The morning after the wolf incident, Aria Sullivan woke up feeling like she'd run a marathon in her sleep. Her muscles ached, her hair was sticking in about four different directions, and her brain kept replaying those glowing eyes over and over like a broken horror movie loop.
"Nope," she said firmly to the ceiling, throwing an arm over her face. "We are not doing this. It was a raccoon. A… very large, nightmare-inducing raccoon."
Her bedroom was a disaster zone: laundry that had given up on life piled in a chair, an empty ramen cup on her desk, and a pair of mismatched socks on the floor that looked like they were having an argument. Nothing about it screamed gothic werewolf drama.
Which was exactly why she decided last night had been her imagination. Stress hallucinations. Too many late-night shifts, too much caffeine, and not enough sleep. Perfectly logical.
She sat up and checked her phone. Three missed calls from her mom. Of course. Aria groaned. If she called back, she'd have to explain why she came home pale as a ghost and bolted to her room like the floor was lava. And her mom would bring up the wolves again.
"Not today," she muttered, tossing the phone onto the bed.
Instead, she pulled on a semi-presentable outfit—black jeans, a white blouse she'd ironed exactly never, and the least-scuffed pair of flats she owned. Today was supposed to be her first day at the internship she'd fought tooth and nail to land. A corporate job, in an actual office, where she might finally break free from the greasy grip of Mel's Diner.
Sure, she'd still be making coffee, but at least this time she'd be making it for people in suits instead of truckers who thought snapping their fingers was a love language.
She grabbed her bag, gave her reflection a pep talk ("You are a competent adult. Sort of."), and headed out the door.
---
The building loomed over her like it had been dropped into town from another world. Blackstone Enterprises' headquarters was a sleek tower of glass and steel that didn't belong in sleepy little Blackwood. It gleamed in the morning sun, sharp lines cutting into the sky, as if daring the forest around it to even try and compete.
Aria stood on the sidewalk, craning her neck. "Well, this doesn't scream 'evil lair' at all."
Inside, it was worse. Polished marble floors, chrome accents, a lobby the size of her entire high school gym. Everyone who walked by was dressed like they'd stepped out of a magazine ad—sharp suits, expensive shoes, hair that had never known the terror of cheap shampoo.
Aria tried not to gawk, clutching her bag tighter. She was here to blend in, not look like she'd wandered off the street and stolen someone's visitor badge.
At the reception desk, a woman with perfectly styled hair and a smile that could cut glass gave her a once-over. "Can I help you?"
"Yes, hi, I'm… um, Aria Sullivan. Starting today? Internship in the administrative department?"
The woman typed something, her nails clicking like tiny hammers. "Seventh floor. Ms. Daniels will brief you. Don't be late."
Aria nodded too quickly. "Nope. Never late. Chronically early. My middle name is Punctuality."
The receptionist raised an eyebrow. Aria fled toward the elevators before she could say anything else embarrassing.
---
The seventh floor was a blur of desks, glass-walled offices, and people talking in hushed but urgent tones. A tall woman in a pencil skirt introduced herself as Ms. Daniels, rattled off a list of rules Aria immediately forgot, and then shoved a stack of files into her arms.
"Coffee is in the break room. Don't touch the executive machine. That's for him."
"Him?" Aria echoed.
Ms. Daniels gave her a look. "You'll know when you see him."
Vague and ominous. Perfect.
Aria spent the next two hours trying to look useful—filing, answering phones, pretending she understood the office jargon flying around her. Every so often she'd glance at the massive glass office at the end of the hall. The blinds were drawn, but the atmosphere around it was… tense. Like the room itself was holding its breath.
At ten-thirty sharp, the elevator dinged. The doors slid open.
And out stepped the man from last night.
Aria nearly dropped an entire stack of papers.
Same height. Same commanding presence. Same too-perfect jawline and dark hair. And those eyes—still sharp, still predatory, though not glowing this time.
Her stomach dropped. Oh no. No, no, no. This is not happening.
The office seemed to shift around him. Conversations cut short, people straightened their posture, even Ms. Daniels smoothed her skirt and practically sprinted to greet him.
"Good morning, Mr. Blackwood."
"Mr. Blackwood," Aria repeated faintly, her brain short-circuiting.
He didn't spare her a glance as he walked past, his stride confident and unhurried, like he owned not just the building but the entire planet. Which, judging by the way everyone reacted, he probably did.
Aria pressed her back against the wall, heart hammering. That's him. The guy. The glowing-eyed wolf-whisperer. And now he's… my boss?
Her life had officially turned into a bad soap opera.
She tried to stay invisible for the rest of the day, which was hard when her brain kept running in panicked circles. Did he recognize me? Does he know I know? Am I going to get fired? Or eaten? Or fired and then eaten?
Every time the office door opened, she jumped. Every time someone said "Mr. Blackwood," she flinched.
At lunch, she sat in the break room with a sad sandwich and texted her best friend:
Aria: You won't believe this. Remember that guy I told you about? The creepy hot one with the eyes?
Bestie: The hallucination?
Aria: Yeah well he's real. And he's my boss.
Bestie: …girl. RUN.
Aria groaned and buried her face in her hands. She couldn't run. This internship was her shot at something better. She needed this. Besides, what was she supposed to do? March into his office and say, "Hey, remember me? The snack-sized human you saved from your murder-wolf last night?"
Not happening.
She'd just have to keep her head down, do her job, and pray Mr. Blackwood never noticed her.
Of course, fate had other plans.
At four o'clock, Ms. Daniels appeared at her desk. "The CEO wants to see you."
Aria blinked. "Me? I—I think you mean someone else. Like, someone who's not currently sweating through their blouse?"
"No," Ms. Daniels said crisply. "You. Now."
Aria's legs turned to jelly as she followed her down the hall. The massive glass doors loomed closer. She thought about bolting for the stairwell, but Ms. Daniels was right behind her like a prison guard.
The door opened.
Mr. Blackwood was there, behind a sleek black desk, scrolling through documents on a tablet. He looked up slowly, his gaze locking onto her.
Recognition flickered in his eyes.
And Aria knew, without a doubt, that he remembered everything.