Chapter 8
Amelia
It really is him, Richard.
Beautiful, composed, devastatingly powerful Richard.
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His eyes sweep over me, and I feel them catch–taking in every wrinkle in my dress, every frizzed hair, every trace of the mess I’ve barely tried to clean up. Somehow I look even more chaotic now than when I left his room this morning.
“Follow me,” he says, his voice low and commanding, echoing across the lobby like it was built just to hold the sound.
Meredith, the receptionist who had been dripping with superiority just minutes ago, now bows her head so fast I almost hear her neck crack. The smugness is gone, replaced with total silence as Richard and I walk past like she’s suddenly remembered how ranks work.
We head toward the elevator. I’ve been to the pack house before, but never this wing.
The doors close behind us and suddenly we’re alone.
Neither of us speaks.
The silence is thick–full of things we’re both pretending not to think about. I try not to look at him, but he’s everywhere: the scent of him, the heat of him, the tension that still lingers in my body just from being in his presence. The elevator hums quietly as it lifts us higher.
When we step out, I have to stop myself from gaping. The top floor is sleek–modern and minimalistic, all clean lines and cool greys and deep navy blues. The huge windows make the space feel like it goes on forever.
I follow him through the open layout, glancing around at what looks like an executive suite crossed with a private museum.
Where, uh… where’s your office?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.
“This is it,” he says simply.
I stop walking. The whole floor? This entire, cathedral–sized floor was his office?
He doesn’t explain. Just leads me to a secluded room tucked off the main hallway. Inside is a lounge–quiet, polished, with plush chairs and soft lighting that feels way too luxurious for someone as ragged as I feel.
“Wait here,” he says. “Someone will come get you.”
And then he’s gone.
I stand there awkwardly, too nervous to sit on any of the sleek furniture. A few minutes later, there’s a knock at the door. A woman steps in, holding a neatly folded outfit and a small toiletry bag.
“Compliments of the King,” she says, her smile tight and practiced, her eyes scanning me with the kind of judgmental condescension people usually try to hide better. But she keeps smiling, like she’s doing me a favor just by
me the bag.
“Oh. Wow. Thank you.”
She hands over the items and leaves me alone again.
Inside the bag. I find everything I need—cleanser, deodorant, a toothbrush, even a hairbrush. The dress is deep blue, fitted but professional. It hugs me in all the right places while still saying I belong here. I slip it on and smooth it down over my hips, then catch sight of myself in the mirror.
I look good. Like someone capable. Like someone who could belong here.
I pick up the brush and run it through my hair one more time, trying to tame it into something halfway professional. “You can do this,” I tell my reflection quietly. My voice doesn’t sound as sure as I want it to—but it’s something. And today, something might be enough.
A few minutes later, the same woman returns and escorts me out.
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3:49 PM P
Chapter 8
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As we walk, my heels click crisply against the linoleum. Each sharp tap feels like a countdown. The morning has moved so fast I’m just now starting to register it. I try to collect myself, inhaling slow and deep as we approach the interview room.
When I step in, I freeze for a second.
The room is full.
Candidates. A lot of them. Not just local wolves–these are people from alpha families, from other high–ranking packs. People who didn’t need this job… but clearly wanted it. I scan the room, feeling like the only outsider.
I find a seat in the corner, silently prepping myself.
A moment later, Nathan walks in with a clipboard.
“Interviews will begin shortly,” he announces. “First up is Miss Morwin.”
Me?
“The first interview will be conducted by King Richard himself.”
The buzz in the room is immediate. Whispers ripple from corner to corner.
“I heard he only does the final round…”
“Imagine being in a room alone with him…“.
“Four years and not a single scandal.”
I tune them out as best I can.
That’s when someone plops into the chair next to mine.
“Jason,” he says, offering a hand.
I shake it, more out of reflex than interest. He’s not from an alpha family, that much is clear. Civilian, And yet his confidence is suffocating.
“So,” he says, “you’re up first, huh?”
“Looks like it.”
He leans in, dropping his voice like we’re conspirators. “Think you’d be willing to swap spots
with me?”
I blink. “If you have a conflict, maybe talk to the staff?”
He smiles tightly. “No conflict. Just think it’s a better strategic fit. And look-” he rubs his fingers together in a money gesture-“I’ll make it worth your while.”
My stomach turns. Of course. He wants the interview slot with Richard. He thinks I’m stupid enough to give it to him for some cash.
He glances down at my chest and smirks. “Hey, I’m just leveling the playing field. You’re playing with your assets–can’t blame a guy for using his.”
I stare at him. “I bring plenty to the table without your garbage assumptions.”
“Oh yeah? If you’re so confident, what’s the problem with giving up your spot?”
I’m just opening my mouth to reply when a familiar voice cuts in.
“If you’re worried about fairness,” Richard says, stepping up behind Jason, “we’ll just do a team interview.”
Jason nearly falls out of his chair.
The group interview is intense–but to my own surprise, I kind of kill it.
We’re seated in a semicinde, facing a panel that includes Richard, Nathan, and two other high–ranking officials I recognize from council
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Chapter 8
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broadcasts. One woman from the southern border pack is asked a question about communication structure between departments, and before I can fully overthink it, I’m called on to respond next.
I steady myself and speak clearly, referencing examples from both a class project I’d done on internal policy design and my experience coordinating student volunteers. Richard watches me with a completely unreadable expression, which only makes me push harder to be precise.
They throw us scenario–based questions–what would you do if this person disobeyed a direct order? How would you balance a loyalty conflict between your Alpha and a law you personally disagreed with?-and I don’t freeze. I actually find my rhythm. My answers are sharp, direct, and I make sure I’m speaking from both a practical and moral place. My hands don’t shake. My voice doesn’t waver.
One of the councilmen even nods once, impressed. The woman beside me fumbles her words. Jason tries to talk over another candidate and gets a sharp glance from Nathan, the Beta. He keeps circling back to vague buzzwords-“initiative,” “innovation,” “synergy“-but it’s all fluff. Everyone can tell.
By the end, I know I’ve made a solid impression. Maybe not perfect–but definitely strong. I walk out with my shoulders squared, feeling like I’ve proven something. To them, to him, and maybe a little to myself too.
I’m thoughtful. Articulate. I know what I’m talking about. Every answer I give is real, specific, grounded in both knowledge and experience. I see nods. I hear the tone shift.
Jason slides through most of his answers, talking in circles
and trying to sounding smoother than he probably is. I don’t know if he
believed a single word he was saying, but he ceunded good saying it.
Afterward, we’re all ushered back to the
Toom. Everyone’s buzzing again, but I just sit there, trying to slow my heartbeat.
Eventually, the Beta walks back in, holding a short list.
These are the candidates who have been selected” Nathan says.
There are five names. Mine is first.
Jason’s isn’t on it.
And honestly? That feels pretty damn good.
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