10. Oliver

I”m hunched behind my desk when Sophia bursts into my office. Her jeans and peasant blouse make her look deliciously innocent, super sexy and entirely office-inappropriate. I suddenly like like the the starched precision of my suit is a straightjacket.The air shifts, suddenly filling with the undercurrent of last night”s recklessness.

My heart thuds against my ribcage, a traitor to the composure I”m struggling to maintain. The memory of her pressed against me in the dark closet is a visceral echo in my blood. I can still feel her lips on mine, taste the sweetness of her mouth mingling with the tang of her wonder as she felt and saw a bit of my wolf surface.

The scent of her arousal is in my nostrils again, a heady mix intoxicating me. The sound of her ragged breathing, the way her body trembled against mine. I feel again how her body responded to mine, the heat of her desire seeping through her clothes and the thought sends a jolt through me. I remember how she tasted, how she felt, how she responded to my touch, and it”s all I can do to keep from slamming the door shut behind her and taking her here on the desk.

I clear my throat, trying to shake off the memory, the desire, the need. I can”t afford to lose control here, not now. I have a mission to complete, a conspiracy to unravel, and a family to protect. I can”t let my desire for Sophia cloud my judgment.

I straighten in my chair, my face a practiced corporate mask as she stands, an open book, her eyes piercing and resolute. The intensity of her gaze cuts through my carefully constructed facade, laying bare the roiling emotions I”ve fought to contain. She smells so good. So right. If she knew what I know—that she should be mine—that there is something in her that calls to the deepest part of my soul. It”s inexplicable. It shouldn”t be happening. But my wolf stirs restlessly beneath my skin.

”Good morning, Ms. Carter. I assume you”ve completed your report on the so-called Shadow Covenant,” I say as calmly as I can. From her posture, I can see she”s not going to pull any punches.

”Yes. But Oliver, I”m afraid what we found…last night…before…will shock you. I figure I”m fired—or I will be—but before that happens, you need to see this.” Her voice doesn”t waver as she slides a folder across the desk. The tension in her lips is the only hint of her anxiety. ”I”m sorry to be the one to bring this to your attention.”

The folder sits between us like an unexploded bomb. My gut tightens; this isn”t just about the job or our encounter last night. She”s found something and I have a feeling once I read this, nothing will be the same.

I reach for the folder, my brushing hers for only a second. But I refuse to let her unsettle me anymore. ”So, more than just a bunch of dusty old news clippings?”

”It is a lot of old clippings and documents, but I believe it”s also proof,” she says, ”Proof that the Moonlit Concord Gala is a front for something sinister and has been for years, maybe right from the beginning.”

I can”t help but scoff. ”Sinister? Sophia, it”s a gala for rich paranormals who want to get drunk on specialty cocktails, bid on vacations and jewelry in the name of charity, and make side deals with other Factions so they can continue their petty squabbles. It is not a gathering of warlocks plotting world domination.”

Her lips press into a thin line. ”It might be routine for you, Oliver, but people without hereditary magic, like me, don”t joke about things this dark. It”s serious.”

Her conviction unnerves me; it”s the kind of unwavering belief that could shatter alliances—or, in this case, families. Opening the folder reveals pages upon pages of documents, cryptic symbols scrawled in margins, photos of certain members of the high council, even ones of my grandfather who died a decade ago. My pulse races.

”What am I looking at, exactly? And why is so much of this about Irene?”

The folder sprawls open like a spilled bag of stinking garbage, a chaotic mess of paper and secrets that shouldn”t see the light of day. My office, once a sanctuary of control and power, now feels like a crime scene. Evidence strewn across my desk accuses my sister, Irene, of being the force behind the arcane—but very real—black magic cult known as the Shadow Covenant. It appears I have seriously underestimated its reach.

But Irene at the head of it? No. It”s ludicrous, insane. She”s been the backbone of our family, our matriarch, since Mother died. Yet here it is, a mad mosaic of her supposed treachery laid out in ink and blood.

I stare at the damning evidence before me, my mind reeling. Irene, my own flesh and blood, the steady hand that has guided our family through turmoil and tragedy. How could she be involved in something so sinister?

Sophia”s voice cuts through my disbelief. ”Look at this shipping manifest from five years ago.” She points to a document detailing a shipment of rare magical artifacts smuggled out of the Bounds, the shadowy boundary lands that lie between Ravencourt and the Veil. ”The manifest lists Faulkner Holdings as the recipient. These are powerful relics, Oliver—the kind that could be used for dark rituals.”

My stomach churns as I recall Irene assuring me the purchase was simply a tax shelter, a procurement of valuable antiquities for our private collection. But now, her words ring hollow. And why did I dismiss it so easily? Who had I been sleeping with then? Caroline? Andrea? All those irrelevant flings—and now the truth I can”t ignore is being delivered by the one woman I want to keep.

Sophia continues, her voice laced with urgency. ”And here, these photos show Irene meeting with Madame Cruor, the notorious blood witch, just last month. Cruor has been exiled from three different covens for her unorthodox practices.”

The image of my sister meeting clandestinely with the raven-haired witch who was cast out of Ravencourt into the Bounds last year, is like a punch to the gut. I remember her excuse about a ”business dinner,” but the truth seems far more nefarious. That night, I was out at the theater…with Margaret? Who knows. All of my past seems nothing compared to the future I want with Sophia.

”There”s more,” Sophia says, sliding another document across the desk. ”This is a record of offshore bank accounts linked to Irene. Millions funneled through shell companies and fronts, all leading back to one entity—the Shadow Covenant.”

The air grows thick, and I struggle to breathe. Pieces of a puzzle I never knew existed are falling into place, painting a picture of betrayal and deceit that shatters my perception of the sister I thought I knew.

I knew, but did not want to acknowledge, how angry she became with our father after Mom died, how dedicated she was to continuing Mom”s work and yet how stoically dutiful she”s been under my father”s constant derision. He”s an old bastard, an alpha who should have given up his corporate throne to my brother or to Irene. But now, he”s placed a burden too heavy to bear on me.

Sophia”s hand covers mine, her touch grounding me in the swirl of revelations. ”I can”t say for certain, but from what I”ve gathered, it seems like this has been a closely guarded secret passed down through the women in your family. Your mother, her ancestors...it”s a tradition that”s been hidden in plain sight. I know this is a lot to take in, but we need to stop whatever Irene and the Covenant have planned for the Gala. People could get hurt, maybe even killed. I don”t know what happens there every year, out of sight of most of the guests, but it”s very likely black magic, Oliver.”

I pull my hand back as though from a trap.

A part of me wants to shove it all aside, to deny the implications of her findings. Duty to my family and to Faulkner Enterprises tightens its grip around my throat. I sift through the evidence, each piece a strike against Irene’s character. It can”t be true. But what if it is? What if beneath Irene”s composed surface lurks the heart of a conspirator?

I manage to speak, though it feels like someone else”s voice. ”These accusations against Irene...are beyond damaging. Are you certain?”

Sophia doesn”t say anything but meets my gaze head-on, eyes full of conviction.

”This is impossible,” I insist, shaking my head as if I could dislodge the reality from my mind. ”My father knows nothing?”

She shrugs slightly. ”Well, you didn”t know until this moment. Or maybe you did?”

”Are you accusing me of being part of this, too?” The thought galls me.

My voice hardens as suspicion coils in my gut like a serpent. ”It could all be a lie. This folder had to have been planted by Kray—and you”re working with him. I”ve known from the start I shouldn”t trust you. But Irene insisted.”

Her face tightens at the accusation. ”I”m not accusing you Oliver. You”re accusing me. You imagine I”d lie about something like this? With my career at stake? Oliver, please listen to me. Would the woman you were with last night…would she lie to you?”

Sophia steps closer, and I can smell her—the scent that tells my wolf she is marked, above all others, as my fated mate. I can feel the tingle of a magic more primal than any other, something rooted in my very being that says she is to be mine—forever. I force the thought away.

Sophia extends her hand toward me, but it”s not comfort she offers—it”s a photo of an artifact, ancient looking and inscribed with symbols that resonate with an eerie familiarity.

”This was in an inventory of your mother”s private collection,” Sophia says quietly. “And now Irene wears a necklace with a similar symbol. I saw it last night. I know hers looks like a graphic circle with claws. It’s not exactly the same, but it”s too similar to be an accident.”

I look away from her, focusing on the photograph as if it might hold answers. The necklace was, of course, my mother”s and I see now that it”s a symbol that whispers of old magic—dark magic—that should have no place in our contemporary world. This is pre-Ravencourt—from before—before our ancestors and this city slipped through the mists of the Veil.

A silence stretches between us. ”The Gala is tomorrow night,” Sophia urges.

And then what? Accuse my sister based on scraps of paper and photographs? Turn my back on everything I”ve ever known because Sophia Carter believes there”s an ancient rite being carried out under our noses? There’s so much at stake—my family’s legacy, our standing in Ravencourt.

Trust is not easily discarded when it comes to family. This could destroy us.

I can”t—won”t—let that happen.

”This is absurd, Sophia. You’re creating shadows where there are none,” I snap.

Beneath my anger, fear whispers doubts into my ear, doubts about the sister I”ve known all my life. But I shove them down, burying them under years of loyalty and blood ties. Sophia”s findings shake the very pillars of my world, but I”m not ready to watch it crumble—not without a fight.

Everything hinges on what I choose to believe. My mind races, clawing for purchase on slippery truths as Sophia watches me with those damn piercing eyes that seem to see right through me.

If I believe Sophia, I deny my sister, my family legacy, and the memory of my mother. I destroy everything the Faulkners built.

If I reject her accusations, I reject the woman I am certain is my fated mate, the woman I am to trust, respect, love, guard, honor….and believe…for the rest of my life.

Sophia”s hands clench at her sides as if she”s holding onto her conviction as tightly as she can. I take a step back, putting physical distance between us to match the emotional gulf that”s widening with every passing second.

I have to confront Irene. I won”t accept this without giving her the benefit of the doubt. And that may cost me, Sophia. It”s a fate I have to face.

”I can’t… I can’t take your word over Irene”s.” The words taste like ash in my mouth, but they tumble out, each one a nail in the coffin of whatever fragile connection we might have shared.

Sophia”s expression falters for just a moment, revealing a glimpse of hurt before it”s quickly masked by frustration. ”Do what you need to do, Oliver. I know what I know.”

I feel something crack inside me—a fissure in the wall I”ve built around my heart—but I shore it up with indignation and familial duty. ”Sophia. I don”t really know you.”

Liar, my wolf screams inside me. You know who she is!

I swallow hard. ”But we both know Kray sent you to spy. That means I can”t truly trust you.”

Her lips part in disbelief, and there”s an ache in her eyes that mirrors the one in my chest. ”You”re wrong about me,” she says quietly, but there”s steel beneath her words.

”I”m sorry it has to end this way. Stop by HR on your way out. You will be compensated for your contributions,” I say through gritted teeth. My wolf claws at my throat, demanding release, demanding I claim what is ours. It takes every ounce of strength I have to contain it.

Sophia recoils as if struck, and for a moment, she”s silent, looking at me like she doesn”t recognize the man before her. Maybe she doesn”t; maybe I don”t either.

”That”s all,” I say finally, hating how harsh my voice sounds even to my own ears.

Without another word, Sophia turns on her heel and strides toward the door. Her shoulders are set in determination even as her steps falter slightly—she won”t let me see just how deep the cut goes.

And as she walks away from me—taking with her the sliver of hope that maybe this time love could triumph over duty—I”m left standing amidst the ruins of what might have been, wondering if the truth isn”t what we”re told but what we choose to believe.