Adele's POV (living as Fleur Swann)
The city was already slipping into dusk when I arrived at my office, Paris wrapped in that silvery half-light that always made my blood sing beneath my skin. The moon wouldn't rise for hours, but my wolf was always there—watching, waiting, reminding me that no matter how carefully I built my human life, instinct never truly slept.
My wolf finally awakened after I'd given birth to my children, and now... Well, I was still getting used to her being around all the time.
Tonight mattered.
I had agreed to meet a client whose name alone carried centuries of power. A man born into lineage, wealth, and reverence—a man the world bowed to without question.
Damien Montecarlo. Duke of Monaco.
When his request came through, there had been no room for refusal. He had purchased an enormous mansion in Paris and demanded—politely, but firmly—that I handle the design myself. Not an assistant. Not a junior partner. Me.
And despite the late hour and the ache in my shoulders from weeks of overwork, I had agreed.
Not because I chased titles or crowns—but because this collaboration could change everything.
If the Duke of Monaco endorsed my work, Fleur Swann would become untouchable.
I arrived early, as always. The office lights were warm, the air faintly scented with bergamot and polished wood. I walked through the space, checking every detail—the seating arrangement, the projection screen, the digital mockups aligned perfectly in sequence. Control soothed me. Precision kept the past at bay.
Once, I had been powerless.
An orphan.
A discarded mate.
A woman trapped in a gilded cage by a man who ruled both humans and wolves with bloodstained hands.
Caden Wayne.
I pushed the name from my mind. I didn't even know why it came to me again.
That life was dead. Adele was dead. Fleur Swann had replaced her.
Everything I did now—every sleepless night, every calculated risk—was for my children. For Chloe's quiet strength. For Gabriel's fierce heart. I wanted them to grow up proud, never doubting that their mother had clawed her way out of darkness and built a world with her own hands.
Lea, my assistant, caught my eye and nodded. "Everything's ready."
At precisely five o'clock, the gates outside opened.
I felt him before I saw him.
A pressure rolled through the room—subtle but unmistakable. Not Alpha dominance, but something adjacent to it. Old power. Old blood.
The Duke entered with his guards, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a tailored black suit that probably cost more than most people's homes. His silver-flecked hair and sharp gaze gave him an intimidating air, yet his movements were unhurried, deliberate.
Predatory, yet civilized.
"Your Highness," I greeted, offering a polite smile.
"Miss Swann," he replied, his voice smooth, carrying a faintly amused edge. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
I inclined my head. "The honor is mine. And… I apologize again for canceling our previous meetings."
His lips curved slightly. "Ah yes. Twice stood up by Paris's most elusive designer. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."
I stiffened. "I wouldn't dare. My children had school performances. I couldn't miss them."
He waved a hand dismissively as he took a seat. "I was only teasing. I'm a family man myself. I understand priorities."
That alone caught me off guard.
We settled onto the plush sofa opposite one another, the setting intentionally less rigid than a boardroom. Tea and light refreshments were served. The projector hummed softly behind me.
"So," I said, steadying my breath, "shall we begin?"
He gestured for me to continue.
As the presentation unfolded, I lost myself in the rhythm of my work. Floor plans shifted across the screen—open spaces designed to breathe, natural light drawn in through glass and stone, smart technology woven seamlessly into old-world architecture.
"This layout allows the house to function as a sanctuary," I explained, my voice gaining confidence. "Not just a residence, but a living entity—responsive, protective, and deeply personal."
His attention never wavered.
When the final slide faded, we discussed materials, timelines, and revisions. He asked thoughtful questions, sharp ones. Not the empty interest of a bored aristocrat—but genuine engagement.
Impressed, I realized. And that impressed me.
There was a pause before I spoke again, curiosity pricking at me despite my better judgment.
"May I ask something… personal, Your Highness?"
He leaned back, studying me. "You may."
"I've heard rumors," I said carefully. "That you've been traveling extensively. Buying properties across Europe because you're searching for someone. Your sister?"
The shift was immediate.
He inhaled slowly, gaze darkening. "Yes. My sister was taken shortly after birth. My mother never recovered. She didn't even get to hold her." His jaw tightened. "My father's mistress—driven by jealousy—stole the child."
My heart clenched.
A newborn. Used as a weapon. I was familiar with that.
"That's… monstrous," I whispered.
"She may still be alive," he said quietly. "And until I know otherwise, I will keep looking."
Silence stretched between us.
Then his gaze sharpened. "Tell me, Miss Swann—are you of noble descent?"
I blinked. "No."
The answer came too quickly. "I'm not royal. Not even close."
I wasn't even born to alpha blood. Nothing was noble about me.
He frowned slightly. "Strange. You seem… familiar. As if our energies align."
My wolf bristled at that comment.
"I'm sure you're mistaken," I said lightly, averting my eyes. "And I'd prefer to keep our relationship professional."
His brows lifted. "You misunderstand me. I wasn't flirting." A small pause followed, then, he added. "Where are you from?"
Danger flared.
If he dug too deeply, he might find Adele. And if Adele resurfaced, so would Caden Wayne.
"My family has always lived in Paris," I lied smoothly. "This city is my home."
I stood before he could press further. "My assistant will handle the formalities. I'll keep you informed of all progress."
He rose as well, extending his hand.
Our handshake was brief—but his gaze lingered, searching, as though sensing something he couldn't name.
"Thank you, Miss Swann."
As he left, I exhaled slowly.
Men had always looked at me that way—with curiosity, desire, or suspicion. I had learned to endure it. To rise above it.
These were obstacles. Nothing more.