Devon’s POV
It had been a strange morning. The kind where the walls felt like they were pressing in, like the air in the room was thinner than it should be. I’d buried myself in numbers, policies, and speeches, trying to push the throbbing inside my head down… down where the beast couldn’t reach.
But he was there, stirring. Growling softly under my skin like a threat or a warning. Always present now.
I was halfway through editing Eleanor’s statement for next week’s UN envoy when the door burst open without a knock.
Marcy.
My secretary, usually calm, composed, and robotic in her efficiency, looked like she’d run through a hurricane. Her blonde hair was slightly undone from its perfect bun, strands clinging to her temples. She held a tablet in her hands like it might explode.
Franco ca
