Chapter 4
The flash drive burned in my palm like a silver bullet. I slipped it into my blazer pocket just as the office door swung open, revealing Tate's imposing silhouette. His Alpha aura hit me like a physical wall—commanding, territorial, furious. But underneath the manufactured dominance, I caught something else. Fear.
"What the hell are you doing in here?" he growled, his eyes scanning the room before landing on me. His nostrils flared, searching for my scent, but the blocker held. To him, I was just another faceless contractor.
I straightened my shoulders, meeting his glare with professional indifference. "Reviewing the budget discrepancies, Alpha. There are some concerning irregularities in the vendor payments."
Maddison pushed past him, her fur coat rustling with indignation. "I told you! She's been snooping around, questioning everything, refusing to follow orders!"
"Orders?" I tilted my head, tapping my pen against the clipboard. "I wasn't aware interior decorators had authority over structural inspections."
Tate's jaw clenched. "You're out of line. This is Pack territory. My territory."
"Actually," I said, pulling out my phone with deliberate calm, "this is a construction site under federal safety regulations. Would you like me to call the Lycan Council's Building Authority? I'm sure they'd be interested in the unlicensed modifications."
Before he could respond, I stepped around them both, heading for the door that connected to what should have been the guest suite. My heart hammered against my ribs, but my hands remained steady.
"Where are you going?" Maddison shrieked behind me.
I pushed open the door and stopped dead.
The room had been transformed into a nursery. Not just any nursery—an elaborate, expensive shrine to future motherhood. Two matching cribs dominated the space, crafted from what looked like imported mahogany. The walls were painted a soft mint green with hand-stenciled golden moons. A rocking chair sat by the window, upholstered in silk that probably cost more than most Pack members made in a year.
My throat constricted. Just six months ago, when I'd brought up the possibility of pups, Tate had laughed. "Five years, sweetheart," he'd said, kissing my forehead like I was a child. "The Pack needs to be more stable first. You understand, right? Your career is taking off. We have time."
Lies. All of it.
I lifted my phone, snapping photos of the cribs, the expensive mobile hanging between them, the custom-painted murals. Each click of the camera shutter felt like a nail in his coffin.
"Stop that!" Maddison lunged for my phone, but I sidestepped her easily.
"Documentation is standard procedure," I said, continuing to photograph the evidence. "Especially when unauthorized construction exceeds the approved square footage."
I moved to the corner where a stack of unopened boxes sat. The shipping labels were still attached. 'Premium Bassinet - $3,000.' 'Silk Curtains - Custom Embroidered - $5,500.' All paid for with emergency construction funds.
My emergency construction funds.
I pulled out my phone again, this time opening my secure messaging app. My fingers moved quickly across the screen:
*Marcus - Code Blue. Need the Whitmore deed from my safe. Prepare territorial eviction notice. Evidence package incoming. - E*
I hit send just as Maddison's hand slammed down on my wrist.
"Give me that phone!" she snarled, her weak Omega strength nothing against my Beta conditioning. I didn't even need to use force—I simply twisted my wrist and she stumbled backward.
"That's assault," I observed mildly, making another note on my clipboard. "On a federal inspector. That's a felony."
"Federal inspector?" Tate stepped closer, his Alpha scent sharpening with suspicion. "Show me your credentials."
I reached into my blazer, pulling out my business card holder. But instead of credentials, I handed him my architectural license. "Eileen Parker, Licensed Structural Engineer and Territorial Planning Specialist."
His face went white. Then red. Then white again.
"You know what?" Maddison's voice rose to a shriek. "I don't care who you are! You're fired! This is my territory, my house, and I want you gone!"
I turned to face her fully, my expression glacially calm. "Interesting. You believe you have the authority to terminate contracts on this property?"
"Of course I do!" she spat, tossing her hair. "Tate is my Alpha mate! He pays for everything! This is our home!"
I hit the record button on my phone, holding it casually at my side. "So you're stating, for the record, that Alpha Tate Snyder is the sole financial backer of this construction project?"
"Obviously!" Maddison laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Who else would pay for our dream house? Some pathetic Beta architect who doesn't even know how to please her own mate?"
The recording captured every venomous word. Her admission of ignorance. Her claim of ownership. Her insults.
Perfect.
"I see," I said, stopping the recording and slipping the phone back into my pocket. "Well then, I suppose you'll want to speak with the actual financial backer about your... concerns."
Tate's scent shifted again. This time, it reeked of panic.
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