Three Billionaire Alphas on Their Knees

Absolute Control

The red error pop-ups on the screen stung her eyes.

Darcy tried several reverse traces, but every data chain broke at the exact same point. The authorization layer. The missing pages. Whoever had done this was clean. Without the highest-level access to the underlying database, there was no way to conjure legal authorization out of thin air.

Three hours until the 8:00 p.m. briefing.

Darcy grabbed the cold black coffee from her desk and took a long gulp. The bitter, icy jolt hit her system like a slap, forcing her brain into absolute clarity.

Can't reconstruct it? Then don't.

She abandoned the attempt to recreate the missing attachments. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, compiling the file access logs from the past half hour, the trimming marks on the paper, and the PR department's operational records into a single encrypted package. She locked it into the group's highest-level audit vault with maximum security clearance.

At the same time, she reopened the draft bulletin and embedded a new clause at the end. A "Risk Isolation and Liability Tracing Provision."

"In the absence of the original authorized attachments, this bulletin only confirms known public information. All cross-border risks not explicitly authorized by the Board shall be borne in full by the initial data-submitting department."

She set up a double lock. The external release would confirm legal compliance, while the internal risk report would pin liability squarely on the PR department.

[WARNING: High-risk audit operation triggered. Highest-level alert synchronized to CEO terminal.]

The moment that line flashed across her screen, the risk control office's sensor door slid open silently.

The air shifted. Cedar flooded the room like a tide.

Asher walked in, flanked by his chief aide and personal guards. He'd changed into a dark gray bespoke suit, and his steel-gray eyes were cold as frozen iron.

Darcy didn't turn around. Her hand remained poised above the submit key, her voice calm and flat.

"Without board authorization, the PR department has no authority to require the risk control lead to assume liability for raw data. The missing attachments and trimming marks have already been synced to the audit vault. The bulletin can be released on schedule at eight. As for responsibility."

"Of course the person who signed takes responsibility!"

The acting director had apparently followed Asher in, his face dark as he cut her off.

"Miss Clark, the file was handed to you. If you only found the problem now, that proves your own review failure."

Darcy finally looked up.

"Does it?"

She pressed the submit key.

The risk bulletin on the screen jumped to its final version. The newly added clause at the bottom was highlighted in bold.

[Original authorization documents missing. This version does not constitute approval of cross-border funds. Responsibility for original data authenticity and attachment completeness rests with the data-submitting department.]

The acting director's expression shifted sharply.

Darcy opened another log.

"Additionally, at 4:07 p.m., a PR department internal account accessed this file."

"At 4:12 p.m., the paper version was reprinted."

She scrolled further.

"At 4:16 p.m., the complete attachments disappeared from the print queue."

She looked at the acting director, her voice flat, almost cold.

"You'd better hope the person who deleted those attachments wasn't using your permissions."

Sweat broke out across the acting director's forehead. "This is legacy data! You can't just."

"Continue."

Asher's voice cut through, calm, but heavy enough to crush the air out of the room.

The acting director's mouth snapped shut.

Darcy glanced up at Asher. He stood two steps away, expressionless, watching the screen. No intention of taking over the conversation.

Darcy looked back at her screen. Her finger slid across the trackpad, pulling the final record into full view.

[Deletion authorization terminal: Acting PR Director's assigned device.]

The risk control office fell into dead silence.

The acting director's face went gray. "Mr. Kingston, I can explain."

Asher didn't look at him. He walked to Darcy's desk, his gaze fixed on the audit code on her screen, his voice low and hard.

"Since when does the PR department dictate risk control rules in Kingston territory?"

Asher's right hand pressed flat against the edge of her desk, his cold gaze sweeping toward the acting director.

The acting director's face was slick with sweat. "Mr. Kingston, I was just."

"The PR department is now under direct CEO oversight." Asher's gaze cut through him like a blade. "Your permissions are frozen. The audit vault will provide the reason."

The acting director's lips twitched. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn't dare say another word. The guards stepped forward and escorted him out.

The room fell quiet.

Asher tapped the edge of Darcy's glowing screen with one finger.

"Clean handling."

Darcy looked up at him directly. "The project risk control team just saved a thirty-million-dollar disclosure gap. And all I get is one sentence?"

Asher lowered his head slightly. A hidden glint surfaced deep within his steel-gray pupils. He looked down at her, his gaze carrying an unhurried, predatory ease.

"Your account will receive Kingston's highest-level performance bonus tonight. Is that response sufficient?"

Darcy met his stare. "Barely acceptable."

Asher glanced at his watch, his tone snapping back to its usual cold authority.

"Get some rest. Seven o'clock tonight, change into formal wear. You're coming to the Hunt Night banquet with me."

Darcy's eyes flickered. "Hunt Night?"

"Several of the affiliated Packs involved in the merger will be there tonight." Asher straightened his cuffs, elegant and cold. "Time they met the person who holds their funding lifeline."

He turned and walked out, leaving the statement hanging in the air.

Darcy paused for half a second over her mouse, then pressed the shutdown key cleanly.

"Do you know whose permissions he just froze?"

Maeve slipped in, her voice barely above a whisper. "That old man's insignia was issued by the Elders' Council to high-ranking wolves. Nobody dares to touch him. Asher didn't even let him explain. And." Maeve's expression grew complicated as she looked at Darcy. "That Hunt Night tonight. Everyone who walks in has a bloodline, a wolf form, and an insignia. You're not wearing any mark at all. They'll have you in their sights the whole time."

Darcy leaned back in her chair, her fingertips tracing the cool surface of the desk.

"The door's open. I'm not staying behind it."

6:30 p.m. Top-floor lounge.

The aide delivered a deep green satin gown. The high collar traced the line of her neck, covering every trace of the flush left over from last night's heat.

Beside the dress box lay a temporary black-gold storm-wolf insignia.

"The Alpha Lord's instruction." The aide's tone was respectful. "Without an insignia, the Elders' Council may question your entry."

Darcy didn't even glance at the insignia. She pushed it back. She reached for her own standard metal ID badge and pinned it to her left chest.

"I enter as the project lead. Not under anyone's protection."

The aide paused for half a second, then bowed and withdrew without argument.

Darcy stood before the mirror, pressing scent blocker into her skin until every trace of scent was sealed away. To the wolves in the banquet hall, she would register as nothing. No scent, no class, no mark. Just empty air in human shape.

She pushed open the door.

Asher waited at the end of the corridor. He wore black-and-gold Lord's formal attire, broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, the storm-wolf insignia of Kingston's highest authority gleaming on his chest.

His gaze landed on the plain metal ID badge pinned to her left chest. His steel-gray pupils tightened.

"The insignia?"

"I turned it down." Darcy stopped, her tone calm and professional. "Tonight my role is project auditor. If I walk in wearing your personal insignia, they won't see my position. They'll see your protection."

"I don't need that."

The corridor was silent for half a second.

Asher looked at the cold clarity in her eyes, the crisp professional boundaries she'd drawn. No anger surfaced in his expression. He held her gaze, his voice low.

"The Elders' Council at the banquet only recognizes bloodline. Without an insignia, they won't let you through the door."

"This is the independent audit authorization you signed." Darcy met his eyes without flinching. "If Kingston's authorization can't get through that door, the problem isn't me."

Asher looked at her. The corner of his mouth lifted, barely visible, but there.

He didn't speak. He simply extended his left arm, elbow bent.

"Since you want to speak through the authorization, let's go, Miss Clark."

Darcy looked at the arm offered to her. She placed her hand on it. Through the fabric of his suit, she could feel the tension in his arm instantly harden.

"Thank you, Mr. Kingston."

Asher turned his head slightly. "Standing beside me tonight, no need for thanks."

The private territorial elevator descended rapidly. Through the faint mechanical vibration, the heavy Alpha pressure from the gathering outside pressed in from all sides.

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open.

The banquet hall blazed with gold and crystal. Dozens of eyes swept toward them at once, from the storm-wolf insignia on Asher's chest, down to the cold metal ID badge on Darcy's left chest.

A silver-haired elder stepped to the side, blocking the entrance. He bowed his head slightly toward Asher.

"Mr. Kingston. All affiliated Packs are present tonight. Bringing an unmarked outsider through the door. The Elders' Council will have a difficult time explaining this to everyone."