QUESTIONS...AND MORE QUESTIONS
1655 Words
The Ashford estate sat at the edge of the city, tucked behind iron gates and a wall of pine trees that swallowed the noise of Los Angeles whole. Wolf statues were stationed at different places within the estate walls.
A car rolled up the long gravel driveway, tires crunching softly beneath the weight of the vehicle.
The mansion loomed ahead, all glass and stone and old money, lights already glowing gold from within.
Bianca didn’t wait for her chauffeur to open her door.
Smoothing her dress gently, she stepped out of the car, one foot after the other, and marched briskly up the marble steps, her heels clicking with each step.
“Miss Ashford,” the housekeeper greeted, as she pulled the door open. “Your father is in his study.”
With a curt nod and a tight smile, Bianca brushed past her, making her way to the study.
The study doors were already cracked open, a sliver of amber light spilling into the hallway. She could hear the low murmur of her father’s voice, the particular tone he used when taking business calls.
She pushed the door open without knocking.
Magnus Ashford sat behind a mahogany desk, possibly older than Bianca herself. With his back pressed into the chair he sat on, he held a phone to his ear with his hand, while the other gently circled the rim of the untouched glass filled with an amber-colored liquid on the table. He raised his head slightly at the interruption, seemingly unbothered. Raising a single finger, he signaled her to wait.
Bianca sat patiently across from him, waiting with her arms crossed.
A moment later, he ended the call.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Magnus asked, placing the phone on the table. “ You only ever visit when something’s wrong.”
“Maybe I just missed you.”
Magnus raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief.
“Fine. Something’s wrong,” Bianca sighed, dropping the pretense.
Magnus leaned back into the chair, taking a tiny sip from his glass. “It’s the boy,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
"He wouldn't even have lunch with me." Bianca's voice was clipped, controlled, though something beneath it simmered. "Over three weeks, Dad. He's not talked to me for over three weeks, and today he looked at me like he didn’t want me there at all.”
“He’s the CEO of a company and the future Alpha of a pack. He’s allowed to be busy.”
“I know, but this wasn’t busy,” she said, replaying the office in her mind—the way a few things had been placed differently, the way Alaric’s gaze had lingered on the door more than a few times. “This was different.”
Magnus studied his daughter for a long time. She might be dramatic, yes, but he knew her well enough to know when she wasn’t simply venting.
“Different in what way?” he asked.
“He has a new assistant.”
“And?”
“She’s human. Stationed right outside his door.”
This information made Magnus sit up a little straighter. Something behind his eyes sharpened, his attention had been gotten.
“Human? Alaric doesn’t hire humans on the executive floor.”
“Exactly my point.”
“Did you ask him why?”
“He said she’s competent,” Bianca scoffed. “That’s all. That was the whole explanation he gave me.”
Warrick was quiet for a moment, turning the glass slowly in his hand, the ice inside clinking softly against the crystal.
“Strange.”
“That’s what I thought,” Bianca leaned forward. “Something is going on with him, and I don’t like being left in the dark. Especially not about something everyone expects to be my future.”
“Careful,” Warrick said, not unkindly. “You sound jealous.”
“I sound concerned, as I should be,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”
He didn’t push the point, though the small tilt of the edge of his mouth suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced.
“What do you want me to do about it?”
“I don’t know yet,” Bianca sighed, sitting back, finally letting some of the tension leave her shoulders. “But I want to know more about her. Where she came from. Why her. Why now. Something about all this is very suspicious.”
Warrick considered this, tapping one finger against the rim of his glass.
“You understand what you’re asking.”
“I understand exactly what I’m asking.”
“If there’s nothing to find, you’ll have wasted resources chasing a girl who makes his coffee.”
“And what if there is something to find?”
Warrick’s smile was slow, deliberate. The same smile Bianca had grown up watching him wear in boardrooms, right before he won.
He reached for his phone.
“I’ll have someone look into her. Quietly.”
Bianca finally relaxed, the tight set of her shoulders easing for the first time since stepping out of Alaric’s company.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Warrick’s eyes lifted to hers, something steady and unreadable in them. “Whatever this is, Bianca — you may not like what we find.”
She held his gaze, “I’d rather know than wonder,” she replied.
Back on the executive floor, the city outside had changed to the deep orange of early evening, the sun sinking low behind the skyline to welcome nighttime.
Selene sat at her desk, drowning in a stack of quarterly reports Alaric had asked her to sort by department. Her fingers were cramping. Her back was aching from being bent over for too long and Nyx had made it her personal mission to comment on every single spreadsheet.
“I’ve decided corporate reports are just humans finding fancy ways to say ‘we don’t actually know.’”
Not helping, Selene muttered aloud, rubbing her temple on both sides.
I'm always helping. You just don't appreciate my genius.
The office door opened. Alaric stepped out, sleeves rolled to his forearms, tie long abandoned somewhere on his desk. He paused when he saw her still there, buried behind a small mountain of paper.
"You're still here."
"You said I have to sort these out by the end of the day," Selene said, not looking up. "It's not the end of the day yet."
"It's nearly seven."
She blinked, glancing at the small clock on her monitor. Her stomach dropped slightly.
Told you. Time flies when rich people torture you with spreadsheets.
"I didn't realize," Selene admitted, already reaching to stack the papers into some semblance of order.
Alaric watched her for a moment, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. Then, without a word, he crossed to her desk and picked up half the stack.
Selene froze. "Sir, you don't have to—"
"You've been here since early this morning."
"So have you."
"That's different."
"How?"
He didn't have an answer for that. Selene almost smiled at the small furrow that appeared between his brows, like the question had genuinely stumped him.
"You should go home, Miss Hart. Get some rest"
"But I'm not finished yet."
"It'll still be here tomorrow."
He's not wrong, Nyx persuaded. Also, is it just me, or is he being nice again all of a sudden? I can't keep up with his mood swings. Someone needs to put this in the records. For science.
Selene ignored her, gathering her bag from under the desk. "Thank you, sir."
Alaric set the papers back down, straightening them without needing to. His gaze lingered on her a beat too long before he caught himself and looked away.
"Get home safe."
It wasn't much. Three words, said gruffly and hastily, like he wasn't quite sure he was allowed to say them.
Selene froze, a tiny smile gracing her face as she felt the words settle somewhere warm within her chest.
"You too," she replied, and meant it.
She didn't see the way his jaw tightened as she walked toward the elevator, or the quiet breath he let out once the doors had slid shut behind her — like he'd been holding it the entire day.
—1
Flynn found him there minutes later, still standing in the same spot, staring at the elevator like it might give him answers.
"You know," Flynn said, leaning against the door frame of his own office, "for a man who claims nothing is going on, you sure do a lot of not going on whenever she's in the room."
"And why are you here this late?”
"That’s for me to know and for you to not worry about." Flynn strolled further in, dropping into the chair Selene usually cleared off before meetings. "Actually, I wanted to ask you something."
"What."
"Her file." Flynn's tone shifted, just slightly — the teasing edge dimming into something more careful. "The one I pulled for you. The information started from the orphanage. Nothing before that, and all of a sudden, she’s your mate?”
Alaric turned to face him properly now. "Meaning?"
"Meaning most people have a paper trail before twenty-five. School records, family history, something." Flynn shrugged, though his eyes stayed sharp. "Hers started at the orphanage. Nothing before it. No birth certificate on file, no parents listed beyond 'deceased, unknown.'"
Alaric was quiet.
"Probably nothing," Flynn added, though he didn't sound like he believed it. "Foster system stuff. Records get lost all the time."
"But."
Flynn exhaled slowly. "But your mate showing up with a blank history, right when every wolf in this building is watching your every move? Seems awfully suspicious to me."
Alaric said nothing for a long moment, jaw tight, eyes distant.
"Dig deeper," he finally said. "Quietly."
Flynn nodded once, already rising from the chair.
"Already planned on it."
- Writer
