Chapter 11: Chapter 11
"The Blackstone Industries file? That’s high-level strategic planning. The kind of assignment that usually takes months to work up to." She shook her head. "Christian Knight doesn’t hand out plum assignments to day-one employees. Not unless—"
"Unless what?"
"Unless he’s got plans for you."
I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to focus on competitor analysis, but my mind kept wandering. The office hummed with activity around me—phones ringing, keyboards clicking, the low murmur of conversations. Normal office sounds.
Except for the scents.
Now that I was paying attention, I could pick them out. Wolf scents, layered and complex. At least four different signatures are wafting through the air conditioning system. Each one carried different pack markers, different territorial claims.
My wolf stirred uneasily. We were outsiders here, invaders in someone else’s territory. The professional facade was just that—a facade. Underneath, this was pack land.
The realization made my skin crawl.
I was so absorbed in my work that I almost missed it. The change in the air, the way conversations suddenly dropped to whispers. The scent that made my wolf go rigid with alarm.
Power. Authority. Dominance.
An Alpha was approaching.
I looked up from my computer screen to see heads turning and backs straightening. The very air seemed to thicken with tension.
And then I saw him.
Christian’s father stepped into the Strategic Operations department like he owned it. Which, I was starting to realize, he probably did.
Harold Knight was silver-haired and sharp-eyed, his expensive suit tailored to perfection. But it was his presence that commanded attention—the way he moved through the office with absolute confidence, the way every wolf in the vicinity immediately deferred to him.
This wasn’t just Christian’s father.
This was the Alpha.
His piercing gray eyes swept the department, cataloging faces and assessing his territory. And then—
They landed on me.
My wolf whimpered. Every instinct screamed at me to lower my eyes, bare my neck, and submit to the dominant predator, who was suddenly way too interested in my existence.
Instead, I stared at my computer screen and tried to look busy.
It didn’t work.
I could feel him approaching, his footsteps measured and deliberate. The scent of his authority filled my nostrils—cedar and steel and something indefinably dangerous.
"Miss Turner."
His voice was cultured, controlled. And absolutely terrifying.
I looked up slowly, meeting those gray eyes that were so much like Christian’s but infinitely more dangerous.
"Mr. Knight." I managed to keep my voice steady. "How can I help you?"
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Victoria tells me you’re settling in well."
"I’m trying to, sir."
"Excellent." His nostrils flared slightly. "And how are you finding the work environment?"
It was a casual question. Too casual. I could smell the trap in it, even if I couldn’t see the teeth.
"Very professional," I said carefully.
"Good, good." He moved closer, his presence looming over my desk. "We pride ourselves on maintaining certain... standards here at Knight Industries."
The pause was deliberate. Loaded.
"Of course, sir."
"I’m committed to doing excellent work for Knight Industries," I said, the words feeling like glass in my throat.
"I’m sure you are." His smile was all teeth.
Before I could respond, he straightened and moved away, continuing his circuit of the department. But I could still feel his attention on me, assessing and calculating.
I tried to return to my work, but my hands were shaking. The Blackstone Industries file blurred before my eyes as the reality of my situation crashed over me.
I wasn’t just working for a company. I was trapped in the middle of pack politics I didn’t understand, with players who could destroy me without breaking a sweat.
The afternoon dragged on. Harold Knight made several more passes through the department, each time pausing near my desk like a predator stalking prey. I kept my head down, focused on my computer screen, and tried to become invisible.
It wasn’t working.
As five o’clock approached, I started packing up my things. Maybe I could slip out through the stairwell and avoid another confrontation with—
"Miss Turner."
The Alpha voice cut through the office chatter like a whip. My wolf froze, every muscle locking in place despite my human mind screaming at me to run.
Harold Knight stood between me and the elevator, his body language making it clear this wasn’t a coincidence.
"A word."
