The Forgotten Clan

02 [ The Insufferable ]

Amica tapped her fingers against the polished wood of the long mahogany table, her patience hanging by a thread. The large glass windows behind her framed the bustling cityscape, but her thoughts were far from admiring the view. Her annoyance simmered beneath the surface, bubbling up with every passing second.

Finally, the door swung open with an air of arrogance only one man could muster.

"If I had known you would be coming late, Mr. Fenrir, I would've rescheduled the meeting, not waited for you as if I were a lost dog." Amica’s voice dripped with irritation, her black-and-red heterochromatic eyes narrowing at her boss.

Mr. Fenrir strolled in leisurely, completely unfazed. His tall, muscular frame was draped in a black suit that looked expensive but slightly disheveled, as if he'd just rolled out of bed—or someone else’s. He smirked, his striking golden eyes twinkling with mischief.

Amica clenched her jaw, exhaling slowly. It took every ounce of self-restraint not to throw something at him. The sheer audacity of this man infuriated her beyond words.

"And yet, here you are. Loyal as ever."

She swore on all the mighty ducks she knew that she needed more patience to deal with him.

"You know what, Ms. Amicable—"

"If there’s anyone amicable here, without a doubt, it would be you, sir."

She watched as he chuckled, spinning lazily in his chair.

He was impossible.

Absolutely insufferable.

Her lips parted, ready to reprimand him further, but she paused when his expression shifted. Gone was the playful arrogance—his demeanor now serious.

Amica straightened her posture. It was time to do her job—not as his nemesis, but as his secretary.

"You know I've been looking for an omega, right?" Mr. Fenrir groaned, rubbing his temples as if the very thought exhausted him. "My grandfather keeps pestering me about it. ‘The this and that, the blah blah.’ Can’t I just enjoy my life? What’s the point of longevity if I can’t have fun?"

She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. If she had a dollar for every time she had to act as his unpaid therapist, she’d be richer than his entire pack. Good thing she studied psychology for two years before deciding that babysitting overgrown man-children paid better.

"Sir, you know better than anyone that you belong to the most powerful pack in the country. You must understand where your grandfather is coming from. There are countless enemies waiting for the perfect moment to take you down. If you secure your place as the next Alpha, they wouldn’t dare make a move against you or anyone close to you. And to do that, you need an heir, a bond—a marriage."

The Fenrir family was at the top of the hierarchy, the leaders of the Askar pack—an empire built on strength, wealth, and ruthless efficiency. Unlike other packs that relied on old traditions, the Askars dominated in both business and warfare, holding monopolies in various industries across the world. Their name alone sent shivers down spines, ensuring that no one dared challenge their authority. It was no surprise that Mr. Fenrir, as the heir, was constantly under pressure to secure his legacy.

She watched as he groaned again, slumping in his chair dramatically. He was always like this—complaining about responsibilities he never took seriously. It was almost comedic how much he resisted the inevitable.

"Gods, you sound just like my grandfather. I expected more excitement from you, Amica. Maybe a bit of sympathy? A little ‘Oh, poor Mr. Fenrir, cursed to a life of commitment!’?"

She met his gaze, deadpan. "I would, if you weren’t a walking liability."

His smirk returned, and Amica immediately regretted engaging.

"You know, Amica, if you were an omega, you’d be my type."

She barely reacted, only arching a perfectly shaped brow. It wasn’t the first time he’d thrown an outrageous comment her way, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

"Sir, that’s inappropriate workplace behavior. Against work etiquette."

"And yet, you’re still here," he mused, a teasing lilt in his voice.

Amica exhaled sharply. "With all due respect, you are the reason why HR drinks on the job. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I actually have work to do."