Romance with a Werewolf CEO

Six-Figure Disaster and Corporate Devil Contracts

Time literally froze under that ice-cold energy stare. Every single escape plan I had—my "Nothing to See Here" spell, my emergency teleportation circle—suddenly felt like bringing safety scissors to a gunfight against someone packing a nuclear weapon.

"He sees you," Orion's voice hit me like a bucket of ice water, completely obliterating any delusional hope I'd been clinging to. His fur was standing straight up like he'd been electrocuted. "And honey, that energy signature he's radiating? Pure apex predator. The kind that doesn't get challenged because everything with half a brain cell knows better. What you've stumbled into isn't just some rich Silicon Valley douchebag."

Ding-dong.

The doorbell. Clear, steady, and carrying the kind of authority that doesn't take "not home" for an answer.

Not only did this guy know exactly which apartment was mine, but he was now standing right outside my door, and I could feel his presence wrapping around my entire living space like some kind of supernatural security blanket from hell. Every single one of my protection charms and magical trinkets dimmed their little glows, like they were all bowing down to acknowledge a superior life form.

I took the deepest breath of my life and yanked open the door.

The man standing there was even more intimidating up close than he'd been from three stories up. For the first second, I couldn't even process his actual face—I was too busy getting absolutely steamrolled by his energy field. It felt like standing in front of a wall made of ice and titanium, cold and solid and radiating the kind of absolute control that made my pathetic, chaotic little magic feel like a dying phone battery.

Then I could actually see him. He was tall—like, crane-your-neck-until-it-hurts tall. His umbrella was folded up, but somehow his charcoal-gray suit looked like it had never met a raindrop in its life. The air around him smelled like fresh rain mixed with some ridiculously expensive cologne—clean and sharp, but underneath all that my witchy senses picked up something deeper and more primal. Something that smelled like ozone and cold stone and just a hint of that clean, wild musk that reminded me of— well, what Orion had said. Forest things. Dangerous forest things.

His face looked like it had been carved by some Renaissance sculptor who specialized in "intimidating but stupidly attractive." But what really made my lungs forget how to work were his eyes—storm-gray and completely emotionless, like looking into the sky right before a tornado decides to ruin everyone's day.

"Luna Evergreen?" His voice was deep and perfectly controlled, like the lowest notes on a cello that cost more than my car.

He knew my last name. My magical defenses felt about as effective as tissue paper in a hurricane.

He pulled out an evidence bag from inside his jacket, and there was the charred piece of metal that used to be part of his car. "I believe this belongs to you," he said, like he was stating a weather report. "Or rather, it's what remains of your... handiwork."

...

He stepped inside. The moment he crossed my threshold, I swear the oxygen levels in my apartment dropped by half. He was like a walking anti-magic field—all my herbs and crystals that usually hummed with natural energy just went dead quiet in the presence of his ruthlessly controlled aura. He moved like a panther that had accidentally wandered into a hamster cage: elegant, deadly, and making everything around him look tiny and ridiculous.

He didn't sit down. Those gray eyes did a rapid scan of my entire apartment, pausing for exactly half a second on Orion. I watched my normally sassy cat do something completely out of character—he flattened himself low and made this quiet whimpering sound that I'd never heard before. It was the sound of an ancient soul recognizing a force of nature it couldn't possibly fight.

When he pulled out his tablet and showed me the bill—$287,450.37—I felt my soul try to evacuate my body through my eye sockets.

"I... I can't afford this," I whispered, my voice shaking like a chihuahua in a thunderstorm.

"I know," he said, putting the tablet away with terrifying calm. "Which is why I've prepared an alternative solution."

He pulled up what looked like a contract. "I happen to be in need of a personal assistant. You would work for me until your total salary... adequately covers this debt."

I stared at him in absolute horror. This was basically a modern-day indentured servitude contract, and every single clause felt like a shackle clicking into place.

"You have one minute to decide," he said, glancing at what was obviously a very expensive watch on his wrist.

I looked into those bottomless gray eyes and found exactly zero sympathy or mercy. My choice had stopped existing the moment his car died. With a trembling finger, I signed my name in the little digital box at the bottom of the screen.

L-u-n-a.

The second I finished signing, I felt this invisible thread of energy flow out of the tablet, wrap around my fingertip, and then disappear. This wasn't just an electronic signature. This was some kind of modern magical contract, cold and absolutely unbreakable.

He tucked the tablet away, and for just a second, that glacier-level intimidation factor seemed to crack slightly. As he turned to leave, his gaze seemed to casually drift over an old book about ancient runes on my bookshelf, and those gray eyes flickered with something I couldn't quite read—a flash of something that wasn't curiosity so much as... appraisal. Like a craftsman sizing up a tool.

He left a black business card on my table and then basically evaporated from my apartment.

I stood there like a statue, staring at the card.

Alexander Volkov

CEO, Alpha Ventures

"Well," Orion said, carefully jumping onto the table while giving that business card the widest possible berth, like it might electrocute him. "Look on the bright side—you've got job security now. Even if your new boss is probably more terrifying than any demon you've ever accidentally summoned."