake's right hand, now relegated to the corner.
Public humiliation. That's what this is. Drake's showing everyone I've been replaced. Goddamn him to hell.
"Thank you for letting me know," I said calmly, turning toward my new workspace. Every step felt like walking to an execution, my dignity in tatters around me.
As I passed, I heard Kayla whisper: "She won't last long, don't worry."
But I wasn't sure if she meant Vera—or me.
At lunchtime, most office staff left for their break. I stayed at my desk, trying to focus on reorganizing financial reports—work I'd inherited from Kayla, apparently being deemed more suitable for basic tasks than coordinating inter-pack projects.
Fucking busywork. All my experience and I'm doing data entry like an intern.
The elevator dinged, and Vera walked in carrying two elegant takeout bags emblazoned with the "Peak Restaurant" logo. My place with Drake. He liked their steak, medium rare with black pepper sauce. The place where we'd celebrated every quarterly success.
That was our restaurant, our tradition. And now he's sharing it with her.
Without even glancing my way, she walked straight to Drake's office. She knocked gently, then cooed, "Drake, I brought your favorite lunch."
The door opened, and Drake's voice drifted out: "How thoughtful. Come in."
The door closed, but werewolf hearing meant everyone left in the office could hear what was happening inside. Vera's giggles, Drake's low murmurs, the clinking of cutlery, and... more intimate sounds. A kiss? More?
My fingers froze on the keyboard, my body stiffening. My wolf's senses seemed to penetrate that door, catching their mingled scents. My heart felt like it was being ripped apart, shredded into bloody pieces.
She's replacing me so completely. He's probably bending her over the same desk where we... Shit. Stop thinking about it.
My stomach twisted with nausea, bile rising in my throat. The pain was so intense it was physical—a burning ache spreading from my chest to my limbs.
"Want to grab something to eat?" Jason suddenly appeared at my desk, interrupting my thoughts. He was Drake's friend but had always been kind to me, one of the few wolves who didn't discriminate against Omegas.
I shook my head. "No thanks. I brought lunch." A lie, but I'd rather starve than let anyone see my vulnerability.
Jason frowned. "You don't look well." He lowered his voice, "Don't take it too hard. Drake is just... you know, caught up in the novelty."
Novelty? Is that what we're calling it when someone tosses aside everything we built for fresh meat?
A more obvious laugh came from the office, Vera's voice carrying through the door: "Stop it, Drake, that tickles..."
My face drained of color, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin. I think I'm going to be sick.
Jason cleared his throat awkwardly. "How about we eat on the terrace? It's quieter there."
"I'm really not hungry, Jason. Thank you for the offer." What I need isn't food—it's dignity, respect, and for this knife in my heart to stop twisting.
He hesitated, then nodded and left. As he walked toward the elevator, I noticed several colleagues giving me pitying looks. That sympathy was more humiliating than anything else.
I don't need your fucking pity. I need respect and dignity. I need not to be treated like a disposable tissue after everything I've given to this company.
Drake's office door remained closed until well past one o'clock. When Vera finally emerged, her lipstick was smudged, her hair slightly disheveled, and—even from across the office—I could smell Drake's scent mark all over her.
I turned away, pretending to focus on my computer screen, but tears blurred my vision. Don't you dare cry. Not here. Not where they can see you break.