Sunlight filtered through the thick canopy, bathing the path in shifting gold. The dirt road curved and split past the training fields, the healer’s den, the greenhouse Lucien insisted was for “spiritual cultivation” but mostly housed exotic herbs and vanity projects. Everything was manicured, precise, and curated like a lifestyle brand.
And then there was the mansion.
The Velasquez estate sat at the highest point of the territory. From the front balcony, you could see the faint shimmer of the Bay on a clear day, the distant sprawl of San Francisco’s skyline cutting sharp against the horizon. The façade was all white stone and wrought-iron balconies, complete with antique wolf statues that looked suspiciously like Lucien’s side profile. Strategically trained ivy climbed the eastern wall, and lavender bushes and hawthorn trees—magically fortified, of course—linedthe driveway. The front door gleamed like it had been polished that morning. It probably had.
I parked in my usual spot and grabbed the tablet, the folder, and the two lattes I’d picked up. I didn’t stop to smell the air or listen for birds. I already felt the pull of Lucien’s domain in my chest, like walking into a theater where you had to know your lines before the curtain even rose. It wasn’t even necessarily him who caused the pressure I felt deep in my chest. I really didn’t know what the cause was, only that it was unpleasant.
Inside, the mansion was as ridiculous as ever. Velvet. Marble. Mood lighting in the freaking hallways. And music—classical, with the volume cranked just high enough to make the whole place feel over the top.
Lucien’s office was at the end of the south wing, past a set of gold-trimmed double doors etched with the family crest.
Bracing myself, I walked in without knocking.
Lucien was reclining on his favorite emerald velvet chaise, wearing a lavender silk robe that looked expensive enough to require its own insurance policy. A single gold chain glinted against his collarbone. He was holding a leather-bound folder full of event menus and fanning himself with a swatch of sample napkin fabric.
“You wanted to go over this week’s schedule?” I asked, already tired.
He didn’t look up. “You’re late.”
I glanced at the grandfather clock on the wall. It was exactly ten a.m.. “I’m not.”
“Myaurawas wilting,” he said with a dramatic wave of his hand.
I crossed the room and set his oat milk latte on the side table. “I was up at five responding to your emails. Which you dictated. Through voice notes.While in the bath.”
He gave a contented sigh. “Self-care is part of leadership, Romanus.”
I didn’t respond as I put the second latte down and flipped open the folder.
The schedule was, predictably, insane.
“Okay,” I began, tapping through the tablet as I read aloud the notes I had taken from his emails. “First, finalize the seating chart for the brunch. Second, screen vendor contracts for the autumn ceremony. Third, deliver the enchanted gift basket to Alpha Martel before the full moon. Fourth?—”
“Make sure the waiters aren’t wearing that awful fringe this time,” Lucien interrupted, eyes closed. “It distracts from my vision.”
I bit my tongue.
This was the dance. Always the dance.
Most people thought Lucien was just a peacock in silk and body glitter. They didn’t see what I saw. What he trulywas. The dramatics were smoke and mirrors, camouflage for the political monster underneath. He smiled with teeth, charmed his enemies, and bent the entire social structure of the pack to his will with enough flair to keep them distracted. He was brilliant, really.
And I wasn’t merely his assistant. I was his fixer. His handler. His emotional support wolf. His contingency plan. I was whatever he wanted me to be in any given moment.
And lately, it felt like I was being groomed for something I never asked for.
I loved my cousin. I loved this pack. But deep inside, restlessness clawed at my ribs. There had to be more than brunches and power plays and perfectly timed smirks.
Lucien’s voice broke into my spiral. “There are… changes coming.”
I looked up. He sat upright and adjusted his robe, his expression suddenly, jarringly serious.
“In the structure. In leadership. Inlegacy. And I need people I trust at my side.”
My stomach twisted. “You mean me?”
He sipped his latte slowly and deliberately. “The version of you that stops running from responsibility and starts embracing it.” He tilted his head. “And also, the one that makes my brunches look flawless. Butmostlythe first thing.”
“Is there something specific coming?”
