01

The rain hadn’t stopped for three days.

Neither had the pounding in River Hale’s head.

The sky over the city was a dull, unbroken gray, heavy with clouds that looked ready to burst all over again. Puddles pooled at the curbs, reflecting blurred streaks of neon from street signs. A cold wind slipped under his coat, biting at his skin, but it wasn’t just the weather making him shiver.

He stood at the foot of Vance Corp’s towering glass facade, the building so tall it seemed to vanish into the low-hanging clouds. The place was more than an office — it was a statement, a monument to wealth and dominance. And today, it was his personal lion’s den.

In his hands, he clutched a waterproof envelope like it was the only thing keeping him afloat. The edges were starting to crease from the force of his grip, and his nails dug crescents into the thick paper. Inside was everything he’d been dreading for the past month — a contract that had the power to rewrite his entire future.

Somewhere deep in his gut, a slow burn had begun to coil. His body’s cruel reminder: his next heat was near. The warmth was faint for now, just a simmer under his ribs, but it was enough to make his palms sweat. He cursed under his breath. Perfect timing. Nothing said power imbalance like standing in front of the most ruthless Alpha in the city while his own biology threatened to betray him.

The revolving glass doors spun open, spilling out a rush of cold, conditioned air. River stepped inside. The marble lobby gleamed under soft lighting, its air scented faintly with something sharp and clean — expensive, calculated. His steps echoed against the floor as he crossed the room, but the sound was swallowed up when he appeared.

Leon Vance.

Even standing still, the man commanded the space like he owned not just the building, but the ground beneath it. Six-foot-three, shoulders broad and unyielding, every inch of him wrapped in a tailored charcoal Armani suit that probably cost more than River’s yearly rent.

The first thing River noticed wasn’t his height or his looks — though both were unfairly perfect — but his eyes. Cold, assessing, and far too sharp. They swept over River from head to toe, slow enough to feel deliberate, invasive, like he was being catalogued, dissected, and filed away under mine.

“Mr. Hale.” Leon’s voice was a low, dangerous purr that seemed to vibrate in the air between them. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

River tightened his grip on the envelope. “Maybe because I don’t like being hunted.”

Leon’s mouth quirked, but it wasn’t a smile. He stepped forward — once, twice — each stride unhurried, a predator closing in on prey that had nowhere left to run. By the third step, River could feel it: the subtle push of Alpha pheromones. Not an overwhelming wave, but a calculated brush, enough to make his pulse thud harder in his throat.

“You think you can resist me?” Leon asked.

River met his gaze head-on. “Try me.”

The Alpha’s lips curled into something that almost resembled amusement. “Funny…” His tone dropped, silken and edged. “…I wasn’t asking.”

Before River could speak again, Leon’s hand moved — not fast, not slow, just deliberate — reaching for the envelope. Instinct flared, and River yanked it closer to his chest, like a shield he wasn’t willing to lower.

“This isn’t a negotiation,” Leon murmured, closing the remaining distance between them until River could feel the ghost of his breath along his ear. “You’re going to sign the contract, and when you do…” His gaze dipped briefly — sharp, assessing, knowing — to the hollow of River’s throat, then back up to his eyes. “…you’re going to be mine.”

The words slid under River’s skin, not just as a threat, but a promise. And as much as he hated himself for it, his heart stuttered in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

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