Torin

"I would be an asset to your foundation, or whatever it is you do. Over the past few years, Spade has been the beating heart of Prone City, the city that houses everything from the Omega Council to the nation’s fastest‑growing institutions. Spade Industries contributes thirty percent to the country’s GDP. That is no small feat. Spade would be a profitable margin for you to invest in, and I know we can grow even bigger if we go worldwide. We are reliable. We can guarantee we have the best builders, and we use the best materials. Our buildings, bridges, roads, none of them have ever collapsed. Thus, I think you would be wise to accept. If you wish to know more, it’s all in the documents."

I deliver the pitch smoothly, the way an accomplished businessman should, but the man in front of me doesn’t seem impressed. He looks bored, flicking through my carefully composed life without even reading.

The light of the city pours in from behind the massive window that dominates his office, the sea stretching endlessly beyond. The office is perched on the highest floor, designed with a dark theme that contrasts sharply with the man himself. His hair is pale blond, almost white, his round spectacles catching the light, his odd shade of warm golden eyes gleaming. His body is muscular beneath the crisp white suit, and I notice he doesn’t bear a single tattoo.

This man is nothing like what Erin described. Erin was wrong, down to the hair.

"Did you know," Mr. Masintosh says suddenly, closing my document with a snap, "beneath their white fur, polar bears actually have jet‑black skin? This color helps them absorb and retain heat from the sun."

He smiles at me, his eyes shining like a child sharing a fun fact. He looks only a few years older than me with a scar cutting across his right eye, yet he radiates sunshine. I can’t even tell if this is an act because he’s covering his scent, or if this is simply who he is.

"No, I did not know. Thank you for telling me. Fascinating," I reply, nodding slowly, feigning interest. Whatever it takes to get this deal done.

"It is fascinating. And I know it, because I’m telling you," he says, grinning, continuing to nod as if waiting for me to mirror his enthusiasm.

I remain silent, waiting for him to get to business.

"Are you dizzy or something? I have sweets to help," he says suddenly, opening his desk drawer and pulling out a handful of candy.

"N‑no," I say quickly, shaking my head, but he grabs my hand and presses the sweets into my palm.

"Take it. I insist." His smile is unwavering, his eyes locked on mine.

I force a smile back, unwrap one of the candies, and pop it into my mouth. It sticks to my teeth, hard and cloying. Does this man eat this candy every day? His dentist must hate him, unless he has teeth stronger than steel.

"What do you think about my proposal?" I ask, my words muffled slightly by the sticky sweet.

He sighs, his expression shifting back to boredom. "Look, Mr. Spade. I don’t care what Spade has done or what it’s worth. It doesn’t make a difference to me or to my brothers. What we need from you isn’t Spade, it’s loyalty. That is all we ask. Hence, I want to know you as a person. I want to know what you will and won’t do, based on your morals."

Finally. We are getting somewhere.

"I don’t want to be one of your henchmen," I say firmly. "I can promise you loyalty, but Spade is not yours, it’s mine. Even if we do business together, of course you will always get a cut of the profit. As for what I will and won’t do, murder and tax evasion. Especially tax evasion."

"I’ve seen great businesses fall from tax evasion. Prone is ruthless when it comes to that," I say firmly, keeping my composure.

"All that doesn’t bother me," Mr. Masintosh replies, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. "I just want to know, what is your pack life like? From the research I’ve done, your pack seems problematic. That stands a chance of becoming a problem for us. I mean, does your pack even know you’re here, or what you’re doing?"

"No. yes. They know, and they fully support me," I answer quickly, correcting myself. "I know how we look in the media, but I can promise you we aren’t that bad. Yes, we have our problems, but every pack does. I’m sure yours does—"

"No, we don’t."

I pause, swallowing the tension, then continue smoothly. "I mean most packs do. But we are united."

"And the omega?"

"What?" I cough, nervous, my throat tightening.

"I heard you have two omegas," he says, tilting his head, clearly wanting more details. "We have our hands full with one omega, especially during a heat. How is your pack managing two?"

I clear my throat before answering, forcing calm into my voice. "Well, the fact that we love each other helps a lot. We make sure no one feels left out..." I add carefully. "But tell me, why do you want to know this specifically?"

"Oh, it’s just a precaution," he says, his tone suddenly stern for the first time. "Because if you were ill‑treating any omegas, unfortunately we could not do business."

"Why, if I may ask?" I gulp, praying those idiots didn’t go through with Yurena’s plan.

"Because, one, this organization does many things, but omega abuse, mental or physical, is not tolerated. And two, it’s bad press. There is nothing in this world that will bring you down faster than an omega mistreatment case that goes public. Yes, in court it never holds up, but socially your business is finished. Because most people in omega mistreatment cases forget that yes, their own pack treated them like shit, but the pack next door didn’t. And they listen to their omegas. If the omega says not to support a certain establishment, they won’t support it. And this spreads. It happens to a bunch of different packs, and suddenly your business is reliant only on betas. And in all honesty, that’s give or take with them."

His words are heavy, serious, and I feel a lump grow in my chest. Everything he says is true. Omega mistreatment can ruin a pack in a single day. You don’t dabble in that.

"You have nothing to worry about," I say with a tight business smile. "As I said, love grows in my pack."

"Good. I like you, Mr. Spade. I feel that we will well work together." He pulls a contract from his drawer and slides it across the desk toward me. "If you sign that, we’ll do business together."

I look at the long contract in front of me. This is all I’ve ever wanted. I should be jumping for joy, but instead I feel an unsettling weight in my gut.

"Umm... just randomly, if at any point an omega leaves her or his pack, what will happen?" I ask cautiously, trying not to arouse suspicion.

"Well, that bite is not in the contract. The one in front of you is just business. If what you’re saying happens, it will be handled outside the contract, by my brother, probably. Because then it would be a matter of breaking our trust in you and your pack. The level of punishment depends entirely on the reason the omega left."

I nod calmly, but inside I’m spiraling. This is bad. Really bad. Lorali can’t leave the pack unless she leaves happily, or these people will kill me and my pack.

I probably shouldn’t sign. Something is telling me not to. But this is it. Spade will grow faster than Boleyn. I’ll finally prove to my fathers they weren’t shit.

I skim through the contract quickly. I am a fast reader, and I catch all the important clauses. Then, with a steady hand, I sign.

This contract is completely favorable to me. Spade keeps ninety percent of all net profit while they only take ten, even though they provide the deals, the connections, and everything else.

The only concerning clause is the one that states if I or all my pack members die without a successor, everything goes to them. But we won’t die. So I can’t help but wonder, why aren’t they running at a loss if they offer this contract to everyone?

"Done," I say, finishing my signature on the dotted line.

Mr. Masintosh flashes me a wide grin, his golden eyes gleaming.

"Pleasure doing business," I add, stretching out my hand. He shakes it firmly, his grip warm, steady, almost too friendly.

"Trust me, the pleasure is all mine," he replies smoothly. "And I trust I will see you and your pack at Pack Fang’s engagement party." His smile lingers, sharp and knowing.

"Of course. We will be there."

Great.

Now I have to somehow get everyone at home to pull themselves together, to present a united front. The thought alone makes my stomach twist. I hope things aren’t too bad. I know my mother can be batshit insane, and if she’s gotten into their heads, this could be a disaster.

I tuck the contract away, but the unsettling feeling in my gut refuses to fade.