My Fiance Cheated So I Claimed His Lycan Bosses

Svetlana’s POV “You are not embarrassing me at that engagement, do you understand?” The call ends, but my father’s voice does not leave with it. It stays in my ears sharp, as if he is still on the line, waiting for me to answer again. I sit at my desk without moving, my hand still resting near my phone, my shoulders tight. I pull in a slow breath and let it out through my nose, but it does nothing to ease the pressure in my chest. Ten minutes pass, and I am still hearing him. I turn my attention back to my computer screen. The email in front of me is open, the cursor blinking at the end of a sentence I do not remember reading. I try to focus, but the words do not settle. They blur in my eyes and my mind keeps slipping back to the call. My fingers hover over the keyboard. They do not move. “I wasn’t planning to embarrass you,” I had said, keeping my tone even, careful not to sound defensive. “You never plan anything,” he replied without pause. “That is your problem.” I press my lips together now, my jaw tightening as I sit there. That is how he speaks to me every time. Not with concern. Not with patience. He speaks like I am something that needs to be handled, something that could go wrong if I am not watched closely. There is always that edge in his voice, like he is already expecting me to fail him. I shake my head once, trying to clear it. I do not want to think about him today. I straighten in my chair and force my eyes back to the screen. I read the first line of the email again. Then the second. By the time I reach the third, I realize I have no idea what any of it says. I press my fingers lightly against my forehead and close my eyes for a moment. “You are doing it again.” I open my eyes and look up. My boss is standing at the edge of my desk, watching me closely. Her arms are relaxed at her sides, but her expression is focused. She has been observing me long enough to recognize when something is wrong. “Doing what?” I ask, even though I already know. She tilts her head slightly. “You are thinking too much. And you are pretending to work.” “I am working,” I say, but my voice lacks any real conviction. She raises one eyebrow and glances at my screen before looking back at me. “You have not typed a single word in the last five minutes.” I let out a short breath and lean back in my chair. “Okay. Maybe I am not working.” She steps around the desk and leans against it, folding her arms. Her posture shifts, and her tone softens just enough to show she is not asking as my boss right now. “Talk to me,” she says. “What is going on?” I hesitate. She does not push. She never does. She gives me time, watching quietly, waiting for me to say something. That is why I trust her. I have worked with her long enough to know she means it when she asks. She does not interrupt, and she does not judge. She listens. “I just got off the phone with my father,” I say. Her reaction is immediate. Her expression tightens, and she looks away for a second as if holding back a comment. “That man,” she says under her breath. “What did he say this time?” I lift one shoulder in a small shrug, trying to keep my tone light. “Nothing new. He just wants everything to be perfect at the engagement.” She lets out a quiet breath and shakes her head. “Perfect according to him.” I nod. There is no need to explain further. She already understands. She pushes herself off the desk and stands straight again, looking at me more firmly now. “Then you should not be here,” she says. I frown. “What?” “You are getting engaged in tomorrow,” she says, her voice steady. “Why are you sitting here, staring at emails, when you should be at home getting ready for something that actually matters?” “I am fine,” I say quickly. “I just wanted to stay busy.” She holds my gaze, and I can see she does not believe me. “Keeping yourself busy does not mean you are fine,” she says. I do not respond. Because I know she is right. I sit there quietly, my hands resting on the arms of my chair, my shoulders slightly slumped. I have learned how to look calm, how to keep my voice steady, how to avoid questions I do not want to answer. She studies me for a moment longer, then her expression softens. “You should be happy,” she says. “This is supposed to be something you look forward to.” I nod slowly. “I am happy.” I mean it when I say it. My boyfriend has always been good to me. He is patient. He listens. He does not raise his voice, and he does not make me feel like I am doing something wrong all the time. Being with him feels stable in a way I am not used to. He takes care of me. He makes things easier. That matters to me. She watches my face as I speak, as if she is trying to decide whether I truly believe what I am saying. After a moment, she exhales. “Go home,” she says. I blink. “What?” “Go home,” she repeats. “Now.” “I still have things to finish—” “No, you do not,” she cuts in, her tone firm. “What you have is a major life change happening in 24hrs. That matters more than whatever is on that screen.” I hesitate, looking at my computer for a second before looking back at her. She leans forward slightly, lowering her voice. “Do not make me drag you out of this office myself,” she says. A small smile pulls at my lips despite everything. “You are very bossy,” I say. “I am your boss,” she replies immediately. I shake my head, but I push my chair back and stand up. “Fine. I am going.” “Good,” she says. I reach for my bag and slide it onto my shoulder. My movements are slow at first but I know there is no point arguing with her. As I step past her, she reaches out and lightly grips my arm, stopping me. I turn to look at her. Her expression is serious now. “If anything goes wrong,” she says, “call me.” I hold her gaze for a second, surprised by the weight in her voice. Then I nod. “I will.” I start walking toward the door. “And do not forget to give your boyfriend a good hot s*x tonight,” she adds casually. I stop mid-step, my face heating immediately. I turn slightly, ready to respond, but before I can say anything, the door shuts in front of me with a sharp bang. I stand there for a second, staring at it. “Damn her!”