Adele's POV
"Miss Swann, you need to stop," Lea said gently, though the concern in her eyes sharpened the softness of her tone. She stood in the doorway of my office, arms crossed, watching me the way one watches a candle burn too close to its wick.
The rest of the studio had long since emptied. The city outside was settling into night, but I was still hunched over my desk, stylus clenched between my fingers, eyes aching as glowing lines formed yet another impossible bedroom design on my screen.
"I can't," I murmured, barely lifting my gaze. I felt so tired, I could barely form coherent sentences. "If I don't finish this tonight, I won't be able to start on the mansion tomorrow."
The mansion.
Even thinking the word made my chest tighten.
Two clients. Two hungry wolves circling from opposite ends of the world. Both powerful. Both dangerous in their own way. And both demanding me.
Lea sighed dramatically and stepped inside. "You're going to run yourself into the ground, Fleur. You didn't claw your way up from nothing just to drown in work and sleepless nights."
I laughed softly, though it came out brittle. "I tried to refuse one of them. Truly. But fate—or whatever cruel god enjoys tormenting me—clearly has a sense of humor."
Lea snorted. "Let me guess. One is Caden Wayne, the Alpha who makes grown men forget how to breathe. And the other is Damien—Duke of Monaco, rumored executioner, walking nightmare."
I winced. "When you say it like that, it sounds even worse."
She leaned against my desk, eyes glinting. "Still. Can't deny it. Your clients are… offensively attractive."
"Lea," I warned. Her voice sounded dangerously dreamy, and I didn't like it one bit.
"What? I have eyes, you know." She retorted jokingly, shrugging her shoulders like it meant absolutely nothing to her. It didn't, in fact, but it mattered to me.
"We do not mix work with clients," I said firmly. "Especially not ones with claws and fangs hidden beneath tailored suits."
She rolled her eyes. "Fine. But you are coming out tonight. I've arranged something for us."
I blinked. "What?"
Before I could react, she reached for my wrist, her narrowed eyes shining with a sharp, tempting glow. "Girls' night. No excuses."
"But Chloe and Gabriel—"
"Already handled," she interrupted smugly. "Your children planned this. The nanny's staying late. Apparently, they think you're one emotional breakdown away from turning into a ghost."
I closed my eyes.
Of course they did.
Lea had been living with us since she escaped her own failed marriage, and somewhere along the way, she'd become more than an employee—she was my pack. Family. The kind that dragged you into the light whether you wanted it or not.
"I'm dressed for work, not for parties," I protested weakly as she hauled me toward the parking lot. For a human, she was rather strong.
"You're Fleur Swann," she shot back, a bit irritated now. "You could wear a trash bag and still turn heads."
I snorted despite myself. Strangely, she was right––I could afford to wear total nonsense and still have attention glued to me, even if I didn't really want it.
"Now," she added, unlocking the car, "are you done arguing, or do I need to physically carry you?"
I sighed, raising my hands in defeat. "Do I even have a choice?"
"Nope."
The club Lea took me to was already roaring when we arrived—music thudding like a second heartbeat, the air thick with perfume, heat, and something feral that made my skin prickle. A lot of werewolves liked places like this. Humans mistook the energy for excitement, never realizing they were brushing against predators playing at being civilized.
Lea groaned when she saw the long line at the main entrance. "I told you we should've come earlier. Damn, we'll be stuck here forever."
"It's fine," I said softly. "We'll wait."
Before she could respond, a voice rolled over us—deep, commanding, and unmistakably dangerous.
"Is there a problem, ladies?"
I turned.
Damien stood behind us, dressed casually in dark denim, a fitted shirt, and a leather jacket that did nothing to soften the lethal presence radiating from him. His giant bodyguard hovered nearby, silent and watchful.
"No problem, Your Grace," I said politely. "We're just waiting."
His gaze lingered on me longer than necessary, sharp and assessing, like a wolf scenting something familiar.
"Nonsense. You won't wait," he said decisively. "Come with me."
He did not need our reply––he simply strode forward, and the barriers lifted instantly.
Lea's mouth fell open. "He owns this place," she whispered reverently.
Inside, the manager practically bowed the moment he saw him.
"These women are under my protection," Damien said calmly. "They never wait. They never pay. They are my special guests."
"Yes, Your Grace," the man stammered.
Drinks arrived. Music swelled. The night loosened its grip around my throat.
"You collect secrets like others collect art, Your Grace." I teased lightly.
He chuckled. "Please. Call me Damien."
"Only if you call me Fleur."
He repeated my name, something unreadable flickering behind his dark eyes.
As I watched him, a strange thought crossed my mind.
For someone feared as a monster… he smiled like a simple man.
And somewhere deep within me, the wolf stirred—uneasy, alert, reminding me that monsters often wore the most beautiful masks.