Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Luca’s POV
I did not expect to see her…here. Of all places. And of all things, planning Elena’s wedding.
Leila’s face had rooted itself in the deepest part of my mind, haunting me like a ghost that had clawed her way back into reality. Except this time, she wasn’t just a memory. She was real. Tangible. Dangerously so.
I hadn’t been able to think straight since seeing her.
Even after she left Moreau Estate, my mind was in a haze.
Elena had assaulted me with pointed questions and her wide-eyed assumptions that my sudden appearance meant I was finally invested in the damn circus of a wedding.
Apparently, she’d mistaken my presence for participation.
I’d left that estate burning with a heat I couldn’t extinguish. My wolf was now alive and pacing. Growling, even.
Fucking traitor.
Where was this loyalty when I needed him to back me? When I fought like hell to move the fuck on—tried everything to scrape Leila out of my system, to forget the woman who lied to my face, stole from my company, and fucked another man while swearing no man had ever made her feel as good as I did.
I tore myself apart to reject her. To do the right thing. To kill the bond before it destroyed me. And he—my wolf—just went silent. Curled up like some grieving animal while I carried the weight of her betrayal alone.
And now, after years of silence, he wanted to run back to her? Like nothing happened? Like she hadn’t burned us both?
I drove home instead of to the office. Didn’t bother with the bar. I didn’t think alcohol could numb the ache I was feeling.
I hated how clearly I remembered the way her breath hitched in that bathroom. The look in her eyes when she saw me again, like she was the one who had a right to be shocked.
I loathed that she still had that power over me. That I woke up hard, angry, and aching, jerking off to the memory of a moan I should’ve forgotten five years ago.
Goddamn her.
She’d invaded all my senses, even my wolf.
Disrupted my morning routine, threw off my workflow, hijacked every damn process I relied on to function.
And even now, sitting in a boardroom with a full presentation underway, I was barely present.
My fingers curled tight against the armrest, jaw clenched as her face flickered in my thoughts like a light I couldn’t turn off.
The sound of clapping snapped me out of my Leila-infested thoughts, yanking me back into the sterilized chill of the boardroom.
I blinked, only half aware of the people around me as I dragged my attention from the curve of Leila’s full lips to the screen at the front of the room, where the last slide of a disastrous presentation still lingered in bold Comic Sans reading, “Tech-tastic Living: The Future is Now!”
What the hell?
Around the table, my executive team clapped like programmed seals, maybe out of fear, maybe because they’d stopped thinking for themselves. Either way, it increased my annoyance. Tory, the marketing team lead, beamed nervously, like a student proud to turn in an assignment she didn’t understand.
My expression must have spoken volumes, because the clapping died down. Silence dropped over the room.
I leaned back in my chair, fixing my gaze on Tory. “Is that all of it?”
“Y–yes, Mr. Vaughn,” she said, voice pitched lower than usual, her eyes suddenly fixed on the floor.
I kept my tone calm, but clipped. “Remind me, Tory…what was the assignment?”
She blinked. “I—I…Mr. Vaughn—”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
That snapped the words right out of her mouth. “We were tasked with crafting a forward-facing campaign to introduce our next gen smart interior suite to luxury real estate developers and hotel investors.”
I gave a small, tight nod. “And you believe this—‘Tech-tastic Living’—is a suitable reflection of our brand?”
“Well…” she fumbled. “We thought that a, um, more…playful tone might attract a younger demographic—”
“A demographic,” I cut in coldly, “that doesn’t own property. Much less penthouses fitted with biometric lighting, thermal modulating furniture, and AI integrated mood panels.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it.
Good. Because there was no defending this crap.
I stood sharply, the chair scraping loudly behind me.
“Next time you want to impress me,” I said, voice low, controlled, “don’t show me a cartoon butler named Clive adjusting someone’s couch temperature. Show me market segments, real behavioral data, and a launch plan that doesn’t include me dancing on TikTok.”
I adjusted my cuffs, settling my gaze on every one of them as I spoke. “Meeting adjourned until tomorrow. And if you cannot come up with something befitting of the Vaughn brand, prepare to lose your jobs.”
I stormed back into my office and made a beeline for the vodka. I downed a full glass, the alcohol scorching down my throat like fire. But it didn’t offer me a shred of relief. If anything, it only simmered in the anger that had been bubbling beneath my skin.
I shouldn’t still want her. Not this badly. Not after what she did. After how she betrayed me. She’d cheated. Let another fucking man put his cock in her.
I threw back another shot. Like all the others, it offered no comfort. My wolf was just as unhinged as I was—pacing, restless, wild. I wanted to know where Leila was. Right now. This minute. I wanted to go to her and pour every ounce of this fury, this helpless craving, into every kiss I gave her.
I collapsed onto the sofa, allowing my head to fall back against the cushion with a dull thud.
The door swung open.
“Damn, Luca. You look like shit,” Charles said flatly, announcing his presence.
Charles was my Beta. My second in command. The closest thing I had to a best friend, and the only man on this earth I could trust.
I yanked at the loose tie around my neck and ripped the damn thing off. “Thanks for stating the obvious.”
“I heard you ripped into the marketing team,” Charles said, dropping a file on my desk.
“They’re lucky they still have their jobs. Might not by tomorrow.”
I stood and crossed the room, grabbing the file he brought.
“Security details from the last sweep,” he said as I flipped it open. “Pack territory is marked in green. Human side in red. Neutral zone’s yellow.”
Even with the pages in front of me, my brain wasn’t registering a thing. I slammed the folder shut and tossed it back on the desk.
Charles gave me a look. One of those cautious, quiet assessments that always preceded him prying. “What’s going on with you, man?”
I paced toward the floor to ceiling windows and stared out at the city. And like it had been doing all damn day, my mind wandered to her—pinned against this very window, my hands on her hips, her breath fogging the glass.
I remembered that day like it had just happened.
She’d stormed into my office with blazing eyes and a tongue sharp enough to cut flesh.
All because I’d told her to redo the presentation—for the third time.
Not because it wasn’t perfect. It was. I just liked riling her up.
Watching her snap, watching that fire ignite in her.
It turned me on more than it should’ve. And that afternoon? It snapped something in me.
I had kissed her like I owned her. Tasted every inch of her skin. Pressed her up against this very window, and had been ready to take her right here, right then, had we not been interrupted by a knock on my door.
But that had been the day I realized I couldn’t stay away from that woman. I’d been so irritated with Victor and everyone else for the rest of the day. I had been so restless and uneasy I had asked Charles to look up her home address, then stormed to her house.
My eyes fluttered close as I recalled the moment I’d been inside her for the first time, the moment I realized that she was a virgin, and she’d honored me with the opportunity to be her first. She was so tight, so warm, like heaven wrapped in sin.
Just thinking about it now made my cock twitch in my pants.
I’d never felt so completely undone, so consumed, like I was the first and only man meant to touch her in that way.
Even back then, I think some part of me knew. Not in my head—but in my bones. In the way my body reacted to hers like gravity had changed direction.
She wasn’t just another woman. She was mine. Meant for me in a way I didn’t yet have words for.
Fuck.
I ran a hand through my hair, my fingers tightening in frustration. No matter how hard I tried, I was never able to get enough of Leila.
And these last twelve hours had made one thing agonizingly clear: I’d never been able to get over her either.
I let out a deep sigh and turned back to Charles, who was still waiting. Then I dropped into my seat.
“I saw her,” I said, after a long stretch of silence.
He didn’t have to ask who. There was only one woman who had ever broken me like this. Only one who had driven me halfway to madness.
“Shit.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Shit.”
Charles sat down across from me. “And?” he probed. “Where did you see her? How? I mean, you searched all of Manhattan back then and came up with nothing. Did she just, what, reappear?”
“She was in the Bronx,” I said. “At the Moreau Estate.”
His brows furrowed. “Why the hell would Leila be at the Moreau Estate?”
“Because she’s the wedding planner,” I muttered, “for my wedding. With Elena Moreau.”
His eyes went wide. “No way.”
“Trust me, man. It’s fucked up. But it’s real.”
Charles shook his head. “The Moon Goddess really does have a sick sense of humor, doesn’t she?”
I rolled my eyes but said nothing.
“Does Elena know?”
“No.”
“So what—you just sat through a meeting together and Elena didn’t notice a thing? You’re barely holding it together right now.”