The Lycan Prince’s Golden Mate

Fiona's POV

"Fiona, what are you daydreaming about! Have you finished testing all the equipment we need?"

"How many times do I have to remind you? The symposium we're holding today is extremely important, and the guests attending are influential figures. We absolutely cannot afford any mistakes."

"Honestly, if it weren't for the fact that Duke Sterling is her uncle, who would want this stupid girl dragging us down at our library?"

"See? This is what happens when werewolves and humans intermarry carelessly. Although mixed-blood offspring have a one-in-ten-thousand chance of becoming prodigies, most are just mediocre wastes. They inherit neither the refined intelligence of humans nor the formidable strength of werewolves."

"I never imagined Professor Thorne would actually agree to an engagement with her. I suppose the Gray Wolf clan's bloodline requirements aren't as strict as we thought."

"Well, there's no helping it. Rumor has it the Thorne family will become cabinet members of the next Human-Werewolf Coexistence Association. Choosing a mixed-blood fiancée with human lineage will be their politically correct pledge of allegiance. Besides, Duke Sterling has promised a generous dowry."

I clutched a thick stack of lecture materials while these colleagues, busy arranging the venue, ordered me around and shoved me about.

They spoke freely in front of me about my family, my background, my fiancé, my long-missing biological parents, and my dull red hair and spectacle lenses as thick as the bottom of liquor bottles.

"Watch out! Fiona."

I turned and stumbled into a man's embrace.

He frowned, lowering his head with some impatience, clearly worried I might wrinkle his clothes.

It was my fiancé, Caleb Thorne.

He was dressed particularly fastidiously today in a well-tailored charcoal-gray three-piece suit that perfectly outlined his tall, lean figure. A dark crimson velvet tie was knotted at his collar—the representative color of the Sterling family.

His signature gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, and behind those lenses, his narrow eyes always carried a condescending scrutiny.

In others' eyes, he was St. Mary's University's youngest associate professor of literature, a refined and erudite gentleman, the rising star of the youngest generation among the Gray Wolves.

But I knew what rotten soul lurked beneath that polished exterior.

"Sorry, Caleb." I apologized quietly, slipping something into my pocket with one hand.

"Listen carefully—in this setting, you should call me Professor Thorne. Also, I'm returning this book to you. I no longer need it."

Caleb didn't immediately steady me but let me flounder in his arms for several seconds.

Only after confirming no guests nearby had noticed this awkward scene did he extend his hand, seemingly gentlemanly adjusting the heavy glasses on my nose.

Simultaneously, he pressed into my hands the copy of Lady Chatterley's Lover he had borrowed from the library front desk where I worked that very morning.

His fingers were long and cold, and the instant they touched my cheek, I caught a scent.

It was a mixture of musk, sweat, and some cheap strawberry-scented hand cream.

A scent that belonged uniquely to Emily.

I knew that at this very moment, she was hiding behind that curtained door.

Finishing their tryst and emerging one after the other with Caleb was their tacit routine.

"Thud!"

Lost in thought, I let the book slip and crash to the floor.

"Fiona, when will you ever learn to be more alert?"

Caleb bent to retrieve the book, once again reminding me impatiently.

"Go check the projector. I need to ensure the upcoming presentation goes off without a hitch."

"Yes, Professor Thorne."

I hugged the lecture materials and retreated silently to the control panel.

Caleb turned and strode toward the podium.

His gait carried a subtle stiffness—his right leg's stride slightly shorter than usual.

My gaze fell upon that dark crimson velvet tie.

The knot was somewhat loose, clearly retied in haste. Beneath where the tie covered his collar, a small dark red mark peeked out.

It wasn't a lipstick stain.

It was a scratch mark.

Deep, even seeping a trace of blood.

I adjusted my glasses and shifted my gaze.

Sure enough, Emily's figure emerged from behind the curtain, scurrying like a startled gray squirrel.

After once again congratulating herself on escaping a predator's clutches, she flashed her smug front teeth.

I looked down at the copy of Lady Chatterley's Lover in my arms, where one corner showed telltale creases.

Opening it, I found lines of text circled in pencil.

This was the Klingon translation.

Strung together, the sentence meant—

Your prey awaits you at the usual place, her body beneath its skin wet and open for you.

The page number was the meeting time.

This was how they passed romantic rendezvous codes right under my nose, frequently switching between various translated editions.

One person would return the book first, and the other would immediately follow to check it out.

And they seemed never to suspect—

That I, this country bumpkin who had only attended community college, was also fluent in more than a dozen languages.

The lecture's opening time arrived, and Caleb had already taken his position at the podium.

He first glanced down at his pocket watch, then looked anxiously toward some empty seats in the front row.

The event host approached him and said something.

I pricked up my ears and caught something about some important figure temporarily unable to attend due to a minor situation.

"No choice but to start without waiting."

Caleb blew into the microphone while simultaneously pressing the large screen projector's controller.

No response?

He cast his gaze toward me, eyes full of reproach, clearly questioning why, after all those repeated reminders, something had still gone wrong.

But what he didn't know was that the entire multimedia control system's remote switch had been clutched in my pocket all along.

"Apologies, everyone. It appears our multimedia equipment has encountered a minor issue. Please wait a moment."

Caleb kept shooting me meaningful glances, signaling me to come up and fix it quickly.

But just then, the screen suddenly lit up.

What appeared before everyone's eyes was a high-definition video.

The footage was somewhat shaky, clearly filmed in some secretive, confined space.

The lighting was dim, with only a few rays of sunlight filtering through venetian blind slats, casting mottled shadows on the floor.

Then, a man's figure appeared in the frame.

He wore a white dress shirt, his tie pulled askew, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, looking both refined and debauched.

It was Caleb.

He had a woman pinned against an office desk, his movements rough and urgent.

"Ah! Caleb... I'm going to climax! Faster, faster!"

The woman's saccharine moans, transmitted through the conference room's premium sound system, echoed clearly through every corner.

She wore a red knit sweater, its neckline torn open, exposing expanses of pale skin. Her hair cascaded messily over her shoulders, her face bearing an expression of both agony and ecstasy.

She was none other than Emily, a junior literature student from Caleb's college.

At this moment, she writhed like a bitch in heat, legs wrapped around Caleb's waist, meeting his movements.

"Cry out!"

Caleb's voice in the video was particularly low and carnal: "Tell me loudly—whose woman are you!"

"I'm yours... I'm your gamekeeper... I'm the little bitch who tends your flock."

Emily wailed, her voice filled with the pleasure of conquest.

The audience below sat stunned.

Some gaped open-mouthed, some covered their eyes, and some even pulled out phones to start recording.

"Damn it! What the hell is happening!"

Caleb frantically pressed the control panel, but every button seemed deliberately welded shut, utterly unresponsive.

"Bastard! Cut the power!"

The instant the circuit breaker was thrown, the entire venue plunged into darkness.

But the backup battery I had tampered with beforehand continued working tirelessly at high speed.

With the lights extinguished, the projection equipment's image only became clearer!

"It's useless, Professor Thorne."

I walked slowly to the front of the stage, holding the black remote control, a cold smile curling at my lips.

"Even if you cut power to the entire library, it would be futile."

I had been planning this moment for over a month.

To tear open his hypocritical, despicable true face and display it before everyone!