The Wolfpack's New Receptionist

The price of entry for the Silver Moon Gala was two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, a figure that would buy a house in the parts of the world I chose to ignore. To me, it was just the cost of a Tuesday. Since my father’s logo was etched into the very steel of the Thorne Tower Plaza, I didn't pay. I was the living, breathing centerpiece of the trust, and tonight, I intended to be the only thing anyone talked about. "Don't breathe," Laurent hissed. He was kneeling at my feet, his fingers fluttering over the midnight-blue velvet of my gown. It was a custom DesChamps, eighty thousand dollars of fabric that felt like liquid night against my skin. My penthouse was a battlefield of beauty: five makeup artists, three hairstylists, and a swarm of assistants flooded my apartment. "I have to breathe, Laurent. I’m human," I snapped, checking my reflection. My ice-blonde hair was sculpted into waves that looked like frozen silk. My eyes, shadowed in a dramatic, smoky charcoal, looked predatory against my pale skin. I turned too quickly toward the elevator, a blur of motion in a room too small for my ego and then I heard it.. The sound was tiny, like a dry leaf snapping. I froze. Behind me, Maria, the new maid, had her cheap shoe planted firmly on my three-foot train. “Dammit! You ripped it!” The scream tore out of me before I could filter it. The room went silent. Maria’s face drained of color, her eyes wide and watery. “I—I am so sorry, Miss Thorne, I didn't see—” “You’re fired,” I said, my voice dropping to a deadly, quiet hiss. Get out. Before I have security escort you to the curb.” “Eloise, please,” Laurent whispered, his hands shaking as he pulled out a pair of silver shears. “I can save it. We’ll take the train off. It becomes a cocktail length. Modern. Edgy.” I watched Maria walk away, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. For a heartbeat, a tiny spark of guilt flickered in my chest, a reminder that she probably needed this job to pay for something boring like rent. But I smothered it. In my world, incompetence was the only unforgivable sin. “Cut it,” I commanded Laurent. “Make it look intentional.” Thirty minutes later, I stepped out of the black sedan at the Plaza. The paparazzi line was a gauntlet of flashing white light and screaming names. I didn't smile; smiles were for influencers. I gave them the Thorne Stare, dreamy, bored, and untouchable. The Gala was a sea of "Future Elegance." Holographic silk draped the walls and the air smelled of champagne and desperation. I gave my speech about "preserving the Everglades", a swamp I’d never visited, and felt the familiar rush of a thousand eyes on me. It was a drug, but the high was wearing off fast. I needed something sharper. “Bugatti. Now,” I told my valet. I left in a two-million-dollar roar of carbon fiber and chrome. Beside me, Isabelle Du Pont was already filming our "escape" for her millions of followers, the wind whipping her hair into a frenzy as I tore through the velvet ropes of the parking garage. The after-party at Jaxon Reed’s penthouse was where the real gala began. Jaxon was a billionaire playboy with the eyes of a shark and the hands of a thief. He found me within minutes of my arrival. He didn't ask; he simply took my hand, his thumb grazing my palm in a way that promised a very specific kind of trouble. “You look like you’re looking for a disaster, Eloise,” he murmured, his voice a low vibration that bypassed my brain and went straight to my nerves. “I’m bored, Jax. That’s worse,” I replied, winking. He led me to the master suite, away from the party. He handed me a drink, but as he kissed me, he slipped a small pill into my mouth. I swallowed it without a second thought. I didn't care what it was. I wanted the blur. I wanted the shift. The door clicked open, and a woman stepped in; tall, dark-haired, and dressed in nothing but sheer lace. She didn't say a word. She just smiled. The next hour was a kaleidoscope of velvet skin, heavy breathing, and the chemical heat of the pill. Jaxon moved between us with the practiced grace of a man who viewed people as instruments. The woman’s touch was electric, a risk I hadn't taken before, a boundary pushed just for the sake of seeing if it would break. When the orgasm hit, it felt like my entire nervous system had been rewired. Jax stood up, adjusting his watch as if he’d just finished a business meeting. “I need to host. Stay as long as you like.” He vanished. The stranger and I dressed in a silence that wasn't awkward, just empty. She kissed me once more. “Thanks for the fun, babe. See you around.” I walked out onto the rooftop deck. The pill was peaking now, making the city lights dance like fireflies. People were lined up at the edge of the infinity pool, launching themselves into the water from the decorative stone ledge twenty feet above. “Eloise, don't!” Isabelle shouted from below. The fear in her voice was the final ingredient. I ran. My heels hit the stone, my heart hammered against my ribs, and for a split second, as I launched into the night air, I felt absolutely nothing. I slipped. My foot lost its grip on the edge, sending my trajectory into a sickening tilt. The concrete slab surrounding the pool rushed up to meet me. I felt the wind of the edge as I cleared it by less than an inch, my body hitting the water with a hard smack. I emerged from the water, gasping, my eighty-thousand-dollar dress ruined and clinging to me like a second skin. Isabelle was there, pulling me out, her face pale. “What the hell, Eloise? Are you trying to get yourself killed? We’re going home. Right now.” I looked back at the rooftop, my chest heaving. I was shivering, my heart was screaming, and my skin was cold. But for the first time all night, I didn't feel bored.