Chapter 2

Estelle's POV

I pressed my back against the cold mirrored wall of the elevator, fingers digging into the shoulder strap of my camera bag so tightly that the metal buckle bit into my palm—the pain was the only clarity I could grasp.

Alpha Bruce stood at the elevator entrance, not stepping inside.

Those ice-gray eyes swept over me, unhurried. His gaze landed on the silk scarf at my neck and paused for half a second. Beneath it, the mark was burning, and I could feel his stare penetrating the fabric to touch that scar.

The elevator door began to beep its warning for being held open too long.

Only then did he step inside with measured steps.

The scent of cedar and cold iron instantly filled the cramped metal box. I lowered my head, staring at the tips of his shoes—Italian handmade, the stitching on the leather precise and immaculate. Five years ago, in the wardrobe at Thornwood Manor, I had seen an entire row of shoes crafted with the same care. Back then, I had loved organizing those clothes for him.

He said nothing, merely raised his hand to press the button for the banquet hall floor, the silver pinky ring on his finger catching the LED light in a cold flash.

My wolf whimpered inside me, instinctively submitting to her Alpha.

"Estelle, it really is our Alpha."

I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted blood, suppressing the surge of longing from Zara so I wouldn't make any improper gesture in front of him.

The elevator began to ascend, the numbers on the screen ticking upward.

He never looked at me.

The instant the elevator doors opened, the clamor from the direction of the banquet hall rushed over me like a tide. I seized the chance and practically bolted out, cold sweat soaking through the lining of my dress.

Claire intercepted me.

She was wearing an exquisite champagne-colored suit today, holding a tablet in her hands, her face bearing that familiar "major client arrival" excitement I knew so well.

"Alpha Marcus personally confirmed tonight's shooting schedule," she said rapidly, "but he requires all photographers to do live test shoots during the investors' walkthrough. Tonight we need to produce shots in real-time for him to review the results."

I took the schedule she handed me, my fingers still trembling, the sweat from my fingertips blooming into a small spot on the paper.

Claire noticed. She leaned closer, lowering her voice: "You look awful. Are you feeling unwell?"

I couldn't tell her that Alpha Bruce's scent had covered the entire corridor, wrapping around me like a piece of meat sealed in plastic wrap, suffocating me completely.

"I'm fine." I shook my head, shifting the camera bag to my other shoulder.

I ignored Alpha Bruce standing behind me and turned toward the shooting position I'd selected during my earlier scouting—a corner near the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The light there was soft, and more importantly, there was an exit route. The emergency door by the windows—I'd confirmed yesterday during my site check that pushing it open led to the fire escape stairs.

I crouched down to attach my lens, and in my peripheral vision, Alpha Bruce was being ushered toward the head of the table by a cluster of suited business people.

When he passed by me, his pace was steady, his bearing composed, and he didn't spare me a glance, as if the suffocation in the elevator had been nothing but my hallucination.

I set up the tripod and aimed the lens at the reflective surface of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The glass mirrored the entire interior of the banquet hall. Through the viewfinder, Alpha Bruce sat at the head of the long table with Alpha Marcus at his right hand, the two engaged in quiet conversation. Alpha Marcus nodded occasionally, his spine slightly inclined forward in a respectful posture.

I pressed the shutter and began testing the light, adjusting the camera settings.

Suddenly, a hand adorned with a silver pinky ring reached toward the side of my neck. I startled so violently I nearly knocked over the entire tripod, my body instinctively recoiling half a step.

Alpha Bruce had somehow appeared behind me. Behind him followed the entire investors' walkthrough team—five or six suited figures fanning out in formation, equally shocked by their Alpha's action.

His fingers hooked the edge of the silk scarf at my neck, the movement seemingly casual but the force undeniable.

I froze in place, my limbs feeling like they'd been filled with cement, all instinct to flee pinned down by Alpha pressure.

"It's loose," he said, his fingers brushing seemingly inadvertently over the bite mark beneath the scarf.

That momentary touch was like an electric current piercing through my spine, burning all the way from my cervical vertebrae to my tailbone, the mark throbbing as if freshly bitten. I clenched my jaw so hard my temples pulsed, just barely suppressing any sound.

Everyone around us was watching. Alpha Marcus's gaze turned probing, his eyes moving back and forth between my neck and Bruce's hand.

Claire opened her mouth as if wanting to step forward and say something.

But Alpha Bruce had already withdrawn his hand, turning to face Derek, my boss, who stood beside me, his tone flat as he spoke: "This photographer's position will interfere with fire safety."

He paused.

"Arrange for her to work where she's within my line of sight."

Derek nodded repeatedly, something I couldn't quite read entering his expression as he looked at me.

Alpha Bruce had already left with the walkthrough team, his back disappearing into the depths of the banquet hall surrounded by that crowd, the cedar scent slowly dissipating in the air.

I looked down at my hands—I'd been so tense that all the blood had been squeezed into my clenched fists.

Before the formal dinner began, I hid in the restroom.

Forehead pressed against the cool tile wall, I gasped for air, trying to lower my body temperature. The spot on my neck where he'd touched still burned like a brand continuously searing the nerve endings beneath my skin.

The door pushed open.

I didn't look up, but I caught Claire's scent.

"The seating's been changed." Her voice carried apology as she held out a new gilt-edged place card. "Derek made a last-minute adjustment to the photographer seating at Alpha Bruce's request. You're required to sit on the investors' side for the entire event, ready to capture 'important conversation moments' at any time."

I took the card from her.

Claire lowered her voice, her hand gently touching my arm: "This project is too important for the studio, Estelle. Derek said if we do this job well, the studio could land a full-year jewelry photography contract with Black Moon Group." Her eyes pleaded, troubled. "No matter what, cooperate with all the investors' requests, okay?"

I looked at her face and said softly, "Okay."

My voice was steady, the corners of my mouth even forcing out a smile that wasn't quite convincing.

I took the place card, my fingertips leaving a sweaty print on it, the paper slightly crumpling as I gripped it tight then released.

This had to be Alpha Bruce's malicious joke at my expense. He wanted me seated within his reach for the entire evening, letting everyone see this Omega photographer positioned within arm's length of the Alpha's seat, powerless to resist—whenever he wanted, I had to obediently comply, whether five years ago or now.

I shoved the place card into my pocket, picked up my camera bag, and walked toward the door, stepping into the brilliantly lit banquet hall.