Amiyah POV
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the nerve center of the Wilder Group. The Alpha’s executive floor was a fortress of glass and steel, smelling of ozone, expensive cologne, and the underlying, sharp tang of high-stakes anxiety.
I stepped out, my heels clicking rhythmically against the polished marble floor. Every head turned. I could feel their gazes—curious, judgmental, predatory. But one scent cut through the sterile air like a knife: a cloying mixture of synthetic roses and bitter jealousy.
"I honestly don't know what the Elders were thinking," a voice carried across the open-plan office, loud enough to be intentional.
I paused, turning my head toward the source. A woman with platinum blonde hair and a tight pencil skirt was perched on the edge of a desk, holding court with two younger assistants. Ingrid Slater. The head secretary.
"Hiring a wolf from some backwater Pack to be the Alpha's personal assistant?" Ingrid sneered, her eyes raking over me with disdain. "She smells like weeds from the wilderness. I bet she’s just some desperate Omega trying to sleep her way into a title."
The office went silent. My Inner Wolf bristled, pacing in my mind, but I kept her on a tight leash. I didn't need claws to handle a chihuahua.
I walked straight up to Ingrid’s desk. She straightened, crossing her arms, expecting me to cower.
"If my scent offends you, Ms. Slater, I suggest you see a doctor," I said, my voice cool and projecting clearly across the room. "Perhaps your nose is malfunctioning, mistaking the sour stench of your own jealousy for my perfume. Or maybe," I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice to a lethal whisper, "you’ve spent so much time chasing the Alpha’s trail that you’ve forgotten what a real wolf smells like."
Ingrid’s face flushed a deep, blotchy crimson. A few stifled giggles erupted from the cubicles behind her. She opened her mouth to retort, but her eyes darted toward the massive glass walls of Grayson’s office at the end of the hall.
Through the glass, I saw him. Grayson sat behind his desk, his dark eyes fixed on us. He didn't look angry. He looked... bored. He saw his head secretary attacking his "fiancée," and he did absolutely nothing.
*So that’s how you want to play it, Grayson,* I thought, turning my back on the glass. *Sink or swim.*
Ingrid, realizing she couldn't cause a scene without drawing Grayson’s ire, slammed a thick file onto the desk.
"Fine," she hissed, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "Since you're so confident, you can handle the afternoon shoot. We have a VIP client downstairs. Jadyn Ramsey."
A ripple of unease went through the onlookers. Even I knew the name. The son of the Redstone Pack’s Beta, and a human world supermodel known for a temper as volatile as a rogue in heat.
"He’s already fired three assistants this morning," Ingrid said, a malicious smirk returning to her lips. "He hates incompetence. Don't keep him waiting, *future Luna*."
I picked up the file, my expression unreadable. "Consider it done."
*
The studio on the tenth floor was chaos.
"No! I said *crushed* ice, not cubed! Are you deaf or just stupid?"
A voice boomed from the center of the set. Jadyn Ramsey was pacing in front of a white backdrop, shirtless, his lean muscles glistening under the hot lights. He threw a plastic cup into a trash bin with unnecessary force. The production crew looked terrified.
"This place reeks of mediocrity," Jadyn grumbled, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Someone get me a shaken lemon tea from the city center. Seven pumps of sugar. Now!"
I stepped into the clearing, the file tucked under my arm. "Mr. Ramsey," I called out, my tone professional. "I am Amiyah Holloway. I'll be managing your schedule for the rest of the day."
Jadyn didn't even look at me. He kept his sunglasses on, waving a dismissive hand. "Great. Another babysitter. Just go get the tea, sweetheart, and maybe I won't walk out of this—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
The air shifted. The ventilation system cycled, carrying my scent—jasmine, forest pine, and the crisp freshness of rain—directly to him.
Jadyn froze. His head snapped toward me, his nostrils flaring. Slowly, his hand reached up and pulled the sunglasses down his nose. His eyes, a striking amber, widened in absolute disbelief.
The silence in the studio was deafening. Ingrid, who had followed me down to watch the fireworks, stood in the shadows with a triumphant grin, waiting for the explosion.
Instead, Jadyn’s arrogance evaporated like mist in the morning sun.
"Amiyah?" he breathed, his voice cracking. "Moon Goddess above... is it really you?"
He scrambled off the platform, ignoring the photographer, and rushed toward me. He stopped a foot away, looking at me as if I were a ghost, or a deity.
"I... I thought I'd never see you again," Jadyn stammered, his posture shifting from diva to devotee in a heartbeat. "After that night in the woods... the Rogues... you saved my life."
I offered him a small, genuine smile. "It's good to see you in one piece, Jadyn. And fully clothed, mostly."
"You know him?" Ingrid’s shrill voice cut in from the sidelines. She looked like she had swallowed a lemon. "How does a stray like you know the Redstone heir?"
Jadyn whipped around, a low growl vibrating in his chest—a sound of pure warning that made Ingrid recoil.
"Watch your tongue," Jadyn snapped, his eyes flashing with Beta authority. "This 'stray' shifted into a Dire Wolf and took down four Rogues single-handedly to save me when I was a pup. She is a warrior. Show some respect."
The studio gasped. I felt the weight of a dozen stares, but this time, the judgment was replaced by awe.
I looked at Ingrid, whose face had gone pale. "Shall we get back to work, Ms. Slater? Or do you have more insults to throw?"
Jadyn turned back to me, grinning like a loyal puppy who had found his master. "Anything for you, Amiyah. Do you want me to pose? I'll pose. I'll do whatever you say."
High above in the glass tower, the war had just taken a turn Grayson never saw coming.
