Wolf in the Glass Tower

Watchdog

Clara POV

By Friday afternoon, my eyes were burning from staring at spreadsheets, but the numbers were finally starting to form a cohesive picture.

I had spent the last two days strictly adhering to Roman’s parameters, keeping my nose completely out of the northern branch and focusing solely on Sterling Enterprises’ downtown logistics and real estate. But the deeper I dug into the “normal” side of the business, the more bizarre the corporate culture appeared.

The properties themselves were a financial nightmare. Sterling owned nearly a dozen massive warehouses in the industrial district that sat entirely empty. Yet, they were paying millions annually for high-grade steel reinforcements, heavy-duty soundproofing, and private security patrols. You didn’t soundproof an empty warehouse unless you were hiding something loud inside of it.

But the real anomaly was the personnel.

I had spent the morning interviewing several floor and fleet managers to audit their departmental efficiency. Every single one of them shared the same unsettling demeanor. They were all incredibly fit, highly alert, and fiercely, almost unnervingly loyal to Roman Sterling.

“We don’t question the routing schedules,” a massive, heavily scarred fleet manager named Marcus had told me when I asked about the overlapping security patrols. “Mr. Sterling takes care of his own. We look out for the pack—the team, I mean. The team.”

The pack. It was the third time an employee had used that specific word. It felt tribal. Cultish. The people in this building didn’t view Roman as a CEO; they viewed him with a mixture of absolute reverence and deep-seated terror.

I rubbed my temples, closing out of the fleet management software. The clock in the corner of my monitor read 6:30 p.m. The executive floor had emptied out an hour ago, leaving me alone in the oppressive silence of the glass monolith.

Roman’s office down the hall was dark. He had been absent all day, a fact that had allowed the tight knot of anxiety in my chest to loosen just a fraction. After his sudden, intense protection in the breakroom yesterday, I hadn’t known how to face him. Call me Roman. The gravelly sound of his voice requesting such an intimate familiarity had kept me awake half the night.

I packed up my tote bag, threw on my trench coat, and took the elevator down to the lobby.

Outside, Seattle was drowning in a torrential downpour. The streetlights reflected off the slick black pavement, and the wind bit at my face the second I pushed through the revolving doors. I pulled my collar up and began the six-block walk to the subway station, keeping my head down against the driving rain.

Two blocks away from the Sterling building, the familiar, icy prickle of hyper-vigilance washed over the back of my neck.

My spine stiffened. I didn’t stop walking, but I slowed my pace just a fraction, tuning out the sound of the rain and focusing on the rhythm of the street.

Splash. Splash. Splash. My boots hitting the pavement.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Heavy, measured footsteps, about thirty yards behind me. I sped up. The footsteps sped up, matching my pace perfectly.

Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my veins. My father’s debt collectors had tracked me down once before, cornering me outside a grocery store to send a message. I slipped my right hand into my coat pocket, my fingers wrapping tightly around the canister of pepper spray I never left home without.

I took a sharp right turn down a narrow, dimly lit side street, stepping quickly into the deep shadow of a closed storefront awning. I pressed my back flat against the brick wall, holding my breath, and waited.

A massive silhouette rounded the corner a second later, moving with alarming speed.

Before I could second-guess myself, I stepped out of the shadows, raised the pepper spray, and aimed it directly at the man’s face.

“Take one more step and I will blind you,” I warned, my voice shaking with adrenaline.

The man froze. He didn’t raise his hands or cower. In the dim light of the streetlamp, the jagged scar cutting through his left eyebrow was unmistakable.

It was Emanuel.

“Ms. Hayes,” the massive head of security rumbled, his deep voice perfectly calm despite having a chemical weapon pointed at his eyes. “Put the spray down. It won’t be necessary.”

“Emanuel?” I demanded, my heart hammering furiously against my ribs. I didn’t lower my arm. “Why are you following me? Does Roman have you tracking his contractors now?”

Emanuel’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, though whether it was at the pepper spray or the disrespect to his boss, I couldn’t tell. “Mr. Sterling requested that I personally ensure you return to your residence safely. The city is... unpredictable at night.”

“I am perfectly capable of walking to the subway on my own,” I snapped, anger rapidly replacing my fear. “I’m an auditor, Emanuel, not a VIP. Tell your boss to call off his guard dog. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Emanuel didn’t flinch at the insult. He simply stood there in the pouring rain, an immovable wall of muscle and stoicism. “I do not take requests from consultants. I only follow the orders of the Alpha—” He stopped, his jaw snapping shut so hard I heard his teeth click. He cleared his throat. “Of the CEO.”

I stared at him, my mind snagging on the strange slip. Alpha? First “the pack,” and now “the Alpha.” The terminology was bizarre, like some ridiculous hyper-masculine finance-bro culture taken to an extreme, militant level.

“Tell the CEO,” I said, my voice dripping with icy sarcasm, “that if I catch you stalking me again, I’ll file a harassment report with the city.”

I lowered the pepper spray, turned on my heel, and marched toward the subway station. I didn’t hear Emanuel’s heavy footsteps following me again, but the prickle on the back of my neck remained the entire ride home.

Roman Sterling wasn’t just managing me. He was having me hunted.

Roman POV

The city lights blurred into a sea of neon through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my downtown penthouse. I stood in the dark living room, a crystal glass of untouched bourbon in my hand, staring out at the torrential rain washing over my territory.

Normally, Friday nights were for pack business. There were border disputes to settle, supply chains to secure, and training drills to oversee. Tonight, however, the only thing occupying my mind was a fragile, fiercely stubborn human woman with a penchant for asking too many questions.

Shadow was restless, pacing in the back of my consciousness. The physical distance between us and our mate felt like a dull, throbbing ache in my chest.

“Alpha.” Emanuel’s voice echoed suddenly through the mind-link, sharp and disciplined.

“Report,” I replied, my grip tightening on the glass.

“She made me,” my Gamma admitted, sounding incredibly reluctant. “Two blocks from the tower. She recognized the tail, lured me into an alley, and drew a weapon on me.”

A weapon? My heart skipped a beat before a sudden, dark wave of amusement and profound pride washed over me. Shadow let out a rumbling purr of approval. Fierce mate. Brave mate.

“A weapon, Emanuel? Against you?” I asked through the link, unable to keep the smirk out of my voice.

“Pepper spray, Alpha,” Emanuel replied dryly. “She threatened to blind me. She is highly observant. Her situational awareness is far beyond a standard human civilian.”

The pride in my chest swelled, quickly followed by a sharp pang of protective curiosity. Clara’s hyper-vigilance wasn’t a tactical skill she had learned in a training facility. It was a survival mechanism. Someone had taught her to always watch her back, to anticipate violence before it happened. I didn’t know who or what had made my human mate so terrified of the world, but I was going to find out.

And then I was going to destroy whatever it was.

“Did she panic?” I asked.

“No, Alpha. She was furious. She told me to tell her ‘boss to call off his guard dog.’” Emanuel paused, and I could feel a spike of genuine apprehension from him across the link. “I apologize, Roman. I slipped. I used the word ‘Alpha’ before correcting myself.”

I let out a slow, heavy sigh, pressing my forehead against the cool glass of the window. Clara was brilliant. If my pack kept feeding her breadcrumbs like “pack” and “Alpha,” it was only a matter of time before she pieced together the impossible truth.

“Maintain the watch, Emanuel,” I commanded softly. “But keep your distance. Do not let her see you again. If the rogues make a move in her neighborhood, you tear them apart before they get within a mile of her building.”

“Understood, Alpha. Her apartment complex is secure.”

I severed the link, the silence of the penthouse rushing back in to suffocate me.

I raised the glass of bourbon to my lips and finally took a drink, the burn doing nothing to soothe the ache of the mate bond.

Alex was right. I was losing control. The thought of sending Clara away after her audit was complete felt like willingly ripping out my own heart. But as I looked down at the dark, sprawling city below—a city currently crawling with feral wolves desperate to tear my empire to the ground—I knew it was the only way.

I would protect her from the shadows. I would wipe out her debts. And then, I would let her go.