Chapter 4

"Mr. Blackwood," the receptionist stammered, scrambling to her feet. Her composure shattered, and though satisfaction curled inside me, I kept my expression neutral.

Sebastian Blackwood’s piercing gaze locked onto her. "I asked you a question, Laura," he said, voice dangerously low. "Since when do you decide who I see? The protocol is clear—you call my office, and I decide who gets an audience. Not you."

She swallowed hard, eyes darting to the floor as if his presence alone burned her.

"Come with me."

It took me a second to realize he was speaking to me. When I caught the receptionist’s venomous glare and Sebastian’s retreating figure, I nearly tripped in my haste to follow. He led me through a lavish waiting area toward a sleek glass elevator.

The elevator was state-of-the-art, complete with a touchscreen panel. He keyed in a code, then pressed a button for the top floor.

Despite the spacious interior, his proximity made the air thick, suffocating. His scent—mint and something darker, richer—wrapped around me, making my pulse stutter.

He didn’t spare me a glance, and doubt crept in. Maybe I’d misread his interest. Maybe this plan was doomed from the start.

The elevator stopped, revealing an expansive office with marble floors and granite walls.

"Where’s your actual office?" I asked, taking in the grandeur.

He finally looked at me, expression unreadable. "This is my office."

My eyes widened. He strode forward, rounding a corner to reveal a massive desk positioned before floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. The view was breathtaking—and my stomach twisted with nerves.

Instead of sitting, he leaned against his desk, arms crossed. His white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal corded forearms, clung to his broad frame. Dark slacks accentuated his lean waist, and my wolf practically purred in approval.

I stared longer than I meant to.

He cleared his throat, jolting me back to reality. His smirk said it all—Caught you. Heat flooded my cheeks.

"So," he drawled, "why are you here?"

Right. The reason.

"I need your help," I blurted.

One dark brow arched. "With?"

"My father was arrested. His business collapsed—he owes five million."

Silence. He waited, expectant.

"I was hoping… you could pay his debt. Get him out."

Another beat of quiet. Then he dragged a hand down his face. "And what do I get in return?"

I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze—a direct challenge to an Alpha, a Lycan. But instead of anger, intrigue flickered in his eyes.

"Well," I murmured, stepping closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "At the party… there was something between us." My face burned. "I thought maybe…"

I undid my coat, revealing just enough lace to tease. His gaze darkened, raking over me, and confidence surged through me. I reached out, fingertips brushing his arm.

"I could… repay you," I murmured. "I’m clean. A virgin. On birth control—no risks."

His breath hitched. He straightened, closing the distance between us until his heat seared my skin. His scent enveloped me, dizzying.

Then—his fingers traced my cheek, sending shivers down my spine. His eyes were black as midnight, just like in the VIP suite.

I closed my eyes, leaning in—

But his hands adjusted my coat, covering me again.

My eyes flew open. His expression was stern.

"Do you really think I pay for sex?" His voice was ice. "You said it yourself—I have options."

Humiliation scorched me. "I just—"

"You thought you could trade your body for my help." He cut me off. "You’re young, Miss Dumont. You’ll regret shortcuts like this."

How does he know my name?

His next words were softer, almost pitying. "I have a daughter. I’d never teach her to use her body as currency. I expect better—for her, and for you."

His fingertips brushed my neck, and my breath caught.

"I expected better from you."

The words shattered me.

Before I could respond, footsteps echoed behind me. Security.

"My patience is spent," Sebastian said coolly. "Escort Miss Dumont out."

They flanked me, and I didn’t resist.

"Thank you for your time," I managed before turning away, shame burning my throat.

"I’m so glad we’re working together!" Beatrice beamed, adjusting my ridiculous uniform—a skimpy skirt and crop top that left little to the imagination.

The club was packed, wealthy men eyeing the staff like prey. But the tips were good, and I was desperate.

"That’s what friends are for," she chirped, nudging me.

Then she stiffened. "Incoming group. Good luck."

I turned—and froze.

Donovan.