4. Oliver

This is my favorite time of day: early morning, when the Ravencourt skyline, laid out against the backdrop of pre-dawn hues, is fully visible from our offices. The city”s waking ruckus of buses, cabs, and honking horns turns into a heartbeat thumping against the vast glass pane of my office. Up here, I”m almost out of the grind, suspended in time, where the worries of corporate failure are at least muffled.

If all I had to do was put my head down, crunch numbers, dream up campaigns and never deal with people, I”d be content.

Instead, I stand, tennis racket in hand, clad in my whites and ready to play whatever games the Earl requires. As long as we get his sponsorship and at least a bonus item for an annual auction that helps us raise millions, I”m happy to switch my meetings to play tennis with a demon-shifter royal, who”d rather volley for power than sit at a negotiation table.

Except I forgot to tell Sophia.

I realize that now, as she enters, her heels clicking across the marble foyer and then onto the plush wool rug of my office. She”s the epitome of business attire, her wasp-waisted blue jacket and wide-leg pants tailored to show off her curves. I suppress a growl of approval of her—not just her appearance—her everything. I don”t think any other woman in recent history has affected me this way and I”m a bit troubled by what that might mean. I feel a shock as an unbidden thought rises to the surface.

Mate. Mine.

I shove the thought down as quickly as it came, chalking it up to being hung over.

Last night, Rebecca’s abrupt departure still stinging like a fresh wound, I was a few scotches into half a bottle when the Earl rang me with the change of plans. I dove into bed right after, not even thinking about how this might affect my new ”assistant.” Her sharp eyes take in my outfit, and there”s a moment of hesitation before she composes herself.

Shit. I”m such an asshole. I should have told her what we were doing today.

Well, let”s see how she fares. I have a feeling she”s utterly unprepared for the game ahead. Not the game of tennis—no, that would be too simple—but the more intricate game of alliance and influence, where Kray is convinced he can use her to his advantage.

”Whoops, sorry,” I say. ”Last minute change of venue.”

”So I see. Will I be accompanying you?”

”Of course. Hope you’re ready for a different kind of court today,” I say, the words dripping with irony. My lips twitch into a half-smile as I lean against my desk, racket casual in hand. ”I”d send you home to change, but there”s no time. We”ll have to go over the Gala guest list in the limo on the way over as it is. Having you come on at this late date means you”ll have some catching up to do.”

Sophia blinks, then curls her lips into a stiff smile. “Well, let”s hope for game, set, match,” she replies.

I confess I”m looking for her to slip up, waiting for that moment of failure to affirm my suspicions that she’s Kray’s pawn. But something about her composure irks me; she”s not crumbling under pressure as I half-expected.

She smiles calmly. ”I”m ready. Let”s go.” There’s not even a pang of irritation that she”s walked into this absurdity without warning.

The leather seat sticks to my bare legs, and I shift, trying to find a comfortable spot in this rolling cage of opulence. I”ve been driven around in a limo since I was a child, but you never get used to it…the dark glass isolation of it. The limo is as quiet as a crypt, save for the soft hum of the engine and the rustle of papers as Sophia and I pour over the guest list. I try to find fault with her, on guard for even the slightest sign she”s playing me for Kray”s sake, but she’s poised, and focused. Her outfit screams CEO material while I”m slouched in tennis whites, feeling like I did when I was a pimply kid on my way to tennis camp.

I can”t shake the feeling that agreeing to this tennis meeting was a tactical error. What”s more, in the close air of the limo, I find her scent intoxicating—overwhelming even.

”What perfume is that?” I ask.

She startles and I”m suddenly aware that the question might just cross a line. ”Just baby powder,” she says and bends her head back to the list we”re making. If she”s annoyed or put off by my inquiry, she”s kind enough to ignore it.

Instead, she”s all business, marking names with precise ticks. ”Your family”s gone all out for this Gala,” she remarks.

”Yeah, well, appearances are everything,” I reply, suddenly aware of how true that is at this moment.

Sophia pauses, her finger tracing a line down the list until it rests beside a name. ”Jason Faulkner,” she reads aloud. ”Is he a cousin? There”s no address here.”

A knot forms in my stomach. Jason—my brother who ran from this life like it was on fire. He never could handle the pressure; it crushed him. But my mother never gave up hope. In her grief, she bought every potion and magical trinket Ravencourt could supply and then formed the Moonlight Foundation, maybe hoping that someone somewhere would send him home. The Gala was designed to raise money for it. I could use some of her potions right now, I think.

”It”s just my older brother,” I say, my voice flat. “Don”t worry about him. He lives abroad. He never comes. It”s just a formality.”

Sophia’s gaze locks on mine, her scrutiny is perhaps unintentional, but still, it feels invasive.

Could she be digging for more? More dirt Kray can use?

The air in the limo thickens with unspoken words, heavy with the weight of my family’s skeletons.

I clear my throat and shuffle papers pointlessly. ”Let”s focus on the Earl; he”s... quite the character,” I say with an edge of levity that sounds forced even to my ears.

Sophia nods, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—curiosity or concern, maybe both—that tells me my abrupt topic shift doesn’t fool her.

The silence continues. “The Gala’s more than just a charity event. It’s more about my mother’s legacy. It’s been ten years since the car accident. I don’t want to fuck this up.” Sophia’s expression softens and I can tell my accidental candor has shifted something. I wonder if she sees who I really am—just a son trying to do right by his family.

The car turns onto a long driveway lined with towering hedges that block out the sun—a metaphor for my life if ever there was one. Walls everywhere, trapping me within expectations and legacy. I shake off the thought and force a smile.

I add, as an afterthought, ”Get ready for an eccentric display of wealth and physical prowess.”

She returns the smile, though hers seems genuine. ”I can”t wait to see you in action.”

”Ha,” I laugh, genuinely amused by her wit. ”I was referring to the Earl. He”s a demon-shifter, and you know how good-looking they are. Very pleased with themselves, generally. Don”t be taken in by his charm.”

She nods but doesn”t smile. ”Fortunately, I”m immune to charm.”

I honestly can”t tell if she”s making the joke at my expense or her own.

The Earl”s private grass court is lush, and the lines are sharply painted as if to dare us to step out of bounds. He stands at the net, all grins and broad shoulders, a lion in tennis whites. His bemusement is evident as he looks us over, particularly Sophia in her business attire.

”Good to see you, Ollie, and...?” The Earl trails off, raising an eyebrow in Sophia”s direction.

”Sophia Carter,” she replies, extending a hand he shakes with a grip that lingers a little too long for my liking. ”Delighted,” he says, though his eyes gleam with the thrill of a predator sizing up new prey. ”A pity threesomes aren”t regulation in tennis. Do you play?” I clench my racket tighter and take a few ”practice” swings.

”I do…but not today.” Sophia catches my eye, her gaze steady, showing me, she”s not rattled by Richard”s innuendos or his demonic persuasiveness.

”Ms. Carter will be officiating today,” I inform him, injecting confidence into my voice. She nods, pulling out a small notebook from her bag. ”I”ve been known to keep score,” she says with a wan smile in my direction.

The game kicks off with a relentless exchange of rapid volleys as the sharp thwacks of the tennis ball meeting the taut strings of our rackets echo crisply through the air. I move instinctively across the court, trying to match the Earl”s prowess. My muscles burn with exertion, but more than physical strain is at play here.

”You”re quite the ace,” I grunt as I serve.

He returns it with a smirk. ”As are you. But let”s not dance around it—we both know this isn”t about tennis.”

I lunge for his next shot, returning it with a slice that carries my frustration. ”You”re playing both sides with Kray,” I blurt out.

The Earl”s playful air vanishes like smoke. His next serve is a bullet—one aimed skillfully at my feet. I could swear it burned a hole in the grass.

”Point to the Earl,” Sophia says, but then, in a break with protocol, she steps onto the court to hand him a fresh ball. “What Lord Faulkner means to say is that your balanced approach is admirable,” she says smoothly. ”Just like in tennis—knowing when to push and when to hold back—it”s why you”re respected across all the Factions.”

She’s got his attention now; even I”m struck by her quick thinking. The Earl pauses mid-serve, considering her words.

After a moment, he concedes, ”Ms. Carter has excellent insight. Ravencourt could use more of that neutrality.”

She nods toward me then. ”And what better place to demonstrate unity than at the Moonlight Foundation Gala?”

He chuckles—a deep sound that rumbles across the court—then resumes his position. ”Indeed. My consultations with others on the High Council have been favorable in regards to supporting charities like yours, Oliver. I”d be willing to ensure a few of them are present, but you”ll need to beef up security if you want high-level royals to attend.”

”Of course, Rich. That”s a given,” I reply, preparing for my serve.

The game continues, but now there’s an unspoken agreement hanging in the air. Each point scored feels like a concession won or lost in this larger game—a game where Sophia is proving herself more valuable than any well-placed shot of mine.

The Earl”s victory grin is broad as he claims the match, but I can”t help but smirk. Sure, he won the game, but I”ve made headway in the match that matters. I”m all good sportsmanship until Richard”s hand finds its way to Sophia”s lower back, a whisper shared between them that paints her cheeks pink.

My blood heats, and a growl almost escapes before I catch it behind clenched teeth. My wolf doesn”t like this—doesn”t like him touching her. What do I care? I’ve sworn off assistants!

Sophia doesn”t miss a beat, though. She sidesteps the Earl with grace, defusing his pass with a polite laugh. ”Always so generous with your insight, Earl,” she says, cool as the morning breeze.

Her tact gives me the moment needed to compose myself and step in for a handshake that seals our deal. The grip is firm, two soldiers acknowledging a battle well-played. ”Until next time,” Richard says, tipping an imaginary hat before sauntering off with that confident stride of his.

I”m left there feeling a mix of triumph and something else—something wilder. My shirt clings to my back, damp with sweat from more than just physical exertion.

Sophia looks at me as we walk back to the car. ”You should cool off,” she suggests, a note of concern in her voice that does funny things to my insides.

”That”s my idea exactly,” I reply.

The sweat on my back is a cold whisper against the leather seat as we pull away from the Earl”s estate. My hands, which had gripped the racket like a lifeline, now rest on my knees. Sophia sits beside me, her poise intact despite the day”s curve balls. She doesn”t know it, but my wolf”s close to the skin, pacing, restless.

I swore to Irene I”d keep it strictly professional. But that was before Sophia Carter waltzed into my life with her sharp wit and sharper insight, unsettling both man and beast. She”s flipping through notes on her tablet now, unaware of the turmoil brewing within me.

As we near Ivory Eversong”s place, I can”t help but wonder how this subsequent encounter will test my resolve. Ivory’s home is a menagerie of magic and luxury—a place where even the flowers seem to whisper secrets. Everyone knows she’s the real power player in the family, although each of her beautiful fae daughters can more than hold their own.

We”re greeted by Ivory herself, a vision of grace wrapped in a sarong that whispers against her ankles with each step. Her laughter fills the air as she spots Sophia”s attire.

”Oh, darling, you can”t possibly join us in that!” Ivory exclaims with a dramatic flourish of her hand towards Sophia”s suit. ”Lila”s swimwear will fit you—she’s our most human-sized daughter.”

Sophia raises an eyebrow but accepts the offer with a nod. ”When in Ravencourt,” she mutters under her breath, almost too low for human ears—but not for mine.

Minutes later, Sophia re-emerges, transformed and somehow even more arresting. The swimsuit clings to her like a second skin, and I”m suddenly aware of how little separates us from each other. The wolf inside growls his appreciation—a sound I suppress with effort.

The poolside scene is bizarre yet beautiful—the water shimmers under the morning sun while Ivory demonstrates her water-yoga poses with ethereal elegance. Sophia follows along, a look of determined concentration on her face as she mimics the fluid movements.

My attention drifts between the two women—the Baroness moving with practiced ease and Sophia adapting to yet another unexpected twist. It”s absurd really; discussing Gala logistics while they contort their bodies in an aquatic ballet.

But then Sophia speaks about the Moonlight Foundation with such genuine passion that I”m caught off guard. Her voice carries over the water, each word reflecting an earnestness that stirs something within me—a resonance with memories of my mother’s fervent advocacy.

Ivory listens intently, nodding along to Sophia’s persuasive points about aligning our causes with those resisting Ravencourt”s darker elements. I am relegated to spectator as Sophia deftly weaves our mission into Ivory’s heartstrings.

And while part of me—the part raised on power plays and dominance—bristles at being upstaged, there”s another part that can’t help but admire her more for it.

Stop it, Oliver. For all you know, Kray has handpicked her to be both highly competent and charming, and she”s been drilled on the back story of every paranormal power player in Ravencourt.

I watch silently as Ivory finally succumbs to Sophia’s narrative charm, her initial reservations dissolving into enthusiastic nods and promises of support for our cause.

The meeting isn’t what I expected; it”s more revealing than any formal sit-down could ever be. It exposes vulnerabilities and strengths alike—in Ivory, in Sophia...and uncomfortably, in myself.

And as they continue with an impromptu yoga session against a backdrop of fae-touched flora, I catch Sophia looking up at me. She gives me a wink.

I have no idea how to take that.

The hum of the limo”s engine is a gentle purr against the silence that”s settled between us. Sophia sits with her legs crossed, her eyes closed, a content smile on her lips. She”s full from our vegetarian feast at the Eversong mansion, a delighted glint still in her eye from the array of greens and grains we”ve just devoured.

I lean back against the cool leather, my thoughts a tangled mess. The way she navigated the morning’s encounters with such finesse has thrown me. There’s a gnawing suspicion in my gut that she”s too good to be true—what if she is playing me? But then there”s the other thing, the undeniable pull I feel towards her. My wolf just won’t let go of this attraction. It’s not lust. No, this is something more. And that thought alone is enough to send my defenses into overdrive.

The limo takes a smooth turn, and I’m about to suggest we go back to the office when Irene’s name flashes on my phone’s screen, pulling me from my brooding thoughts.

”Hey, Irene,” I answer, trying to keep my voice even.

”Oliver! You won”t believe this—Father wants to meet Sophia,” Irene blurts out before I can get another word in. ”He heard about your little tennis match with the Earl and how Sophia stepped up.”

My brows shoot up in surprise, and I glance at Sophia, who opens one eye in curiosity. ”He does?” It”s all I can manage without betraying the tumult inside me.

”Yes! He”s impressed, and you know how rare that is,” Irene continues, but I detect the slightest bit of annoyance in her voice. Irene doesn’t like sharing Father. She’s been his right hand for ten years and even if he passed her over, she’s still loyal. ”She must be quite something to win over you and the Earl.”

Yes, there’s definitely some mama-wolf bite in her words.

”I see,” I say slowly. “I’m doing exactly what you said to do. If it’s not paying off as you expected, then that’s not on me.”

Irene disconnects without a word, and the limo is silent again as I grapple with this new development. ”Sophia,” I start, trying to sound more decisive than I feel. ”You need to get ready for dinner.”

Her eyes widen slightly, but she nods as if accepting a challenge.

”My father wants to meet you,” I continue, watching for any flicker of deception or unease but finding none. ”And he never takes no for an answer. I should know.”

Her mouth forms a small ”oh” of understanding as she leans back into her seat.

”Lovely,” she says simply, gazing out the window as if this had been part of her plan all along.