Chapter 4

Demetria’s hand lands on my shoulder, warm and comforting.

“Then we manage her. Up the meds, see the healer, run when you can. And—network. Don’t snarl at all your allies before you meet them.”

I exhale. “Fine. I’ll be civil with the meeting I scheduled with the Beta at least.” I need to know what I’m up against.

An hour later, Demetria is clucking about my medicine dosage.

As my best friend she’s more worried about my health than I am. She knows my wolf isn’t in good shape, and with the new branch work, and trying to get this contract she wants me in the best health possible.

Although I can feel the different shifts my wolf makes everyday, my priority is work. Health is secondary.

It wasn’t before, sometime between Landon and the fashion. I did so many different tests, clinical trials, and read every medical journal I could get my hands on, but it was no use. There’s no reversal for an aging wolfless woman.

You’d think with all the technology in the world at our fingertips, someone, somewhere would find a cure besides having a mate, but our culture and society would probably riot before that happened. We’re too pack oriented, it’s sewn into our bones, sinew, and the fabric of our DNA. A lone wolf is a dead wolf.

“You don’t look well,” she said. “You’re grinding your teeth again.”

I pressed my tongue against the back of my teeth, catching myself mid-motion. “I’m fine,” I said, quickly. “I’ll just increase the dosage tonight. The meds will kick in again.”

She folded her arms. “That’s what you said last time, and it didn’t work. Sienna, your wolf’s stronger than your prescription bottle. You can’t keep patching over it.”

If I know her, she’s already making a mental note to call a doctor, to come to my house after my meeting. I prefer house calls, they’re more discreet. I don’t want any papers hearing that I’m ill or anything. The brand only needs good press behind it. I can’t afford otherwise.

She seemed to see right through me and know what I was thinking.

“Or you could try finding your second‑chance mate. A mate would heal all of your pain. ”

I open my mouth to respond, but my phone dings with a new email.

Meeting confirmed.

It’s at a café in the old quarter, the kind of place with chandeliers made from deer and moose antlers (our original prey), and a pastry case that looks like it’s straight from Paris.

Odd choice for a Beta who schedules deals in boardrooms, but I’m flexible.

I wear black, line my eyes like armor, and tuck a portfolio under my arm.

I don’t care who sits across from me as long as my work crosses the palace threshold.

I stroll in, ten minutes early. The café smells like cinnamon, chocolate, and vanilla. I pick a table under a window, but facing the door. Just in case. The wariness from Landon and the pack never left me.

As people come and go, I keep glancing at the door again and again.

Twenty minutes pass. Then thirty. My pulse ticks up, not from impatience but from the way my temple throbs and my head pangs and then drops. Clean. Quiet. Like someone solved an equation

I’d been grinding my teeth around for years. I know they’re doing this as an intimidation tactic. I would have done the same.

Just then, the door opens. The room shifts, almost imperceptibly and voices lower, as air makes way for a man who carries authority without announcing it.

I don’t need a headline to know him. His face is plastered everywhere anyway.

Arthur wears a suit that fits like it was cut with the finest wool, and a face that gives away nothing. It’s as smooth as marble.

His Beta hovers, then peels away to take a call, leaving the king to break his own rules.

He gives me the once over, top to bottom, slow enough to be insulting, fast enough to claim power.

“You don’t need to pretend,” he says, sliding into the chair opposite like he owns every chair. “The competence act. The hard-edged entrepreneur. Women like you come to meetings like this for one reason.”

It takes a second for the words to land. Then heat rises in my throat, a steady flame. “Excuse me?”

He leans back, bored already. A waitress silently places a cup of coffee in front of him. “The last three ‘collaborations’ were thin excuses to climb into my bed and then my wallet. If you want a husband, try a gala. Don’t waste my time with a fake business deal.”

For a moment, all I can hear is the hush of the café and my wolf’s shocked silence. Then everything in me lines up.

I lift my cup and tip it, slow enough that he could stop me if he wanted to. He doesn’t. Coffee meets his cheekbone, slides down his perfect jaw, stains his perfect collar.

The room gasps as one chorus of shock. I blink, it’s almost as if I watched myself throw the coffee, not that I did it inside my own body.

“Here’s my business proposal,” I say, setting the empty cup between us. My voice is frigid. “I’m here to sell excellence. I don’t seduce clients. I don’t need a husband. And if you were the last man left alive, I’d take up knitting the shrouds before I took your hand.”

I drop my card on the table—matte black, simple, my name embossed like a blood oath—and stand. He blinks, slow, a shutter opening and closing on surprise, then anger kindling under control.

“You’ve just made a mistake,” he says softly, wiping his face with a napkin like he’s considering tearing it in half.

“Then let it be the last one I make with you,” I say, and walk out into a city that hasn’t broken me. Neither will Arthur.

Outside, the chill air hit my face, sharp and clean. My wolf was silent, almost stunned, and for the first time in weeks, I felt something close to peace—burning, reckless peace. My hands still shook as I called Demetria.

“Well?” she answered immediately. “How did it go?”

I exhaled, watching the city lights blur from the cold. “Well,” I said, “I don’t think the King will be investing in my company anytime soon.”