Bound by the Alpha's Deadline

Chapter 2

Ethan Lyric had always been the kind of man people noticed before he spoke.

Not because he was loud or flashy—far from it. Ethan moved with a quiet confidence, the type that came from discipline, not ego. He carried himself like someone who understood responsibility from a young age, someone who had been groomed for leadership long before he ever asked for it. His posture was straight, his expression calm, his steps measured. Yet beneath that composed surface, there was an intensity that made people pay attention.

He didn’t enjoy being the center of attention, but the Lyric name made that unavoidable.

He was the only grandson of Gregory Lyric, a legend not only in the werewolf world but also in the business sphere. The media called Ethan “the successor,” “the prodigy,” “the future Alpha executive”—labels he never sought, but accepted because he had to.

Ethan didn’t wear arrogance. He wore responsibility.

He was intelligent, sharp-minded, and careful with words. Serious when needed, reserved by habit. His wolf was powerful but controlled, a trait his grandfather had praised often. People who didn’t know him might call him cold, but those who did understood something deeper:

Ethan cared—deeply. He just didn’t show it the way others did.

Even now, standing outside the executive boardroom of Lyric Industries, he kept his face composed. But inside, his chest felt heavier than it had in months.

His grandfather’s death had not been sudden, but expecting something never made it easier. Gregory Lyric had been the only person who truly understood the pressure Ethan lived under. The man had shaped him, trained him, taught him what strength meant—not just power, but wisdom, discipline, and integrity.

Losing him felt like losing a compass.

Ethan inhaled slowly, adjusting the cuff of his black suit. He wasn’t wearing it for the board. He was wearing it because it was his grandfather’s favorite color, something the old man used to call “a leader’s shade.”

He missed the voice that used to steady him.

He missed the man who believed he could lead even when Ethan doubted it.

But today wasn’t about grief.

Today was about duty.

He placed his hand on the polished chrome handle and pushed the boardroom door open.

The room fell silent instantly.

The well-furnished boardroom stretched out before him—mahogany walls, black-oak table, city skyline glowing softly beyond the wide glass windows. Every chair was filled, every gaze pinpointed on him as though the entire company was holding its breath.

Twelve board members. Twelve faces he had known since he was a child.

Some sympathetic. Some neutral. Some—like his uncle Magnus Lyric—far from friendly.

Ethan stepped inside, the soft carpet absorbing each footstep. His expression didn’t falter, but the atmosphere pressed against him like a physical weight.

He felt the absence of his grandfather more sharply here than anywhere else. Gregory Lyric had always stood at the head of this room—powerful, commanding, unwavering. The chair was empty now, sitting at the far end like a reminder of everything Ethan had just inherited and everything he still didn’t understand.

He reached his seat, pulled the chair back quietly, and sat.

“Good morning,” Ethan said evenly.

Several board members nodded. Papers rustled. Someone cleared their throat.

Magnus Lyric didn’t bother hiding the faint curve of satisfaction on his lips.

Ethan ignored it.

Mr. Alistair Pierce, the long-trusted legal chief, adjusted his glasses and placed a sealed envelope on the table. The wax held the Lyric family crest—the moon and quill intertwined—clearly visible under the soft lights.

“We will now proceed with the reading of the last will and testament of Alpha Gregory Elias Lyric,” Mr. Pierce announced.

Ethan’s fingers curled slightly against the armrest.

He wasn’t ready.

But he nodded.

“Go on.”

Mr. Pierce broke the seal.

The room stilled.

And Ethan felt his world begin to shift.