Aurora's POV
The walk through the packhouse was a blur of whispered conversations and stinging stares. Every member of the staff, every warrior in the hall, had their eyes glued to us. I could feel the heat of the gossip already spreading—the Alpha King had physically hauled his assistant out of a restaurant.
We stepped into his private elevator. The silence inside was thick, broken only by the hum of the lift ascending. I was fuming, my hands clenched into tight fists at my sides. Oliver didn't say a word; he just stared at the polished metal doors, his profile as hard as granite.
When the doors chimed at the top floor, he strode out toward his office. I followed him, my heels clicking sharply against the floor like gunfire. I didn't stop at my desk. I followed him straight into his inner sanctum, slamming the heavy mahogany door behind me so hard the windows rattled.
