Chapter 155: JOB

The blue light of the high-definition monitor washed over my desk, cutting through the dimmed ambiance of my top-floor office. On the screen, the broadcast was looped on a seamless, agonizing three-second repeat.

"My pack loves me so much that they are planning the biggest, grandest wedding you’ve ever seen..."

Lorali’s face on the screen was pristine, her eyes wide, her smile practically dripping with sweet honey. To any regular watcher sitting at home in front of their television, she looked like a wildly smitten young woman gushing about her powerful Alpha. She looked breathless, radiant, and utterly taken with the idea of becoming a Spade bride.

You lying, brilliant little devil, I thought, a quiet, dark laugh rattling deep in my chest.

I know she would rather drink poison than willingly hand her life over to me or anyone else carrying the Spade name. I knew it. She knew it. The sheer spite driving her words was practically humming through the audio feed.

And yet... my chest expanded, a strange, possessive warmth blooming behind my ribs at the sound of those words coming directly from her lips. The biggest, grandest wedding. Even wrapped in pure sarcasm and deceit, hearing her proclaim to the entire world that she belonged to the Spade Pack sent a heavy, intoxicating jolt through my blood.

"My pack loves me so much..."

"You have no idea how much, Lorali," I murmured to the empty room, my gaze tracking the smooth contour of her throat on the display. Then, the possessive warmth soured, replaced by a sudden, icy snap of irritation that narrowed my eyes.

How in the hell was she on that ice in the first place?

My hand dropped to the desk, my knuckles knocking against the polished wood. I was the Alpha of the Spade Pack. I held her legal guardianship, her administrative records, her pack binding documentation, and the signature required for her to register for any official athletic circuit in the world.

A pack-bound Omega is not allowed to do any kind of work without their main alpha’s verified stamp, Walter is always on my neck making me sign his stuff. I had signed nothing. I had approved nothing. By every law governing the in world, her presence on that rink today was flatly illegal. And that win invalid.

I wonder if Oracle has anything to do with this deception. And speaking of Oracle I wonder why he didn’t tell me about this competition when he clearly knew it was happening. But whatever I don’t care I am willing to turn a blind to everything all because Lorali said she was going to get married. It fills me with so much joy to hear her say that even if it’s fake.

I love lorali would never willingly marry into the Spade pack. If I walked up to her right now with a ring, she would throw it in my face and find a way to break my nose in the process. But now? Now the public expected a wedding. The media would be watching our every move, clamoring for dates, venues, and announcements. If she tried to walk it back now, she would destroy her own credibility and hand the press the ultimate ammunition to tear her life apart.

She had boxed herself into a corner, and all I had to do was close the door.

I reached out, extending my index finger toward the sleek silver intercom button on the base of my desk phone. I pressed it down with a firm click.

A sharp chime echoed through the small speaker, followed immediately by the crisp, professional tone of my chief executive assistant.

"Yes, Mr. Spade?"

"Please," I said smoothly, my voice calm, icy, and entirely unbothered. "I need you to clear my afternoon schedule tomorrow."

"Right away, sir. Is there something specific I should clear it for?"

I stared at Lorali’s frozen image on the monitor, her eyes glaring right out of the screen, fierce, beautiful, and utterly untamed.

"Contact the premier event planners in the city. The ones who handle diplomatic galas and high-pack unions," I instructed, my eyes shining with a dark, triumphant gleam. "Tell them to send over their best wedding portfolios immediately. Catering, venues, designers, all of it. I want the most lavish options they have."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, a subtle rustle of paper as Claire processed the order. "Wedding portfolios, sir? May I ask what scale we are looking at?"

"The grandest one this country has ever seen," I said softly, the corner of my mouth curving up. "After all, we have a public promise to keep."

"Understood, Mr. Spade. I will have the files on your desk by eight tomorrow morning."

"Good."

I released the intercom button, letting the silence settle back over the office. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk, unable to take my eyes off her face.

Thank you for this opportunity, my sweet Sugar plum. I will not disappoint, I will give the grandest wedding known to existence, which you probably don’t want but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.

Oril

My hands were shaking so badly I had to jam them deep into the pockets of my worn trousers just to keep them from visibly vibrating.

I was sitting on a stiff, uncomfortable plastic chair in a long, sterile hallway, the hum of fluorescent lighting buzzing overhead like a swarm of angry bees. Every few seconds, I would shift my weight, my heels tapping an anxious rhythm against the floor.

Get a grip, Oril,You’re an adult. You’re a pack member. You survived Torin and being falsely accused best believe you can survive a damn sit-down meeting.

I decided it was time to get a real job and not wait for the last minute like I did the last time and got that crappy ass job, it’s time I face the truth. My music career is dead and I need to move on with the times. I am grateful for my management degree, something Oracle forced me to get a long time ago. I even forgot I had it.

And now, here I was relying on it completely to get a damn job. Sitting outside an actual corporate door, waiting to see if that piece of paper was worth anything at all.

A heavy wooden door at the end of the hall clicked open. A sharp-looking woman in a navy suit stepped out, holding a clipboard against her chest. Her eyes scanned the waiting area before landing directly on me.

"Oril?" she called out, her voice crisp and efficiency-driven. "We’re ready for you now."

My heart did a violent, sickening flip against my ribs. Okay. This is it. Don’t blow it. I can’t get rejected again.

I pushed myself up from the plastic chair, smoothing down the front of my jacket, which was slightly tight around the shoulders, but clean, and forced my feet to move forward. "Thank you," I managed to say, keeping my voice as steady as I could.

I followed her into a large, windowless conference room. Sitting behind a long, polished table were three people who were a sharp-featured man with wire-rimmed glasses, a middle-aged woman with her hair pulled back into a tight bun, and the navy-suited woman who had just called my name. They each had a neat stack of papers in front of them, my resume, printed out on their high-end paper.

"Please, take a seat," the man with glasses said, gesturing to a single leather chair positioned directly across from them. I sat down, my knees knocking against the underside of the table for a brief, mortifying second before I settled back.

"So, Oril," the woman in the middle began, leaning over her papers. "We’ve reviewed your application for the Assistant Manager position. You have quite an interesting background."

"Thank you," I said, offering a tight, polite nod.

Please don’t ask me about the five-year gap on my resume, I pleaded silently. Please don’t ask about my music carrer.

"Let’s start with the basics," the man with glasses chimed in, crossing his arms. "Why do you want this job? What draws you to our company?"

Why do I want this job?!Because I need money! Because if I don’t get a steady paycheck, I’m going to be living out the hand of a man I hate! Because I want to support my omega for once in my miserable existence! What kind of question is that?!

Outside, I didn’t let a single drop of that internal panic spill onto my face. I cleared my throat, sitting up a little straighter.

"I’m looking for a position where I can apply my organizational background in a structured environment," I said smoothly, repeating the exact line I had memorized from an online interview guide at two in the morning. "I believe in efficiency, clear delegation, and supporting the head manager to ensure smooth daily operations."

The woman with the tight bun nodded slowly, making a quick mark on her paper. "Good. And how did you hear about this opening?"

"I saw the posting on the regional job portal app," I replied simply. "The description immediately caught my attention."

Which is a total I swiped through fifty listings in twenty minutes and clicked ’apply’ on everything that didn’t explicitly require an advanced engineering degree. I don’t even know what this company actually manufactures or sells. I just know the title said ’Assistant Manager’.

The man with glasses leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands as he looked at me over the rims of his specs. "Now, looking at our specific branch focus... what do you know about sports? How comfortable are you working around athletic logistics?"

I blinked, caught off guard for a fraction of a second.

Sports? my brain echoed.

"I know a lot about sports, actually," I blurted out before I could stop myself. "My pack member plays ice hockey."