Three Billionaire Alphas on Their Knees

The Mask

Early morning. A layer of cold fog pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the top-floor risk control office.

The bathroom faucet ran in a steady stream. Darcy braced both hands on the cold porcelain sink and stared at her own expressionless reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back had slightly disheveled hair, her face still carrying the pale residue of a sleepless night. Dark shadows clung beneath her eyes. She cupped a palm full of ice-cold water and slapped it against her face. The biting chill spread across her skin instantly, shredding the last traces of grogginess that still clung to her senses.

She lifted her sleeve and sniffed the fabric.

Cedar. Faint, but unmistakable.

She'd slept in Asher's private lounge for a few hours last night, and his top-tier Alpha scent had already seeped into her clothes and hair. It was barely there, but in a building full of wolves, barely there was more than enough.

Darcy opened the scent blocker and applied a thin layer behind her ears, along her wrists, and across her collar. She worked it into her skin with practiced efficiency, patting and blending until every trace of that cedar scent had been pressed down into nothing. Only then did she button her shirt all the way up to the top collar and twist her long hair into a tight, no-nonsense ponytail.

She couldn't let anyone smell Asher's cedar scent on her. In Kingston Pack's territory, a packless rogue carrying the Alpha King's scent would be branded as someone who had "climbed using an Alpha." The label would stick, and everything she'd earned would be dismissed as favoritism.

She had fought her way into the core circle yesterday on her own merit. She refused to let anyone credit that to Asher.

She stepped out of the lounge and walked past the CEO's office. The heavy black wooden door remained shut tight, no light bleeding through the c***k beneath it. The corridor was so quiet she could hear the click of her own heels echoing off the walls. But the air still seemed to hold a ghost of that cold, oppressive cedar scent from last night.

Darcy's steps faltered for a fraction of a second in front of that door.

The words from last night surfaced unbidden in her mind. "Whatever you hear tonight, don't come out. Especially if it's me."

She pulled her gaze away and walked back into the risk control office. Her computer screen flickered to life, and her fingers moved across the keyboard with practiced efficiency, routing the thirty million she'd intercepted last night back into the company's main account, line by line.

Ding.

Her old phone buzzed.

Maeve: Darcy! Fresh croissant at the front desk! Also, the whole building is buzzing this morning. Word is the top floor was locked down last night, even the night patrol got turned away. What happened? Are you okay?

Darcy's fingers froze above the keyboard.

Top floor lockdown.

The image surfaced in her mind unbidden. The wall in that dark lounge, covered in claw marks. And beyond the door, the sound of a beast's growl, forcibly suppressed. He had been on the edge of losing control last night. And still, he had stayed outside the door.

Darcy lowered her lashes and pressed down the faint stirring in her chest.

Darcy: I'm fine. It was just a routine security isolation.

She turned off the screen, straightened her collar, and walked toward the elevator.

The doors opened onto the main lobby. Low- and mid-ranked wolves of the Kingston Pack moved through the space in their usual morning rhythm, some carrying coffee, others scrolling through tablets, all of them wearing the subtle territorial awareness that came with belonging to a Pack. Chloe was at the front desk, sorting through a stack of documents. The moment she spotted Darcy stepping out of the executive elevator, the one reserved for the CEO's inner circle, a flash of venomous jealousy flickered behind her eyes. She immediately stepped forward to intercept.

"Darcy!" Chloe's voice came out sugary sweet, deliberately pitched loud enough for the surrounding wolves to hear.

Several nearby employees glanced over, cold, dismissive stares. In Kingston Pack, someone without formal Pack registration rarely made it into the highest core circles. Especially someone who, just yesterday, had been a nearly invisible low-level employee. The suspicion and resentment were written plainly on their faces.

Chloe leaned in closer, her nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly, trying to catch any trace of what had happened on the top floor last night. But Darcy's scent-blocking cream had done its job perfectly. There was nothing there.

A flicker of disappointment crossed Chloe's face. She masked it quickly, her voice dripping with false concern. "Darcy, you don't even have a formal Pack registration. And last night, the top floor was in complete chaos. If the Elders' Council starts investigating, who do you think they'll believe? You, with no Pack backing? Or the people who actually have insignia?"

Darcy looked at her for two full seconds. Her voice came out flat and mild. "Since when does front desk reception handle Elders' Council affairs?"

Chloe's smile froze for just a fraction of a second. "I'm just worried about you."

"Then worry less. Knowing too much isn't good for a receptionist's career."

Darcy picked up the paper bag from the counter and walked past her without another glance, stepping back into the elevator.

The doors were just beginning to close when a large, powerful hand caught the sensor panel.

Asher stepped inside. His black-clad guards remained outside. The doors slid shut with a soft thud, sealing the two of them in the narrow metal box.

Darcy's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the paper bag.

Again. The elevator. The memories from last night's heat came rushing back from somewhere deep in her body, unbidden, unwanted.

But she simply stepped half a pace to the side, her posture cool and professionally distant. "Mr. Kingston."

Asher didn't answer immediately. His gaze first landed on her collar, buttoned all the way to the top, then moved slowly to the skin behind her ear. The air between them was clean. No trace of last night's scent lingered. Nothing.

Too clean.

"You used scent blocker." Asher's voice was low. It wasn't a question.

Darcy met his gaze evenly. "I need to appear here as the project lead. Not as an Omega who spent the night in an Alpha's private lounge."

Asher's jaw tightened visibly. The cedar scent in the elevator thickened, pressing against her. "Does it bother you that much being connected to me?"

"It bothers me that people might assume I couldn't get through that door without you."

Asher stared at her, those clear amber eyes that never wavered, never backed down. After a few seconds, he didn't argue.

"Fair."

Darcy blinked, caught off guard. Asher had already looked away, as if he'd just approved a routine work request.

"But there's one thing you got wrong."

"What?"

Asher looked down at her. "Last night, was it me who entered your room, or did you pull me in yourself?" His eyes held hers. "Darcy, your hand didn't hesitate."

Darcy's breath paused, barely noticeable, but there.

She understood what he was saying. He had stopped outside the risk control office last night. He had waited. The door had opened because she had unlocked it. He remembered that detail. He had remembered.

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open. Darcy stepped out first.

"Your memory is excellent, Mr. Kingston."

Asher followed close behind her, his voice low and even. "I only remember what matters."

Darcy didn't slow down. Her fingers had unconsciously pressed a crease into the croissant bag.

Meanwhile, in a corner of the first-floor lobby.

Chloe stood behind a pillar, a stack of papers in her hands, her eyes fixed on Darcy's figure emerging from the executive elevator. Her nails dug into her palm. Jealousy and panic warred behind her eyes. Darcy hadn't just survived last night's lockdown, she had somehow secured a place in the top-floor core circle.

But beneath the jealousy, a flicker of unease surfaced. The higher Darcy climbed, the more visible she became. And the more visible she became, the easier she was to find. Chloe's own safety was tied to Darcy's silence. If Darcy fell, she might be dragged down with her.

Chloe leaned in close to the acting director, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial murmur.

"Director, I confirmed it. She doesn't have any scent from Mr. Kingston on her. She doesn't even have Pack registration. The CEO only kept her because of yesterday's report. No other reason."

The acting director let out a cold, vicious sneer.

"A nobody with no backing thinks she can step into the core circle? If she's so good at risk control, let's give her something she won't dare sign."

4:00 p.m. Top-floor risk control office.

Maeve had just walked in carrying a stack of materials when the acting director barged in with two subordinates in tow.

SLAM.

A heavy stack of documents hit Darcy's desk.

"Miss Clark. This is the loss assessment bulletin for the overseas project. It needs to be calculated and signed, with the liability waiver, by 8:00 p.m. tonight. One wrong number, and all consequences fall on you."

Maeve's face went pale. She slapped her hand down on top of the file, her voice sharp. "This isn't even in her review scope! You're reaching across departments to shift blame!"

She grabbed Darcy's arm, her voice dropping to an urgent, desperate whisper.

"Darcy, don't accept this! There's no higher-level authorization on this file. If you sign now, you're taking full responsibility. They'll use it to kick you out of the project for 'unauthorized operations' the moment it's convenient!"

Darcy sat still in her chair. She slowly lifted her eyes to the acting director.

"Yesterday, someone was taken away by legal for falsifying documents. Today, you deliver another one to my desk. Does the PR department just enjoy sending me gifts?"

The acting director's face darkened. His eyes narrowed.

"What's the matter? Now that you have independent permissions, afraid to sign?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Darcy could see passing employees glancing in through the glass. She knew exactly what he was waiting for. For her to refuse publicly, so he could spread the word that she was nothing without Asher's protection.

Darcy patted Maeve's hand where it rested on the file, then pulled the papers toward herself. Her voice was flat and unruffled.

"Leave it. I'll have your results by eight."

The acting director snorted and turned to leave. The venomous look he shot back at her over his shoulder was unmistakable.

The sun was setting. The only sound in the office was the sharp click of her keyboard.

Darcy picked up her cold black coffee and took a sip. She didn't rush to sign. Instead, she started from the first page, checking every index and page number word by word.

When she reached the final page, her fingers stopped.

The edge of the paper showed a clean, precise cut mark. The attachment numbers jumped from A-6 straight to A-10.

Three pages had been removed. The most crucial pages, the cross-border risk liability waivers and the board-authorized attachments.

Without those three pages, if she signed this report, she would be deemed to have "unauthorized approved high-risk disclosure." She'd not only lose her project lead position. She'd have her independent review permissions stripped on the spot.

Darcy glanced at her watch. Three hours until the 8:00 p.m. briefing.

She didn't knock on Asher's door next door. She didn't alert anyone. She calmly pulled her encrypted USB drive, plugged it into the terminal, and cut directly into the original archive records from before 4:00 p.m.

Code scrolled across the screen. Version after version, she compared each one. And there, the original electronic version, complete with all attachments, sitting cleanly on her screen.

Darcy leaned back in her chair, her eyes turning cold.

If they were so eager to hand her a blade, tonight, she'd give them a performance they'd never forget.