Claire's POV

"Claire, wait!"

Ethan's voice, laced with false authority, stopped me just as I stepped out of the hotel's gleaming revolving doors.

I froze for half a second, a sigh escaping my lips before I reluctantly turned.

He stood a few feet away, his expression a baffling mix of irritation and what he probably thought was genuine concern. "Why are you always like this?" he demanded, as if I were the problem. "We were together for four years, Claire, and you still haven't changed-hot-headed, impulsive, always making a scene in public."

I blinked at him, disbelief momentarily overriding my simmering anger. That's why he followed me? To scold me? For one stupid heartbeat, I'd entertained the ludicrous idea that he might have come to check on me, to offer some comfort after the public humiliation. But of course not. That was never Ethan.

I almost laughed, the sound hollow. "Are you serious right now?"

He sighed dramatically, as if I were the exhausting one. "We could have had a future if you'd just tried to be more. I don't know. Feminine. Softer. Sexier. Why can't you be more like Emma?"

The words, dripping with casual cruelty, sliced through the last fragile thread of patience I possessed.

More like Emma? The woman who helped dismantle my family, who stole my boyfriend, and still had the nerve to show up tonight dripping in ostentatious diamonds?

I looked at him, disbelief curdling into pure disgust. "Four years together, and you still don't understand me. I don't need to change for anyone-especially not for a man who left me for a walking plastic surgery catalog."

"I was going to propose to you!" Ethan's voice rose, echoing off the grand marble columns of the hotel entrance. "Thank God I didn't!"

I let out a harsh, hollow laugh. "Don't you dare try to justify your cheating by blaming me. And thank you for sparing me the nightmare of marrying you."

I brushed past him, ignoring the wounded pride contorting his face. The spring breeze was biting cold, and my thin dress offered little to no protection.

The more I walked, the more my feet ached in my heels. No taxis were in sight, only the city lights glittering like indifferent, mocking stars.

Memories surfaced despite my best efforts to bury them. Ethan and I, walking hand in hand through brightly lit shop windows a year ago. The day he'd bought me that little cupid brooch I'd admired but couldn't afford. He'd smiled then, his eyes genuinely warm. "When I'm rich, I'll buy you something better, Claire."

How incredibly ironic those words felt now.

Love, it turned out, was nothing more than a loan that never got repaid.

The wind stung my face, and despite my fierce resolve, tears welled in my eyes, blurring the indifferent city lights. I wasn't weak-but even the strongest woman could break after being betrayed, publicly humiliated, and physically assaulted all in one day.

Still, I didn't regret fighting back. I'd rather be the woman who threw the soup than the one who swallowed her pride, silently choking on it.

My foot throbbed with every painful step. I was about to take off my heels and walk barefoot, consequences be damned, when a sleek black Bentley rolled to a silent stop beside me.

The tinted window slid down, revealing him.

Lucius.

His face was a mask, every feature carved from shadow and absolute control, utterly unreadable. "Get in the car," he ordered, his voice deep, commanding, leaving no room for argument.

I froze, startled by both his sudden, unexpected appearance and his audacious tone. It wasn't a suggestion-it was an unequivocal order.

Work hours were long over. I didn't owe him an ounce of obedience. And after the absolute spectacle he'd witnessed at dinner, the very last thing I wanted was to be cooped up in a car with him.

So, I ignored him, tightening my grip on my purse, and kept walking.

"It's nearly impossible to get a cab here at this hour," he said evenly from behind me, the car still crawling at my pace.

I still didn't respond, only quickening my steps.

He waited a moment, then added, his tone deceptively calm, chillingly precise, "You should know there have been several attacks on women in this area recently. The suspect hasn't been caught."

I stopped dead in my tracks. The street suddenly felt darker, colder. The rustling of leaves in the wind sounded sharper, more sinister.

My battered pride battled furiously with raw reason-but primal instinct, the very instinct he seemed to awaken, won.

I turned back, exhaled a shaky breath, and opened the passenger door. Without a single word, I climbed in.

Lucius started the engine, the powerful car purring softly. The silence between us was thick, heavy, almost suffocating in its intensity.

After a few tense minutes, he reached into the console and handed me a small, black, unadorned box. "This will help with the swelling."

I blinked, genuinely surprised. "What is it?"

"Ointment," he said simply, as if discussing the weather.

Out of some ingrained politeness, I took it and carefully opened the lid-only to gag at the incredibly pungent, almost medicinal smell that hit me. "What the-" I choked, pulling away.

Lucius's lips curved, the faintest ghost of amusement flickering across his otherwise stoic, perfect face. "Apply it," he said, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

I hesitated, then reluctantly dabbed a tiny bit onto my throbbing cheek. The cooling sensation spread almost immediately, the sting fading as if by magic.

I gasped softly, genuinely impressed. "It actually works."

"Of course it does," he murmured, as if stating the most obvious, incontrovertible fact in the world.

Still, the smell was absolutely unbearable. I wrinkled my nose, glaring at him through the corner of my eye. His faint smirk deepened, and I realized-he was thoroughly enjoying my discomfort.

I turned away with a huff, crossing my arms defensively.

A few moments later, his voice broke the heavy silence again. "So," he began, his tone casual, almost conversational, but his eyes, when he briefly flicked them to me, were sharp, dissecting. "You were drinking alone that night. Mourning your cheating boyfriend. And you begged me to take you home."

I froze. The bluntness, the absolute lack of delicacy in his words, made my heart stutter.

I shot him a furious glare. "Excuse me? I did not beg you. And for the record, last night was a mistake. A moment of weakness. A catastrophic lapse in judgment. I had no idea you'd be my boss."

He didn't look away. His gaze was steady-too steady, too intense. "And now?"

"Now," I said, my voice firm, resolute, "we maintain professional boundaries. What happened will not happen again."

Lucius's voice dropped lower, almost a conspiratorial whisper, a dangerous rumble that vibrated through the car. "Professional boundaries. One-time thing."

"Yes."

He leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable, a Sphinx-like enigma. Then he said, almost lazily, with an edge of pure arrogance, "Don't flatter yourself. I have no interest in you. If anything, I should be the one concerned that you might try to use me for your own benefit."

The sheer audacity, the unadulterated arrogance in his tone, made my blood boil.

"Wow," I said through clenched teeth, my voice a low growl. "You really are full of yourself, Mr. Watson."

He said nothing, that faint, infuriating smirk returning to his lips like a secret only he understood, a silent victory.

Ten minutes later, the Bentley pulled to a smooth, silent stop outside my building.

"Thank you, Mr. Watson," I said stiffly, unbuckling my seat belt with deliberate movements. "For the ride."

"You don't need to thank me," he replied, his voice still that same emotionless, detached cadence. "You're an employee. If something happened to you, the company would have to cover part of the compensation fee."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

He looked at me, perfectly calm, his gaze unwavering. "It's a business precaution. Purely logical."

Unbelievable. The man was infuriating beyond measure.

"Don't worry, Mr. Watson," I snapped, my temper flaring again. "I'll make sure I live to be a hundred. You can save your precious compensation money for yourself."

Before he could respond, I slammed the car door shut with a satisfying thud.

The Bentley pulled away, tires hissing softly against the wet pavement. He didn't even glance back.

I stood there, watching the taillights disappear into the dark, my pulse still racing from anger, from defiance, from something I couldn't name.

He was infuriating-cold, arrogant, insufferably composed, treating me like a liability rather than a human being.

And yet, against all reason, my heart was still beating too fast.

When I got home, Betty, my younger sister, ran up to me the moment I opened the door. "Claire! What happened to your face?"

Mom came hurrying out of the kitchen, her expression instantly shifting from worried to horrified when she saw the angry red mark on my cheek. "Who did this? Was it your father?"

I forced a small, wobbly smile. "Don't worry, Mom. I got slapped twice, but I definitely returned the favor."

Her eyes filled with tears, not for herself, but for me. "You shouldn't have gone there, honey."

"Don't defend him," I interrupted, the smile slipping, a fresh wave of bitterness rising. "Ryan stopped being my father the moment he walked out on us. Why do you still protect him?"

"Claire, he's your father after all," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, filled with an age-old sadness.

I looked at her, at her tired, perpetually worried eyes, at the woman who had endured so much in silence-and my anger, for a moment, faded into sheer exhaustion.

"I'm tired, Mom," I said quietly, rubbing my temples. "I'm going to rest."

I went to my room and shut the door behind me, the silence a welcome balm. My cheek still burned with a dull ache, but the pain in my chest was far, far worse.

I collapsed onto my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Tomorrow was the weekend. Thank God for that.

Because after tonight, I wasn't sure how much strength I had left to face the world again.

Lucius's POV

As I drove her home, the woman beside me sat in tense silence, but my mind was replaying the first time I'd seen her, barely a day ago.

She'd pushed open the bar door, walking in as if swept by a sudden, violent gale. Her scarlet dress, clinging to every curve, showcased an alluring figure. Golden hair cascaded loosely around her shoulders, framing a face of striking beauty-fair skin, delicate features, and prominent tear stains streaking her cheeks.

I'd taken one look, then returned to my drink. After all, she was just an ordinary human girl, and therefore, inconsequential to me.

I am a werewolf. My father, the formidable Alpha of the Black Moon pack, had strategically established our companies within human society. I had spent years studying business management abroad, preparing for my destiny. Next month, I would officially assume my father's mantle as the new Alpha, a role that brought me back to this world, and naturally, made me the new CEO of the Watson Group.

As the future Alpha, my Luna-my chosen mate and partner-must be a powerful werewolf woman, capable of leading our pack alongside me. Besides, I had always preferred the strength and companionship of our own kind. So, despite the undeniable pull I felt towards her that night, I didn't approach immediately.

My wolf, Raven, however, was unusually agitated.

Talk to her, Raven urged, his voice a low thrum within my mind. (As werewolves, we communicate with our wolf through mind links, no need for spoken words.)

She's just a human. What's so special about her? I countered, trying to quell his insistence.

She's ours, our mate, Raven replied, a powerful certainty in his tone.

I watched her as she drowned her sorrows, one vodka after another. Even across the smoky room, a subtle fragrance-a blend of wild flowers and warm vanilla-wafted from her, calling to me, though faintly.

Let's go, Raven urged again, his agitation growing.

I had no choice. Ignoring Raven was a fool's errand; if he took control, the situation would only escalate. Reluctantly, I finished my drink, the amber liquid suddenly tasteless, and walked over to her.

Women had never been scarce in my life, a benefit, I supposed, of my looks and status. Soon enough, she ended up in my bed. When I slipped off her dress, her body was truly stunning. A slim waist, full, generous hips, long, elegant legs, and breasts that were simply perfect.

She was a virgin, completely inexperienced, yet sex with her brought an unprecedented, almost primal satisfaction. Her body seemed made for mine, fitting me in ways I had never experienced. I lost count of how many times I took her, yet the insistent hunger within me remained unsated.

To be honest, even now, recalling those moments, I can still taste the salt and sweetness of her skin, feel the consuming warmth of her embrace.

But the next morning's cold shower, a necessary ritual for clarity, brought me crashing back to reality. She was human. Humans didn't understand our world, the ancient responsibilities, the immense burden I carried. A human Luna could destroy everything. She couldn't lead the pack, couldn't possess the inherent strength and wisdom a werewolf mate needed.

I won't let you reject her! Raven howled within me, a furious, indignant protest.

I rubbed my temples in frustration. Raven could be impossibly stubborn.

I tried not to argue with him. Raven, my wolf, was a creature of instinct, driven by primal desires, and he kept insisting she was my fated one. But my parents, while meticulously grooming me to be an excellent Alpha, had drilled one undeniable truth into me: the pack always comes first.

When I walked out of the bathroom, my decision was made. I planned to dismiss her with money, a cold, transactional gesture, as I'd done with other women who had shared my bed. But before I could, she preempted me, humiliating me first. She threw a hundred and fifty dollars in my face, insulted my performance in bed, and treated me like a prostitute.

Before I could even fully react, she had fled. I was furious!

Yet, despite her hasty retreat, she still ended up in my grasp. Who would have thought she was an employee at my company? The moment I stepped into the meeting room that morning, I caught her unique scent, a subtle mix of defiance and vulnerability. Watching her nervous expression from across the room, I maintained my cold, impassive facade, mentally telling Raven, Look how scared she is now. She was so bold this morning.

Raven, perverse as ever, purred contentedly within me. Isn't she delightful? She's got spirit, challenging us like that.

I closed my eyes helplessly for a second, fighting the urge to roll them dramatically, a gesture that would betray my inner turmoil to the human executives around me.

After the meeting, I had my subordinate call her to my office-she had slipped out earlier, a ghost in the crowd. I had fully intended to deliver a stern lecture, to put her firmly in her place. But when I saw those big, beautiful, innocent blue eyes again, my resolve inexplicably softened.

It must have been Raven's influence, his persistent fascination with her. When she got close to me, the urge to pull her into my arms was overwhelming, a powerful instinct I barely restrained. Instead, I threw her own insults back at her. I wanted to add something cutting, like, "If I was so bad in bed, why were you moaning so passionately last night?" But I didn't want to tarnish my carefully cultivated image too much, so I held my tongue.

To assimilate into human society, my father had cultivated friendships with powerful figures from all walks of life. He had even fought in human wars, forging unbreakable bonds with a few comrades-in-arms.

That afternoon, I attended a birthday gathering for one of his old war buddies in his stead. I never expected to run into Claire there, a stroke of incredibly bad luck or perhaps an undeniable twist of fate.

Claire didn't seem to get along well with her father's side of the family. At the dinner table, the way that man-her father-kept glancing at her, eyeing her with a proprietorial disdain, made my blood boil. I wanted to gouge his eyes out. But it turned out he was her ex-boyfriend. God, Claire has terrible taste in men.

I watched her argument with her father's family escalate into a physical altercation, a shocking display that gave me new insight into her character.

She was strong-willed and defiant, her temper as fiery as her body was hot.

When her father had slapped her, a primal roar had clawed its way up Raven's throat. I wanted to rush over, to beat the man senseless. But this was clearly a family matter, and my Alpha upbringing, my rigid self-control, prevented me from interfering. If she were my mate, I could intervene, the thought had flashed through my mind, startling me with its intensity. Had I developed such strong protective and possessive feelings for her?

After she stormed out of the birthday party, a whirlwind of righteous fury, I quickly made my excuses and left too. I followed her in my car, keeping a careful distance, close enough to overhear her conversation with her pathetic ex-boyfriend.

With my enhanced werewolf hearing, I caught every word. Her ex had cheated on her with Emma, that walking plastic surgery advertisement from the party? What an idiot her ex was. They talked about a proposal. Was Claire truly that eager for marriage? The thought irked me.

I was about to drive away, to put distance between us and reinforce my logical decision to avoid her, but then I caught the faint, unmistakable scent of tears in the cold night air. Was she crying? I let out a frustrated sigh, a sound of resignation, and pulled my car up beside her.

Now she sat beside me, her unique floral and vanilla scent enveloping me, filling the confined space of the car. Raven purred contentedly within my mind, a soft, satisfied rumble.

Seeing her swollen face, the angry red mark, I handed her some healing herbs-a potent salve we werewolves used for injuries, a remedy I was intimately familiar with from countless training sessions.

Her eyes were red, still brimming with unshed tears, as if she were still profoundly upset. I didn't quite understand. What was so heartbreaking about a cheating man? Was that why she'd stumbled into the bar last night, drowning her sorrows in vodka as if it were water?

The thought pissed me off. Had she just used me in bed as some kind of replacement, a convenient way to forget her ex? No wonder she'd treated me like a damn call boy.

I'd tested her, thrown her words back at her: "So, you were drinking your sorrows away last night, begging me to take you home, because your boyfriend betrayed you?"

And what did she say? "Professional boundaries. One-time thing."

She was the first woman who had ever dared talk to me like that, drawing lines as if I were some insignificant nobody. I, an Alpha, a billionaire, with women chasing after me left and right, and I had to chase her, a plain human girl? Even if she was my fated mate, so what?

I wouldn't let her affect me. I couldn't. My pack, my future, depended on it.

Claire's POV

A week had passed since Lucius dropped me off, and I hadn't seen him once at the company. Our terse conversation in his car must have worked. Though, realistically, he was the CEO, drowning in high-stakes meetings all day, and I was nothing more than a lowly finance assistant. The vast chasm between our positions meant our paths weren't likely to cross anyway.

I was content with this peaceful routine, still employed, maintaining my normal work schedule. If only my mother would stop being so relentlessly invested in my love life, everything would be perfectly fine.

"Claire, it's time for you to settle down, darling, get married, and have a family of your own. My good friend has introduced you to a university professor. I've already arranged for you to meet next week!"

Ever since Ethan's spectacular betrayal, my mother had been on a desperate mission to match me with someone new. Whenever I attempted to object, the waterworks would start, forcing me to capitulate just to dry her tears.

A week later, I found myself sitting in a romantically lit restaurant, the soft glow doing little to ease my irritation as I waited for my mother's latest prospect.

At seven o'clock sharp, a man in crisp grey trousers, a pristine white shirt, and gold-rimmed glasses slid into the seat across from me.

"Hello, I'm Hank Cruise. Twenty-nine, college professor." His introduction was clean and efficient, delivered with the precision of a well-practiced elevator pitch.

I assessed him carefully, lifting my chin slightly. "I have a few questions for you."

The man before me looked gentle enough, almost unassuming. I didn't immediately dislike him, which, given my mood, was something of a minor miracle.

Still, I utterly detested these arranged dates. I was only here to appease my mother. I decided to say something so outrageously provocative, hoping he'd take the hint and make a graceful exit. Besides, it might send a clear message to Susan not to introduce me to random men in the future.

"Ask away. If I can answer, I will." Hank offered a warm, easy smile, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth.

"Do you own property?" I asked bluntly, watching his reaction like a hawk.

Anyone who could afford real estate in this city either came from old money or commanded an exceptional, almost impossible, salary. I doubted a professor's income would stretch to homeownership here.

This question only made Hank's smile widen. "I live in a two-thousand-square-foot apartment."

I blinked in surprise, quickly recovering my composure. "It must be in a terrible location or a run-down building, then."

"Do you drive a Mercedes?" I pressed on, determined to find a flaw.

Hank's smile deepened, a quiet confidence radiating from him. "I drive a Land Rover currently. If you prefer Mercedes, I could certainly consider changing it in the future."

I stared at him, momentarily speechless. Frustrated by his unflappable demeanor, I continued, "My salary is terrible, and my temper is worse."

"That's perfectly fine. Women are entitled to their moods. I understand completely." Hank maintained his gentle, reassuring presence.

Exasperated that my plan wasn't working, I slapped the table lightly. "What is wrong with you? You have a beautiful home, a good car, you're handsome, and you're a professor. Why on earth would you want someone like me?"

"What's wrong with you?" Hank looked genuinely confused, his brow furrowing slightly.

"My father abandoned us for another woman when I was young. I'm from a broken home. My mother and sister depend on me financially. My ex-boyfriend said I wasn't feminine enough, then cheated on me with my stepsister." The words tumbled out.

"Anything else?" Hank's smile remained, completely unchanged, unwavering.

"No." I lowered my gaze, defeated, and took a long sip of my juice. I'd laid bare all my flaws, yet he hadn't flinched.

"You're the most interesting woman I've met in years," he said finally, his tone thoughtful. "Honestly, I hate blind dates, but I'm not very good at making friends naturally. Would you object to us being ordinary friends?" He handed me his business card.

Friends? The tension, which I hadn't realized how tightly wound it was, immediately drained from my shoulders.

Being just friends seemed harmless enough.

I took the card, a genuine sense of relief washing over me, and we actually began to relax, truly enjoying our meal and conversation.

To my surprise, talking with Hank became genuinely pleasant. I didn't dislike him at all. In fact, having such a kind, understanding friend seemed rather appealing.

After dinner, Hank insisted on driving me home. I waited at the restaurant entrance while he fetched his car from the parking lot.

"Claire?" A familiar voice, edged with a strange mix of curiosity and something else I couldn't quite decipher, called from behind me.

I turned to see my supervisor, Gary Ackerman, his expression uncharacteristically keen.

"Manager! Are you here for dinner too?" I asked, surprised by the coincidence.

Just then, Lucius emerged from the restaurant alongside a prominent businessman, his powerful presence immediately commanding every ounce of my attention. His eyes briefly, intensely, locked with mine.

It seemed whenever I dared to step out for a meal, I would inevitably run into someone I absolutely did not want to see.

Gary, a sudden glint in his eye, asked, "Would you like to have dinner with your friends tonight?"

My rescue arrived just in time; Hank's car pulled up to the curb. "My friend is here!" I blurted out, relief washing over me in a wave.

Gary's eyes narrowed slightly. "Boyfriend?"

"No, it's just... an ordinary friend." I denied it quickly, feeling a strange flush creep up my neck.

"Claire, why are you blushing? Are you shy?" Gary pressed, his tone teasing.

I raised my head, intending to retort, and accidentally locked eyes with Lucius. Something flickered deep in his gaze, a dark, dangerous spark that made my instincts scream.

I lowered my head instantly, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

"Goodbye, Manager!" I managed, practically scurrying away, shoving myself into Hank's passenger seat.

I glanced back through the glass, only to see Lucius still watching me, his gaze unblinking. I quickly turned away, a knot forming in my stomach.

I'd always prided myself on being a straightforward, no-nonsense person, so why did I feel so utterly uneasy about bumping into Lucius while having dinner with Hank? This was completely unlike me.

Early the next morning, Gary met me with a grim, serious look.

"A few days ago, our finance department made a major mistake in the development project. We've been summoned."

"How serious is it?" I asked nervously, a cold dread washing over me. I'd spent half a month working overtime on that very plan.

"We'll know when we get there."

As soon as we walked into the sleek, intimidating office, Lucius angrily threw a thick folder onto the expansive desk.

"How do you people work? How can you make such low-level mistakes? Do you even comprehend how important this project is?" His voice, usually so controlled, was raw with fury.

Mistake? The parameters were all handled by Joey. Her mother had been seriously ill these days, making Joey anxious and distracted. She must have neglected it.

"How could the parameters be wrong?" Gary asked, his own face paling.

"Find out who's responsible! They've caused significant losses to the company!" Lucius's anger was palpable, radiating off him like heat as he unbuttoned his shirt collar. A deep, almost guttural growl seemed to rumble in his chest, so low I wasn't sure if I actually heard it, or merely felt it.

"I'll investigate-" Gary began, already sweating.

"Mr. Watson, this isn't the time to assign blame," I interrupted, my voice surprisingly steady. "We need to find a solution."

Joey's mother was still hospitalized. Joey needed this job.

"Solution? How?" Lucius's tone was cutting, dripping with disdain.

"There's a bidding meeting next Monday. Too late to recalculate everything from scratch," Gary explained, wringing his hands.

"There are still six days," I offered, my chin lifting in defiance. "I'll handle the calculations."

Gary frowned, concern etched on his face. "Claire, we have several major projects running concurrently. I can't spare anyone to help you."

"I know," I said, meeting his gaze. "I believe I can do it before Monday's deadline. Alone."

Lucius's face showed nothing but utter contempt. "All by yourself in six days? Do you honestly think you're faster than a computer?"

"Isn't the computer also man-made?" I whispered, my temper getting the better of me.

The office fell deathly quiet. Lucius's gaze locked onto mine, piercing, intense. I lowered my head, instantly regretting my impulsive retort.

"If you can't finish by Monday," he stated, his voice dangerously soft, "you can leave the company."

I picked up the thick stack of budget tables, the weight of the task settling heavily on my shoulders. "Understood."

Anyway, I didn't have a good impression of him. I didn't think I could ever get promoted or receive a raise working under him. But I was desperately short on money, and the Watson Group offered an excellent salary and benefits. I had to protect both Joey's job and mine. There was no way I couldn't finish this, even if it meant camping out at the office for 24 hours straight!