Evander
“Drop the espionage plan before I decide to strangle you,” Isaac demands as the elevator doors open. “How’s Dellan?”
“His newest obsession is grabbing everything,” I say, stepping out of the lift with Isaac at my side. “Doesn’t matter what it is—hair, watches, your fucking shirt—he’ll have a death grip on it. It’s like he’s trying to claim it for himself.”
Isaac huffs out a quiet laugh. “Sounds like an alpha already.”
“Don’t say that to Em. She’s somehow convinced herself that her feral child is an omega,” I mutter, but there’s no heat in it.
He’d be just as loved no matter what, designation be damned.
“It’s a lot funnier when it’s not your shit getting stolen.
He worked very hard to take Uri’s watch off this morning.
Full-on death grip as he screamed. Wouldn’t let go. ”
“Uri survive it?” Isaac chuckles when I shake my head.
“He took the watch off.” I grin. “My nephew is perfect. Already outmatching grown-ass alphas and making them love him for it.”
Isaac smiles at that, shaking his head as we move through the corridor. “And Emmeline? She’s behaving herself these days—no more asking me to steal files, at least.”
I grin. “She’s doing amazing. Still won’t ask for help. Still trying to do everything herself like she’s got something to prove—but that’s just Em. She doesn’t understand this is her time to rest. I think it’s her way of coping with being off work.”
“She’d kick your ass if she knew you were saying that.” Isaac narrows his eyes, and I roll my own in response.
As if I’m scared of my twin.
“Some things never change, do they?” he teases.
“Kid’s fucking obsessed with her, obviously,” I say, unable to keep the quiet satisfaction from my voice.
“Doesn’t care who’s holding him. The second he catches her scent, nobody else exists.
” I smirk at him. “You can come see them whenever you want, you know. Em would like that, instead of you skulking around when her alphas aren’t home. ”
Isaac snorts. “It just so happens that the only time I can see her is when her alphas aren’t home—because then, they’re the ones stuck dealing with you, and she and I get some peace.”
“You’d miss me if I stopped bothering you,” I protest, and he snorts.
“Miss my wages, sure.”
“Fuck off.”
“Language. We’re in a professional environment,” he taunts. I flip him off, and my beta just ignores it.
“Right, let’s see what the fashion department’s graduate toddlers have been doing wrong.”
Isaac snorts under his breath. “You mean besides everything?”
I push the door open without slowing. “If we’re lucky.”
The trainee bullpen is chaos. The space is at least half the size it should be for the number of bodies crammed inside, with desks pushed too close together, overworked third-years fighting for projects, and first-years fighting for space.
The noise level hits me as soon as I step in—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, hushed arguments about deadlines.
I fucking love it. Isaac, the snob that he is, does not, but he stays close anyway. He’s impassive at my side, but I know for a fact how much disdain he has for this kind of chaos.
Most tense the second they see us walk in, stress scent spiking sharply enough to notice—which is exactly why these meetings work.
One of the benefits of being the resident alpha asshole is never having to pretend to be nice.
They all think I’m here to destroy their lives.
Honestly? They’re not entirely wrong.
Putting my fingers to my lips, I blow out a loud-pitched whistling sound. It cuts through the chaos instantly, silencing phones and keyboards mid-clack as heads snap up in unison.
“Thank you for your attention,” I say, my voice carrying across the now-silent room. “I’m sure you all think you’re working very hard here. Some of you might even think you’re doing it well.”
I let the silence stretch as I scan their anxious faces. Isaac stands beside me, not moving an inch, still searching for her because he knows I want her.
“I’m here to tell you that you’re not,” I say brightly.
There are plenty of crestfallen faces—lips pressed into thin lines, eyes dropping to keyboards, shoulders slumping as if I’ve physically pushed them down.
Some faces flush with anger, jaws clenching and scent turning sharp in the air. But scattered among them, I spot a few determined expressions—a glint in their eyes that dares me to underestimate them.
Those are the ones I’m looking for—the ones who want to be here.
“You might’ve seen me around over the last few months, but it’s now time for your reckoning. I’m Evander Whitmore, and this is Isaac Reid. I’m the CEO of Optimore Advisory, and I decide who survives this programme and who doesn’t.”
Isaac nudges me ever so discreetly, and I tighten my smile, fully aware of what he’s trying to tell me. Apparently, I’m being too harsh.
I genuinely don’t care.
This programme has been coddled for too long. This is a three-year graduate programme, not a babysitting service.
And honestly, I’m pissed that she’s somehow managed to stay out of sight when I’ve been looking for her. We were assured every trainee would be present, and yet somehow, she’s missing.
Spilling my coffee was one thing. The lack of respect afterwards was another.
And now to evade a mandatory meeting when I specifically reminded her that it was going to occur?
I’m pissed.
Isaac shifts his weight beside me, and I glance at him, catching the faintest twitch of a muscle in his jaw. He’s annoyed, but I know him well enough to spot the anticipation underneath it.
“I need three of you,” I announce, watching as the energy in the room shifts from fear into wary intrigue. “Over the next few weeks, Isaac and I will be sitting in on meetings, reviewing your work, figuring out the entire department so that we can make our assessments.”
A hand goes up, almost tentatively, and I nod for them to speak.
“What do you need three of us for?”
“I want a list of every campaign in the last six months, every client complaint, every single mistake that hasn’t been properly documented, and every single internal issue that may not have been reported.
” I pause, making sure my words sink in.
“And I want to know who was stupid enough to think they could hide them.”
The colour drains from several faces. Good. Fear makes people honest.
“You, dark hair with the pale blue blouse,” Isaac calls. The woman looks around before rising to her feet. A beta, clearly. “You in the back—Grandpa.”
An older man—barely five years older than us but ancient by graduate programme standards—rolls his eyes and confidently strides forward. There are a few muffled snickers.
Hm. Older alpha. Interesting.
“And you, over there. Blonde hair, yellow dress,” Isaac adds, gesturing to a young girl. I hold in my frown. Isaac knows his shit, but she’s a very strange choice.
Another beta. One trying far too hard to imitate an omega and failing in a way my instincts hate.
“Can someone point us to a spare room so we can—”
“There’s a small office room here. It’s unused, so it should work,” the perky blonde beta says, confidently moving towards the room she’s gesturing to.
I glance around the bullpen, noticing more than one glare aimed her way, and I’m truly curious about why Isaac selected her.
She thinks she’s a shark, but she’s all paper teeth and cheap intimidation tactics—a girl who is all talk but collapses under real scrutiny.
“Perfect. You three with me, the rest of you, make sure your shit is in order.”
I follow the trio over to an office, and the blonde is right—it’s small, but we can manage. The desk is gorgeous mahogany, but as I approach, a sharp acidic synthetic scent hits the back of my throat hard enough to make my glands recoil.
When I brush past the blonde, it hits me like a punch to the face—that same rancid scent clinging to her skin, unmistakable and revolting. My jaw clenches involuntarily.
I instinctively recoil, my nose wrinkling at the vile scent.
“Everything all right, sir?” the blonde asks, blinking up at me with a practiced innocence that instantly sets my teeth on edge.
“Fine,” I lie, gesturing for them all to take seats while trying not to choke on the scent.
She’s a beta drenched in synthetic omega pheromones. Her end goal, I have no fucking idea, but something about her is dangerous.
Unmated and unattached betas do this often—a cheap imitation I’ve tolerated in the past. Hell, I’ve preferred it before. But something about this particular imitation makes my skin crawl.
I’ve spent years avoiding omegas. Until I find mine, they’ve always felt too dangerous to touch and too permanent to risk.
Too easy to want.
So, I’ve settled for the closest thing, all while a voice in the back of my mind whispers that I’m cheating myself, that somewhere mine is waiting, and I’m settling for something fake.
Seeing it now—really seeing it for what it was—makes my skin crawl.
It’s wrong. Artificial. It’s disgusting. It’s… like someone dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over my head, and suddenly, all my past excuses seem pathetic.
“Each of you were identified for a reason,” Isaac says, leaning against the closed door. “You’re all integral to the team.”
Isaac scans the cohort with practiced precision. I settle into the desk chair, putting as much distance between myself and the blonde as I can without making it obvious.
The alpha male—“Grandpa”—sits with easy confidence, while the dark-haired woman fidgets in her seat. It seems it’s not nerves but impatience.
Isaac’s gaze moves between them, sharp and measured.
“You,” he says, nodding to the woman in the blue blouse.
She sits ramrod straight, dark hair scraped into a severe bun, with the permanent exhausted look of someone carrying half the department on her shoulders.
“Keep your head down. Usually means you’re the one doing the work while everyone else talks about doing it. ”
Her lips part slightly, but she doesn’t argue.