Claire's POV

I'd rushed home earlier, practically attacked the shower, scrubbing myself relentlessly. Three, four times, as if I could physically scour away the lingering scent of last night, the memory of his touch, pretending none of it had ever happened. After forcing down some breakfast at a quiet cafe, I headed towards the office, my phone in hand. A text from Ethan, of course.

[Claire, I'm so sorry I hurt you last night. But I don't want to break up with you, and I do love you. If I wanted to end things, I wouldn't have cheated. Can you ever forgive me?]

My jaw dropped. The sheer audacity! How could anyone be so utterly shameless? Was every man truly just a collection of base urges, with no heart or conscience involved? A bitter, humorless laugh escaped me. I had no intention of replying.

I was halfway to the company when my phone rang. It was my mother, Susan.

"Oh, darling, it's your Uncle John's sixtieth birthday today. They're having a banquet at the Conrad Hotel. You simply must come."

"No, Mom. I really don't want to." I knew, with a sinking certainty, that if I went to that banquet, I would inevitably run into my father and his mistress.

Even as an adult, the wound still festered. I couldn't forgive him for betraying my mother, for abandoning my sister and me. Years ago, when Mom was critically ill and we desperately needed money for her treatment, I'd gone to his doorstep, practically begging on my knees. He'd refused to see me, instead sending his mistress to chase me away like a stray dog. I'd had to take out exorbitant loans to save my mother, whose part-time jobs offered no health insurance. Mom's condition was stable now, but she still required expensive imported medication and regular check-ups.

"Your Uncle John and Aunt Carter have always been so kind to you, Claire. They specifically asked for you."

I sighed. When my father had left, I was barely ten. Without Uncle John and Aunt Carter's unwavering support, our lives would have been even more desolate. During Mom's darkest days, they'd quietly slipped me money, always ensuring we had enough. They had truly been our anchors.

"Okay," I finally conceded, my shoulders slumping. "I'll go."

"Please don't cause any trouble when you see your father," Susan pleaded, her voice laced with anxiety.

"He won't cause me trouble, and I certainly won't cause him any," I said, the words edged with a cold certainty.

I remembered my mother, kneeling, pleading with him then. Just to not divorce her, to keep their family intact, she would even overlook his infidelity. But my bastard father had been merciless. He not only divorced her, but somehow managed to hide all his assets, leaving her with nothing and providing only a paltry child support sum for my sister and me. My mother tried to fight in court, but he cried poverty to the judge, and we lost everything. After that, only the three of us knew the true meaning of hardship.

"Mom, there's something else. Ethan and I broke up."

"What? But Ethan was such a sweet boy! I thought he was going to propose!"

"I don't want to get into it over the phone, Mom. I need to get to work. We'll talk later." I hung up before she could probe further.

I arrived at the office just in time, not a minute late.

As I settled at my desk, my colleague, Joey Farmiga, sauntered over, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Oh, honey, did you finally get lucky with Ethan last night?" she purred, leaning conspiratorially against my desk.

"How on earth did you know I had sex last night?" I asked, genuinely baffled.

She grinned. "I can practically smell it on you, that unmistakable after-sex glow."

I sniffed discreetly at my arm, detecting nothing but my shower gel. "Your nose must be superhumanly sensitive."

Joey nudged my shoulder. "Come on, spill! Details about your first time!"

Joey and I had that kind of relationship; we shared everything-gossip, triumphs, and the occasional disaster.

I gave her a wry, humorless smile. "Last night, I spent a hundred and fifty dollars on a stranger to help me forget Ethan even exists."

Joey's jaw literally dropped. "Wait-what? I thought last night was supposed to be your big proposal night?"

I exhaled slowly, the weight of the confession heavy on my chest. "I found Ethan in bed with Emma."

Joey's expression darkened, her eyes blazing. "That conniving bitch!"

"Shhh!" I whispered, glancing nervously around the buzzing office.

Her tone dropped, but the fire in her eyes remained. "Honestly, you're better off. At least you found out now instead of after he put a ring on your finger."

I managed a small, tired smile. "That's what I keep telling myself."

"Still," she said, folding her arms, a playful glint returning, "$150? He better have been good."

I chuckled softly, a genuine sound this time. "Let's just say it was. memorable."

We often bantered like this, pretending to be worldly and fearless. But deep down, beneath the bravado, our hearts were far more guarded than we cared to admit.

"Oh, by the way," Joey suddenly announced, her voice buzzing with excitement, "Huge news! Our company has a new CEO!"

My mood, however, remained as calm as a still lake. "I'm just a financial assistant," I shrugged indifferently. "It doesn't make a difference to me who the boss is."

"Are you kidding? I heard he's the heir to the Watson Group! Young, insanely handsome, but apparently cold as ice. They say countless women have tried to get into his bed, but he dismisses them all. Right now, every woman in this company is practically salivating to catch a glimpse of this 'legendary' CEO!" Joey's excitement was palpable.

"Too high maintenance, too much drama. We can't afford that kind of headache," I said, still unfazed. I had no illusions about that kind of unattainable man.

Before our conversation could continue, our supervisor, Gary, materialized at my desk, his expression unreadable.

"Claire, come with me. All department heads and their assistants are requested in the main conference room. The new CEO is about to make his official introduction."

Joey caught my eye, raising her brows mischievously, mouthing: Take pictures!

The conference room was already packed when we arrived. Being just an assistant, I discreetly found a seat in the back corner, not particularly invested in the impending spectacle. My mind drifted back to the man from this morning, his exquisite face contorted in a terrifying display of anger when I'd thrown those $150 bills onto his bed. I pressed a hand to my mouth, stifling a nervous laugh.

I'd definitely gone too far, I admitted to myself. But the utter contempt in his eyes, the way he'd reached for his wallet as if I were some cheap, easily disposable thing. I'd only given him a taste of his own medicine!

A sudden burst of polite applause snapped me back to reality. The room had fallen into a respectful hush as a tall, undeniably handsome man in a flawlessly tailored black suit entered, flanked by a phalanx of executives.

My breath hitched. I stared at that face for several long, disbelieving seconds, shock rendering me utterly speechless. My jaw literally dropped open.

Why... was HE here?

Something had to be terribly wrong with my eyes. I rubbed them fiercely, uncertain if I was dreaming, if this was some cruel, waking nightmare.

But when I looked again, there was no mistaking it. Standing at the front of the room, being introduced as our new CEO, was the very man I'd spent the night with. The man I'd thrown money at and insulted just hours ago.

Last night, I spent $150 to sleep with the new boss.

Oh my God. Is it still not too late to run away?

Claire's POV

A hundred and fifty dollars. That's what I'd spent on a man I'd mistaken for a high-end escort. Now, he was my new CEO. The universe clearly had a cruel sense of humor.

What a cosmic joke. My mind reeled, replaying my audacious-no, insane-words from that morning.

I told him his skills weren't good enough, and I wanted him to sell for a lower price.

Oh God, why couldn't I have just kept my mouth shut?

If he recognized me, would he fire me on the spot? Panic clawed at my throat. I couldn't lose this job. My mother's escalating medical bills and my sister's college tuition were tethered to my income.

Breathe, Claire, breathe! I commanded myself, trying to steady my racing heart. Despite my best efforts, a tremor ran through my legs, echoing the turmoil inside.

I stole a quick, careful glance towards the imposing figure at the head of the conference table. He was absorbed in conversation with an executive, his gaze far from my corner. A sliver of relief, icy and fleeting, washed over me. I ducked my head, letting my long hair curtain half my face, a pathetic attempt at camouflage.

My only hope was that Lucius Watson, the notoriously aloof CEO of the Watson Group, hadn't looked closely enough to remember me. The conference room was packed, a sea of unfamiliar faces. Surely, I was just another anonymous employee in his periphery.

Every second felt like an eternity as I sat rigid in my chair, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin.

As the meeting finally drew to a close, my anxieties seemed to have been unwarranted. Lucius appeared utterly oblivious to my presence. He never once looked my way. I let out a silent, shaky sigh of relief.

The moment people began to disperse, I seized my chance, melting into the crowd, my head still down, a frantic escape artist.

The first thing I did back at my desk was grab Joey. She'd always been my confidante.

Joey's eyes widened, then her jaw went slack. "Holy shit, Claire! You slept with him? Are you positive it was Lucius Watson? The Lucius Watson?"

"Stop it!" I hissed, grabbing her arm. "This isn't funny. Yes, it was him! I'm terrified he'll remember me, seek revenge, and fire me. I have Mom and Betty depending on me. I can't lose this job!" My voice was a frantic whisper.

Joey gave me a meaningful look. "Girl, do you know how many women in this city would kill to be in your position right now?"

I scoffed. "I couldn't care less about other women's wishes. I regret everything about last night. Why did I go to that bar to drown my sorrows? Why did I let myself be drawn to a stranger with such intense eyes? Why did I hand him a hundred and fifty dollars, thinking he was some high-end call boy? And God help me, why did I criticize his performance?"

Joey shrugged. "Don't panic so much. He probably didn't even notice you. Guys like that have a different woman every weekend."

Before she could finish her flimsy reassurance, our manager's booming voice sliced through the office hum. "Claire! Mr. Watson wants to see you in his office. Now."

My heart plummeted straight to my stomach. This was it. I was about to be unemployed.

I walked towards his opulent corner office on leaden feet. When I stepped inside, he was there, not in a crumpled hotel bathrobe, but in a perfectly tailored suit that screamed power and sophistication.

Yesterday, he was a nameless escort. Today, my new boss.

Life, it seemed, was determined to keep me on my toes.

He was looking through documents, his head bowed, as if he hadn't noticed my arrival. I found myself staring at his thick blond hair, noting how it seemed to catch the harsh office light in a wild, untamed way.

Taking a deep, bracing breath, I forced a pleasant, professional tone. "Mr. Watson? You wanted to see me?"

He raised his head, and I quickly plastered on my most polished, innocent smile. I knew better than to provoke him further.

Lucius's eyes, those green eyes, raked over me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. His expression was utterly devoid of warmth, filled with a chilling disdain.

Under his unnerving scrutiny, I felt profoundly uncomfortable, like a small, exposed creature caught in the gaze of a dangerous predator. I struggled to maintain my composure.

Finally, he set down his pen, leaning back in his enormous leather chair. His voice was cold, cutting. "I didn't realize our female employees were quite so. liberal."

His proud, sneering tone stung, hitting a nerve. My carefully constructed calm fractured.

Before I could stop myself, the words flew out. "It seems your private life is equally rich, Mr. Watson."

We're almost the same, aren't we? If I'm a dissolute woman, then you're a high-priced playboy! the unspoken thought screamed in my head.

Lucius's expression turned ugly. A dark cloud descended over his features.

Great. I'd just angered my boss again.

I quickly looked down, a wave of regret washing over me, despite the defiant satisfaction bubbling beneath. My impulsiveness might just cost me my job at the Watson Group.

He took a step forward, too close now.

Lucius reached into the inner pocket of his blazer. My heart stilled, a sudden, terrifying premonition.

He pulled out a thick leather wallet, opened it with deliberate slowness, and withdrew three bills-two fifties, a crisp hundred. He placed them neatly on the gleaming desk between us.

"Your performance," he said, his voice disturbingly calm, "was worth a little more than I thought."

I stared at the money, a searing heat building in my throat. My chest heaved with suppressed fury. I wanted to scream, to lash out. But then, the image of Mom's hospital bills, Betty's tuition, flashed through my mind. I clamped down on my anger with Herculean effort.

Stay calm, Claire.

I stepped forward, plucked the money from the desk with two fingers, and tucked it into my purse with a practiced, elegant movement.

I met his gaze, forcing a brittle smile. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Watson."

Then I turned on my heel and walked out, never letting him see the tremor in my hands, the wild rage in my eyes.

I made it to the elevator before my legs buckled slightly. I pressed the button with far too much force.

Inside, as the elevator descended, I gripped the railing, cold fury threading through my veins, tightening around my heart.

I wouldn't cry. Not for him.

Not ever again.

When I got back to my desk, Joey was there immediately, buzzing with anticipation.

"What did the boss want?" she asked, eyes wide with interest.

I thought for a moment, crafting my response. "He just wanted to tell me something about. his job."

"And what else?" Joey pressed, leaning closer.

"Nothing else," I said, a little too quickly, unwilling to share the humiliating truth.

"That's boring," Joey sighed, deflating.

"Did you want to hear something more interesting?" I asked lightly, a subtle challenge in my tone.

Joey smiled, tossing her hair back. "I thought maybe he'd developed a taste for. regular humans like you! And he was looking to continue the romantic relationship."

"I'm not interested," I said, perhaps too emphatically. Regular humans? What a strange turn of phrase. Aren't we all human? Though, given Lucius Watson's billions, I supposed he did belong to an entirely different social class.

"Not interested? Claire, if others knew you slept with Lucius Watson, how many people would be green with envy?" Joey whispered, gazing at his picture, which was now making the rounds on her phone.

His striking face had indeed spread like wildfire among the female employees. The way they devoured his image made me profoundly uneasy.

"Please, keep this a secret. I don't want people talking," I said, my voice low and earnest.

Joey, ever curious, leaned in again. "Seriously, though, what was it like? Having sex with him?"

I tried to appear calm, nonchalant. "Just. normal. You can try it yourself if you don't believe me."

"I wish I could," Joey said with a sigh, before heading back to her desk.

To be honest, I was so drunk that night, much of it was a blur. I vaguely remembered his bright, unsettling eyes, the hard planes of his body, and that strange, animalistic sound he made. That was about it.

A small, traitorous part of me wished I could remember more. But it didn't matter now. It would never happen again, and I certainly didn't want it to. Lucius Watson was just my boss.

My phone rang. It was Susan.

I knew she was calling to push me about Uncle John's party.

I couldn't help but take a deep breath, steeling myself for the next inevitable confrontation.

Claire's POV

I took a personal day from work, a welcome reprieve from the awkward office encounters.

At one o'clock sharp, I arrived at the Conrad Hotel for Uncle John's sixtieth birthday celebration. I presented him with the carefully selected gift and offered my polite birthday wishes, trying my best to ignore the familiar tightness in my chest.

My father hadn't arrived yet-a small, momentary victory. The mere thought of seeing him, flashing that artificial smile beside her, made my stomach churn.

I planned to make my excuses and slip away quietly after the main course, but Aunt Carter, ever so kind, caught my arm just as I was about to execute my escape.

"Claire, don't leave yet. There's another guest joining us, someone very important!"

I forced a small, polite smile. "Important? Who could that be?"

"Your Uncle John's friend's son," she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "You'll never believe it-he's your company's new CEO! Lucius Watson!"

The champagne flute in my hand nearly slipped, the delicate stem suddenly slick with sweat.

"What?" The single word was a choked gasp.

Of all the people in the world. him. Again.

Before I could recover from the gut-punch of shock, the grand banquet hall doors swung open. And there he was. Lucius, striding in with the effortless confidence of a man who owned not just the room, but the very air within it.

And beside him-my father's family.

As if fate thoroughly enjoyed tormenting me, I spotted Ethan too, hovering near Emma's elbow.

My stomach twisted painfully, nausea rising. I wanted nothing more than to simply vanish. But Aunt Carter, blissfully unaware of the emotional minefield she'd just pushed me into, gently guided me toward the VIP table.

When I was seated, my pulse nearly stopped.

At the very same table sat my father, Ryan, his trophy wife Connie Briden, her daughter Emma, Ethan, and Lucius.

The air itself seemed to thicken, heavy, suffocating, crackling with an almost palpable tension.

I wasn't sure if Aunt Carter, still believing in my relationship with Ethan, had invited him, or if Emma had simply dragged him along as her latest conquest, a shining new accessory.

Connie sat across from me, elegance dripping from every smug gesture. Her designer gown shimmered beneath the crystal chandelier, catching the light. Beside her, Emma, all engineered perfection-thick, fluttering lashes, a meticulously pouted lip, an unnaturally sculpted face that screamed of expensive procedures and endless vanity.

And there he was-Ethan himself-sitting right next to her, his arm casually draped over the back of her chair, his smirk as self-satisfied as ever. Funny. Just this morning he'd texted me, claiming he still loved me. Yet here he was, playing the devoted boyfriend in public.

Men truly were masters of hypocrisy.

Lucius sat opposite me, composed and unreadable, his tailored black suit fitting him like a second skin, an armor against the world. He didn't look at anyone directly, his gaze distant, almost bored. Yet, I could feel the pervasive weight of his presence, the quiet command that seemed to ripple from him without a single word.

I lowered my head, focusing intently on the exquisite, expensive dishes I couldn't afford in a thousand lifetimes. The food was undoubtedly gourmet, yet in my mouth, it tasted like bitter ash.

Then my father's voice cut through the polite murmurs, oily and obsequious.

"Oh, Emma," he cooed, his tone oozing with forced warmth. "This is Mr. Lucius Watson. He's the CEO of the Watson Group now. Our company might have a chance to work with his in the future. You should. make sure to get acquainted."

Ryan Pierce-my father. The man who had shattered our family and now shamelessly sought profit from every connection, including the man who had, in a different way, just ruined me.

Emma's laugh was sweet and practiced, a high, tinkling sound. "It's such an honor to meet you, Mr. Watson. I truly hope we'll have the chance to work closely together in the future."

She leaned forward, giving him a perfect, unobstructed view of her ample cleavage.

Lucius didn't flinch. His gaze remained perfectly level, impassive. His voice, when he finally spoke, was polite but utterly detached. "Pleasure."

For a fleeting second, his eyes flickered towards me-so quickly, I could have easily imagined it. But the sudden, sharp tension that coiled in my chest was undeniably real.

Emma, oblivious, pressed on. "It feels too formal to call you 'Mr. Watson.' May I just call you Lucius instead?"

Her tone was sickly sweet, cloying. I wanted to gag. Ethan, the opportunist, looked delighted, like a man who relished being close to power, even if it meant tolerating his cheating partner's blatant flirting.

Lucius said nothing, his expression completely unchanged.

"Lucius?" Emma persisted, twirling a lock of perfectly styled hair around her finger. "Could I perhaps have your contact information? Strictly for business purposes, of course."

"You can reach my secretary," he replied flatly, without a hint of warmth.

The brutal rejection hung in the air, sharp and merciless.

For a moment, his gaze slid towards me again. I instinctively looked away, my cheeks heating for reasons I couldn't quite fathom. Perhaps I was imagining the pull-that strange, magnetic awareness that had haunted me since that night.

But before the awkward silence could fully settle, Connie's shrill voice sliced through the air like a knife.

"Claire, you are being terribly rude. I am your elder. Aren't you going to offer me a greeting?"

The sheer audacity of that woman.

My head snapped up. I met her gaze squarely, refusing to back down. "You're not my elder," I said, my voice dangerously even. "You're just the woman who ruined my family."

The table went utterly still. A hush fell over the surrounding diners.

Lucius's eyes sharpened almost imperceptibly, though his face remained a mask of impassivity.

Connie gasped, a theatrical performance of mock offense, and turned to my father. "Ryan, your daughter is completely out of control!"

My father's face darkened, a familiar storm brewing. "Claire, apologize to Connie right now!"

Of course. That was always his line.

No matter what the situation, Connie was always the aggrieved victim, and I, the perpetual disgrace.

Ethan, ever the opportunistic sycophant, decided to chime in, playing the moral judge. "Claire, that was completely uncalled for. You should apologize."

I laughed, a cold, sharp sound. "Playing the dutiful future son-in-law already? How truly sweet of you."

He sneered. "No wonder our relationship never worked. You never knew when to shut your mouth."

My temper, already threadbare, finally snapped. "It didn't work because you don't know how to keep your pants on-and Emma doesn't know how to keep her legs closed."

Gasps rippled through the table, a collective intake of breath. Emma's perfectly painted smile vanished, replaced by a mask of furious shock.

I stood, my chair scraping loudly, harshly, against the marble floor. "Tell me, why should I apologize? Because she's older? Because she stole my father, destroyed my mother's life, and now expects me to bow down to her?"

Connie shot to her feet, trembling with incandescent rage. "Ryan! She's humiliating me! Do something!"

My father's hand slammed down on the table, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "Enough!"

Then came the crack.

The slap landed across my face before I even saw it coming.

Pain exploded, a white-hot agony. The room spun wildly. I staggered, my knees buckling, sending me sprawling to the floor.

Before I could even register the shock, a sharp, piercing sting burst across my hand-Emma's heel, pressing down, grinding hard on my fingers.

I looked up, fury burning through the dizzying haze.

"You know what?" I spat, pushing myself to my feet, my voice shaking with raw emotion. "Fuck all of you!"

More gasps filled the room, now a chorus of stunned silence.

I grabbed the nearest bowl of steaming soup-an elaborate consommé, perhaps-and hurled it straight at Ryan. The boiling liquid splashed across his expensive suit, eliciting a choked cry.

He roared in outrage, but I was already moving. The next plate went flying-a meticulously arranged appetizer-its contents splattering across Connie's designer chest, followed by another, aimed squarely at Emma's pristine gown.

The room erupted into utter chaos.

"Claire, stop it!" Uncle John shouted, rushing towards me, his face pale, but his words were muffled, lost in the din.

Connie was shrieking, a high-pitched, furious sound. Ryan was cursing, shaking his fist. Emma frantically tried to wipe soup off her chest with a flimsy napkin, only succeeding in smearing it further.

I turned to my father, my chest heaving, tears finally blurring my vision, not of sadness, but of pure, unadulterated rage. "You said you won't have a daughter like me? Good. Because I no longer have a father like you."

The words left my lips like fire, searing the air. For the first time in my life, I felt no guilt in speaking them.

Freedom burned where pain used to be.

I walked away, trembling uncontrollably, but unbroken.

Author's POV

Lucius had remained utterly silent through the entire sordid scene, his gaze never once leaving her.

The chaos erupting around the table was mere background noise, an irrelevant din. What truly mattered was her.

Claire Morrison.

The fierce defiance in her eyes. The barely perceptible tremor in her hands. The raw courage with which she stood her ground, despite the pain, despite the betrayal.

Raven stirred inside him, restless, agitated.

"She's ours."a primal growl echoed in his mind.

Lucius's jaw tightened, a muscle ticking. "No." His control was slipping.

"She's bleeding," the voice in his head snarled, darker now."They hurt what's ours."

His knuckles went white as he gripped the tablecloth.

His wolf Raven, the wild and primitive part of him, was fighting for control, desperate to rip apart anyone who had hurt Claire.

The protective instinct was overwhelming.

But he stayed silent, forcing down his wolf's violent impulses.

He had to. Not here, not now. Not if he wanted to keep pretending to be human.

As she stormed away, all furious grace and fire, he caught one last glimpse of her face. Flushed, angry, beautifully alive.

The truth hit him, ancient and absolute, sinking into his bones.

He could fight it, deny it, rage against it.

But the mate bond was already there. Unbreakable. Undeniable.

She was his fated mate.

Even if she didn't know it yet.