The crisis room buzzed with executives. Alexander stood at the head, face stone-cold.

"Status report," he demanded, not looking at me.


"They"ve targeted our client database," I reported. "More sophisticated than yesterday."

"Can you stop it?" His tone was distant.

For six hours I fought the attack. Victor"s signature was all over it. Alexander stayed nearby, yet emotionally distant. Our blood connection seemed muted.


By midnight, only a skeleton crew remained.

"You should rest," I said at 2 AM.


"This is my company. My responsibility." His voice was clipped.

"What"s wrong?"

"The blood connection," he said coldly. "Convenient tool for manipulating someone, isn"t it?"

I flinched. "What are you talking about?"

"I heard your conversation. About using me to fight Victor. About ‘moving on" afterward."

"You heard part of a conversation and jumped to conclusions."

"Tell me I"m wrong. Tell me you haven"t been planning to disappear once Victor is dealt with."

I hesitated. My silence was answer enough.

Twenty-four hours of tense silence followed. When the crisis ended, we were alone.

"I"ve implemented new security protocols," I said.

"Good. I"ll have accounting process your consulting fee."

I slammed my laptop shut. "Is that all this is now? A business transaction?"

"Isn"t that what you wanted? Clear boundaries?"

"You don"t know what I want."

"Then tell me," he challenged. "What are your intentions?"

"I never asked to feel your emotions, to worry about you, to care—" I stopped myself.

"To care what?" He moved closer. "Finish that sentence."

Our argument escalated, raw emotions exposed. Then suddenly:

"I"m not using you," I said quietly. "Whatever this is—it"s complicated and terrifying, but it"s not a trick."

He moved closer. "Then what is it?"

"I don"t know," I whispered. "But I"m not ready to walk away yet."

Something shifted in his expression. Our connection flared back to life.

"Isabella," he said, voice rough.

Then his lips were on mine. The blood connection exploded—a torrent of emotions so intense I gasped. For a moment, I surrendered completely.

Reality crashed back. I pulled away, shocked.

His phone rang—the pack emergency tone. He answered immediately.

"I"ll be right there," he said. "Emergency at the pack compound."

He paused at the door. "This isn"t over. Whatever this is between us—it"s real. And we will talk about it."

Then he was gone.

As I gathered my things, my phone buzzed with a text: "I warned you about the wolves, Isabella. Since you won"t protect yourself, I"ll have to step in."

The message included a photo—Alexander entering Victor"s private club. In the background was the ancient symbol from the cyber attack.

My blood ran cold. Had I been wrong about Alexander? Or was someone trying to drive us apart? I needed answers—and I wasn"t going to get them sitting in an empty office with the ghost of his kiss still on my lips.