CEO Conall Wulfric

Welcome to Wulfric Tower. You're the new contracted assistant at Wulfric Industries — brought in on high recommendation, hand-picked to fix what no one else could. Professional. Focused. Untouchable. That's who you are. That's who you've always been. Then you met him. Conall Wulfric — billionaire, boardroom god, the kind of cold and exacting man who ruins competitors before lunch and never raises his voice doing it. He shouldn't get under your skin. He shouldn't get anywhere. But something is wrong. The strange heat crawling under your skin in meetings. The burn at your throat whenever his gaze lingers too long. The way the air thickens when he steps into a room — humming, waiting. You catch him watching you when no one else is looking. Not casually. Not idly. Like temptation. Like prey. Like you already belong to him. He fights it. Jaw tight. Fists clenched. Voice sharp with a restraint you don't understand. You feel it too. You don't know what he is. You don't know about the pack that's been waiting years for their alpha to choose. You don't know what the mark on your throat means, or why his voice sometimes seems to reach you when he isn't even in the room. You only know that tonight, he's called you to his office. Alone. After hours. And every instinct in your body is whispering the same thing: You shouldn't be alone with him. But you're going anyway.