Alpha's Rejected Heiress

Chapter 5: The Name in the File

After that first successful shift, the next few weeks were just... a blur of exhaustion. But it was a good kind of normal.

Selene was absolutely merciless. We’d be in the gym at 4 AM, and she’d force me to pull the wolf forward using pure concentration instead of panic. The transition got faster. That blinding agony I felt the first time? It dialed down to a heavy, full-body ache. Two weeks in, I clocked under ninety seconds for a full shift and back. Selene gave me a curt nod and muttered something about it being "acceptable for a newborn." Honestly, coming from her, that was high praise.

Afternoons were strictly corporate.

And Silver Moon was massive. Like, terrifyingly massive. I spent hours staring at spreadsheets of global shipping fleets, drug patents, and overseas real estate. They even had a VC wing that bought into major tech startups way back when. My mom built all of it. Out of nothing—or whatever ashes our bloodline had been left with.

"Every contract she signed was for you," Selene told me once, rapping her knuckles against a stack of quarterlies. "She was setting up the board. Waiting for you to play."

I stared at my mother's signature on a dusty lease agreement. Sharp, aggressive angles. It didn't match the gentle woman who used to braid my hair at all.

"So, how did she actually die?" I asked.

Selene froze. Just a micro-expression, but her golden eyes hardened. "Not today."

"I have a right to know."

"You aren't ready," she snapped, shutting it down completely. "Great, you can shift in a padded gym. You can memorize an asset portfolio. But you haven't looked a real enemy in the eye yet. You haven't had to swallow your wolf down when all it wants to do is rip a throat open. Once you can pull that off, then we talk about Genevieve."

The old me would have pushed. The Sterling-approved version of me would have thrown a quiet fit. But I could read the room. It wasn't about her being mean; it was a test of patience.

I let it go.

Later that evening, she shoved an iPad across the table. One PDF was open.

"Is this the test?" I asked.

She nodded.

The file belonged to a guy named Marcus Webb. Mid-forties, tailored suit, dead eyes. On paper, he ran a private equity firm. In reality? It was a front for laundering cash and smuggling people. Suddenly, Julian's corporate ruthlessness looked like amateur hour.

"Is he human?" I asked.

"Mostly," Selene said carefully. "He’s leashed to a rogue wolf pack. No Alpha. They act as his muscle, and he acts as their ATM. It’s disgusting, but highly effective."

I kept scrolling, feeling physically sick. The details were grim. Desperate people paying for a way out, only to end up caged.

"Why am I looking at this?"

"Webb is hosting a charity gala tomorrow night. Half the politicians in this city will be drinking his expensive booze, completely ignoring the blood on his hands. Julian Sterling will be one of them."

My grip on the iPad tightened. "Wait, Julian is involved in trafficking?"

"No. Julian’s a lot of terrible things, but he's not that. He’s just a social parasite. He stops asking questions the second a billionaire opens a door for him," Selene said, holding my gaze. "But Julian isn't your target. Webb is."

I stared at her like she’d lost her mind. "A gala? Selene, I’ve been doing this for exactly twenty-one days."

"You’ve been surviving your whole life. You just didn't have claws yet." She snatched the tablet back and flipped to an RSVP list. "Silver Moon is on the list. The elusive new CEO stepping out for the first time. Webb is going to bend over backward to impress you. He wants your clean money to wash his dirty money. You go in, you smile, you nod, and you observe. Nothing else."

"And if s**t hits the fan?"

"Then you figure out how to control yourself," She paused. "I’ll be in the area. Not on your arm—that’s suspicious—but close. If Webb’s rogue wolves sniff you out, it’s going to get very loud, very fast. Be prepared."

I looked at my hands. Three weeks of hiding in a luxury penthouse. The wolf was always right there, buzzing just under the surface, but I had her on a tight leash. Tomorrow, I was walking straight into a meat grinder, pretending to be a helpless little billionaire.

I should have been terrified. But honestly? All I felt was this sharp, electric anticipation. It was about damn time.

"Fine," I said. "Tell me everything about Marcus Webb."

Selene flashed her teeth. It was the exact same proud, feral look she gave me when I nailed my first shift.

"There's that Alpha."

Twenty-four hours later, I was staring at myself in a midnight-blue silk gown. Selene picked it out. It was understated but screamed old money, cut dangerously low but in a way that commanded attention instead of begging for it. Hair pinned up. Throat exposed. And my mom's diamond studs—the real ones—in my ears.

I didn't recognize the woman looking back. The pathetic, soaked girl crying outside the Sterling estate was dead. This woman? She owned the room.

"Put this on." Selene locked a thin silver chain around my wrist. A single moonstone sat in the center. "Mic and tracker. If things go sideways, I’ll hear it. I’ve got a team sitting in a van two blocks away."

"Wait, you have a tactical team?"

"You need one, I have one." She adjusted the clasp. "Listen to me, Aurora. You are not Batman tonight. Do not try to take Webb down. Just watch. Learn the board. Julian is probably going to be there. If he tries to talk to you—"

"He won't recognize me," I cut in. My voice didn't even shake. "The wife he threw out wouldn't look up from her shoes. She doesn't exist anymore."

Selene stared at me for a long beat. Then, just a quick nod.

"Car is waiting."

Calling the Webb estate a "house" was a joke. It made the Sterling mansion look like a guest cottage.

Acres of manicured grass leading up to this massive neo-Georgian compound, lit up like a movie set. Valets were quietly shuffling Bentley's and Porches around. Sitting in the back of my town car, I watched the city's worst people glide up the front steps. Gowns that cost more than a mortgage. Too-loud laughter. Fake smiles.

I took a breath, stepped out, and went to work.

The inside was even more obnoxious. Ceilings so high they echoed, ridiculous floral arrangements, and chandeliers that looked like ice sculptures. Some string quartet was playing elevator music in the corner. Blank-faced waiters pushed trays of champagne and microscopic appetizers through the crowd.

I grabbed a flute of champagne just to have something in my hands and started circulating.

The prep work kicked in instantly. Hedge fund guy by the pillar. A state senator near the bar. Some tech bro who just made a magazine cover. The dossiers I’d memorized just started snapping into place.

And then there he was.

Julian. Standing by the bar, looking exactly like he did the night he threw me away. Hair perfect. Suit immaculate. Vivienne was practically glued to his bicep, wearing this loud red silk thing that basically screamed mine. They were chatting with an older couple, and Julian was flashing that practiced, plastic smile.

A spike of pure, violent adrenaline hit the back of my throat. I swallowed it down hard.

Not tonight. I pivoted and lost myself in the crowd. And that’s when I saw the host.

Marcus Webb was shorter in person. But he had that stocky, dangerous build—like a guy who started out in street fights before he learned to wear a Rolex. He was working the room smoothly, but up close? His eyes were dead. Just completely empty. He looked at people like they were math equations to be solved and erased.

We made eye contact. The fake smile stretched wider, and he immediately cut through the crowd toward me.

"Miss Pierce." He held out a hand. "Marcus Webb. So glad Silver Moon RSVP'd. We’ve been dying to know who finally stepped into Genevieve’s shoes."

I shook it. The grip was exactly as overcompensating as I expected. "Mr. Webb. Thanks for the invite. Nice place."

"Please, call me Marcus. And my decorator gets all the credit." A very rehearsed, booming laugh. "Sorry to hear about your mother, by the way. Genevieve was a force of nature. We crossed paths in business a few times back in the day."

I filed that away. My mom did business with a cartel boss. And I highly doubt she was oblivious to what he was. Clearly, Selene was still keeping secrets.

"I’m still untangling her paperwork," I said, keeping it light. "You’ll have to forgive me if I'm not totally up to speed."

"Naturally," Webb’s eyes flicked over my shoulder. "Ah. Speak of the devil."

I turned around.

Julian was making a beeline for us, Vivienne still attached to his arm. He had that greedy, networking look on his face. The guy had smelled money.

"Marcus," Julian said, doing the overly-familiar voice. "Hope I’m not interrupting."

"Not at all. Julian, meet Aurora Pierce. The new CEO of Silver Moon."

Julian finally looked at me.

I watched his eyes, waiting for the glitch. Waiting for him to look past the silk and diamonds and realize he was staring at the ex-wife he threw out in the trash.

Nothing. Not a single blink of recognition.

His smile didn't waver. He just gave me that clinical, approving look—the way you appraise a shiny new networking asset.

"Aurora. What a pleasure." He extended his hand. "Julian Sterling. I’ve been trying to get an introduction for weeks."

I reached out and took it.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Sterling."

His hand was warm. A little dry. It felt exactly the same as it did on our wedding day.

He was clueless. Utterly, completely clueless.

My wolf practically threw herself against my ribcage. I felt my eyes prickle, the silver trying to bleed through my irises. Selene’s voice echoed in my head: Swallow the wolf down when all it wants to do is rip. I forced a brilliant smile.

"I’ve heard a lot about you," I told him.

Julian’s grin widened. He actually thought he was charming me. He thought he was reeling in a billionaire client.

He had no idea he was already dead.