The Alpha Kings Secret Son novel · Chapter 5 of 6

Chapter 5: The Countess Marks Her Territory

‘Whatever you are hoping for ends here, Miss Callaghan.’

Isadora Fenn stood across my desk with the invitation already in her hand. She had arrived without a greeting, without a name, and without asking permission to touch anything. The cream card carried a raised silver seal beneath the Voss crest. My name sat below it in black lettering meant for people who never had to check their bank balance before paying a clinic deposit.

I kept my eyes on the card.

‘That saves time,’ I said. ‘I have only been here a day, so I am still learning where the stationery lives.’

Her smile settled into place. Her eyes stayed level.

‘The Voss winter gala is in ten days. All support staff are expected to attend in an appropriate capacity.’

‘How generous.’

‘The dress code is printed on the reverse.’

She set the card on my keyboard. I turned it over. Black dress. Closed shoulders. No bright colours. No guests. No exceptions.

It was less a dress code than a list of ways to look harmless.

I picked up my phone and opened the camera under the desk. While I checked the date, I angled the invitation toward the lens and took a picture of the seal. The screen flashed once against my palm. Isadora kept watching my face.

The image saved. I locked the phone and placed it beside my calculator.

‘Do I RSVP to you?’ I asked.

‘To the events office. They will assign your place.’

She paused before place. The word had been selected with care.

Her perfume reached me. Dry red wine, something mineral beneath it. I filed the detail away before I could stop myself. If she came close again, I would know.

‘You can smell what I am,’ she said.

The office carried on around us. Keyboards clicked. A printer coughed. The woman near the windows glanced over, saw Isadora at my desk, and bent over her monitor.

I looked at Isadora’s signet ring, then at the silver seal.

She knew what I was.

Roman did not.

‘Can you smell what I am?’ I asked.

‘You know I can.’

‘That is reassuring. I was worried my first week might be dull.’

Her fingers rested beside the invitation. She had chosen not to touch me. That choice was deliberate.

‘Whatever you are hoping for ends here.’

She said it like she was correcting a filing error. The clinic confirmation sat inside my bag. Six weeks. The deposit was paid. The remaining fee was not.

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