MistNovel - Read Web Novel Stories & Fiction Online

James Wilson stood at the head of the vast, polished mahogany conference table, his presence as commanding and unyielding as the city skyline visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him. He delivered the final details of a hostile takeover with an icy efficiency that left no room for questions. Wilson Industries had doubled in value under his ruthless leadership, and the men and women on his board knew better than to challenge his decisions. After dismissing them with a curt nod, he strode from the room, his mind already dissecting the next challenge.
His impeccably organized assistant, Margaret, fell into step beside him. “Your mother called again, Mr. Wilson. Regarding the Garcia situation.”
James’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Tell her I am busy.”
“I did, sir. She said that if you do not call her back, she is coming to the office to discuss it in person.”
He paused, knowing his mother did not make empty threats. He took the call in his private office, a brief, tense conversation that ended, as it always did, with her veiled ultimatums about his duty to the clan. The conversation left a bitter taste in his mouth. Twenty minutes later, he pulled his car through the imposing wrought-iron gates of the Wilson Estate. The sprawling, gothic-revival mansion, with its stern gargoyles and ivy-covered stone, rose before him, a monument to old money and even older secrets.
Susan Wilson was waiting for him in the formal sitting room, her posture as rigid and elegant as the antique furniture. “You are thirty-two years old, James,” she began without preamble. “The clan needs to see stability. An alliance with the Garcias, cemented by a union with Sofia, would strengthen your position as Alpha immeasurably.”
“I will marry when and whom I choose, Mother,” he replied, pouring himself a scotch, the amber liquid a stark contrast to the room’s cool, grey tones. “Not because it is politically convenient.”
“Then prove you are not still thinking about that human girl,” she challenged, her sharp eyes missing nothing. “You still keep her note.”
He did not deny it. Alone in the heavy silence of his study, hours later, he opened the locked drawer of his desk. The faded piece of hotel stationery was a testament to his only moment of profound weakness. I’m sorry, I have to leave. Last night was beautiful. Thank you. –E. Six years, and the memory of her, the scent of her skin, and the sound of her laugh, was still a phantom ache in his chest. His wolf, the primal core of his being, still prowled the edges of his mind, restless and refusing to accept her absence. He had tried to move on, but every other woman felt like a pale imitation. His investigators had hit dead ends years ago. The few Emma Lopezes they found were the wrong age or had never worked a catering job. It was as if she had vanished, leaving only a ghost and a smudged phone number. It was pathetic.
His intercom buzzed, startling him from his reverie. “Sir,” Margaret’s voice said, “the head of household has finalized the hiring of a new personal chef. She is set to start on Monday.”
“Fine.” He was already turning his attention back to the security briefings on his desk. Tensions with the rival Blackwood clan were escalating, and his instincts were screaming of approaching danger.
“Her name is Ms. Lopez, sir. Emma…” At that moment, a roar from the construction site on the adjacent property drowned out Margaret’s voice, muffling the first name.
James registered the last name, but dismissed it almost immediately. Lopez was one of the most common surnames in the country. Without the first name, it meant nothing. It had to be a coincidence. “Very good, Margaret. Thank you.”
But after he ended the call, his wolf did not settle. A strange, inexplicable agitation seized him. His instincts, honed over a lifetime of leadership and danger, were screaming that something was coming, something that would irrevocably alter the carefully controlled world he had built. That night, he ran through the private forest in wolf form, the ancient, watching trees a silent testament to his lineage. The woods were his sanctuary, but tonight they felt different, charged with a palpable, electric anticipation. He shifted back to human form at the forest’s edge, his breath misting in the cool night air as he stared up at the full moon. The unsettling feeling that his entire world was about to shatter would not leave him. “What am I missing?” he asked the silent night. There was no answer, only the whisper of the wind through the pines.