THE ALPHA'S HIDDEN MATE

CHAPTER ONE- AMARA'S POV Amara Bennett was going to be late. She knew this because the clock on her bedside table said 7:18 a.m., her bus was due in seventeen minutes, and she was standing in front of her wardrobe wearing one shoe. One. The other was missing. "You're joking." She stared at the empty space beneath her bed, then at the shoe rack beside her wardrobe, as though the missing shoe might suddenly appear out of shame. It didn't. Amara dropped to her knees and reached beneath the bed, knocking her forehead against the wooden frame in the process. "Ouch!" She pulled out a dust-covered slipper, an old notebook, and a pen she had been searching for since last week. Still no shoe. Her phone vibrated on the bed. 7:19 a.m. "Oh, for heaven's sake." She abandoned the search, hurried to the wardrobe, and pulled out a pair of black flats she'd almost forgotten she owned. They weren't her first choice, but they were presentable, comfortable, and, most importantly, available. Today was not the day to be particular. Today was her first day at Blackwood Holdings. For the past three weeks, Amara had barely spoken about anything else. She'd researched the company until she could recite its major projects in her sleep, prepared for interviews that were already behind her, and checked her acceptance email so many times that she'd memorised every word. She'd wanted this opportunity badly. Not because her father couldn't afford to take care of her. He could. They weren't wealthy enough to buy everything in sight, but they'd never struggled for the necessities, and her father had always made sure she wanted for nothing. That was precisely the problem. At twenty-one, Amara was tired of asking him for money whenever she wanted something that wasn't strictly necessary. She wanted to pay her own bills, save for her own plans, and make decisions without feeling that every choice depended on someone else's generosity. She loved her father. She simply wanted to stand on her own feet. And Blackwood Holdings was her first real chance. Her phone vibrated again. 7:21 a.m. Amara grabbed her handbag, checked that her documents were inside, and hurried towards the door. She made it three steps down the hallway before doubling back for her identification card. By the time she reached the front door, she was breathing as though she'd just run a marathon. "Wonderful start, Amara," she muttered. She locked the door behind her and practically flew down the stairs. --- The bus was already at the stop when Amara arrived. For one horrifying second, she watched the driver pull the doors shut. "No, no, no!" She broke into a run, waving one hand while her handbag bounced against her hip. The driver looked at her through the windscreen. Amara ran faster. Thankfully, he seemed to take pity on her and opened the doors again. She climbed aboard, breathless, cheeks warm, and hair that had been neatly styled less than an hour ago now threatening to escape its pins. "Thank you," she gasped. The driver gave her a sympathetic smile. "Rough morning?" "You have no idea." She found an empty seat near the window and sank into it. For a moment, she simply sat there, catching her breath and trying not to think about how she'd managed to turn a perfectly ordinary Monday morning into an obstacle course. Then she checked her reflection in her phone. Her hair wasn't disastrous. A few strands had escaped around her face, and one side sat slightly higher than the other, but it would do. She smoothed it down, straightened her blouse, and examined herself one final time. Professional. Capable. Definitely not a woman who had nearly lost a fight with her own wardrobe. "Okay," she whispered. "We've got this." Outside, the city moved past in a blur of shops, traffic, and people hurrying towards their own destinations. Amara rested her head against the window. For the first time that morning, she allowed herself to feel excited. She was finally doing something for herself. And she intended to make it count. --- Blackwood Holdings occupied a glass-fronted building in the heart of the business district. Amara had seen photographs of it before, of course, but standing in front of the building was different. The place seemed to stretch towards the sky, its reflective windows catching the morning sunlight. She stopped at the entrance long enough to take it all in. Then she glanced at her watch. 8:47 a.m. Her orientation began at nine. She hurried inside. The reception area was spacious, with polished floors, tasteful furniture, and a wall bearing the company's name in sleek silver lettering. Employees crossed the lobby with coffee cups and tablets, their conversations blending into a low hum. Amara approached the reception desk. "Good morning. I'm Amara Bennett. I'm here for the internship programme." The receptionist checked her screen. "Ah, yes. You're expected." Before Amara could ask where she needed to go, a woman in a fitted navy suit appeared beside the desk. "Amara Bennett?" "Yes. That's me." "I'm Vanessa Clarke, executive assistant to the operations department. I'll show you around." Amara shook her hand. "It's lovely to meet you." "And you. Come along." Vanessa led her towards the lifts, explaining the basic office procedures along the way. Amara listened carefully, asking questions whenever something wasn't clear. She might have been nervous about her first day, but she wasn't about to let that stop her from making a good impression. By the time they reached the seventh floor, her earlier panic had almost disappeared. Almost. Vanessa showed her the main office, introduced her to two members of the administrative team, and finally brought her to a desk near a row of tall windows. "This will be your workspace for now. You'll be assisting with reports, research, and some of the preliminary work on our current projects. Your supervisor will explain your assignments in more detail." Amara looked at the desk. A computer. A notebook. A neat stack of files. Her own workspace. It wasn't much, but she couldn't help smiling. "Thank you. I'll do my best." Vanessa smiled back. "I expect you will." Once she was alone, Amara placed her handbag beneath the desk and sat down. She switched on the computer, opened her notebook, and took a steadying breath. Then she got to work. --- By eleven thirty, Amara had settled into a rhythm. Her first assignment involved organising a collection of reports and identifying inconsistencies between two sets of figures. It was the kind of task that could become tedious if approached carelessly, but she enjoyed the challenge. Numbers didn't intimidate her. Neither did a pile of documents. People, occasionally, were another matter. She was halfway through comparing two spreadsheets when Vanessa stopped beside her desk. "How are you finding everything?" "Honestly? I'm enjoying it." "Good. You'll have plenty to keep you occupied." "I hope so." Vanessa glanced at her screen. "Already spotted the discrepancy?" Amara turned towards her. "There was a figure in the quarterly report that didn't match the supporting document. I thought I'd check before making any changes." Vanessa studied the screen for a moment. "Well spotted. Don't alter anything yet. Send it to me, and I'll have the team verify it." "Of course." After Vanessa left, Amara leaned back in her chair, quietly pleased. It was a small thing, but it mattered to her. She wanted to be useful. She wanted people to know that she'd earned her place there. For the next hour, everything went smoothly. She answered emails, reviewed documents, and made notes about the projects she'd be assisting with. At one point, she became so absorbed in her work that she didn't notice the time until her stomach reminded her that breakfast had consisted of half a slice of toast. She reached for her water bottle. And stopped. Something had changed. It wasn't a sound, exactly. Nor was it something she could see. It was a scent. Faint at first, drifting through the air like something carried on a breeze. Amara lowered the bottle. She couldn't place it. It wasn't perfume, although there was something clean about it. It wasn't the sharp, chemical smell of cleaning products, either. It was warmer than that. Deeper. There was a faint, almost metallic edge to it, softened by something she couldn't quite identify. She breathed in again. The scent seemed to slip away. Amara frowned and glanced around the office. Vanessa was speaking to someone near the printer. Two employees were discussing a report by the windows. A man walked past the glass partition, talking quietly into his phone. Nothing seemed unusual. She turned back to her computer. Then the scent returned. Stronger this time. Amara's fingers stilled over the keyboard. For reasons she couldn't explain, she wanted to follow it. The feeling was so sudden that it unsettled her. She wasn't usually the sort of person who wandered away from her desk because something smelled interesting. Yet she found herself standing. The scent led her towards the corridor beyond the main office, where the atmosphere seemed quieter and the doors were heavier. She slowed near a set of double doors. Voices drifted through them. A man's voice, low and impatient, was saying something about a meeting that couldn't be postponed. Another voice answered. Amara couldn't make out the words, but the scent was unmistakable now. It was coming from inside. She took another step. The door at the far end of the corridor opened. A man emerged, speaking to someone behind him. He was tall, dressed in a dark suit, with one hand holding a phone to his ear. Amara saw only part of his face before he turned away. She caught a glimpse of dark hair, the sharp line of his jaw, and a hand adjusting the cuff of his shirt. Then the door closed behind him. The scent lingered for a moment. And disappeared. Amara stood still, staring at the empty corridor. "Can I help you?" She turned. A staff member had appeared from the opposite direction, carrying a folder. Amara blinked, suddenly aware that she'd been standing there for far too long. "Oh. No, thank you. I was just looking for the ladies' room." The woman pointed towards the other end of the corridor. "It's that way." "Right. Thank you." Amara walked away, fighting the urge to glance over her shoulder. By the time she returned to her desk, the strange scent was gone. She told herself it had probably been someone's cologne. An expensive one, perhaps. That was all. She had work to do.