Chapter 8 #2
The weight settled on my shoulders like it always did—crushing but familiar. This wasn’t just about me. It was about the pack. But my wolf didn’t give a damn about alliances or quarterly reports. It wanted his Fated Mate. The woman who’d walked back into my world like a slow-burning catastrophe.
“Speaking of business,” my father said, shifting his gaze toward Victor, “how are the quarterly projections looking? The board meeting is next week.”
Victor straightened, clearing his throat.
“Revenue is up twelve percent from last quarter. But expenses have risen with the tech sector expansion. We’re looking at a net gain of about eight percent, which is within projected margins, but—”
“But not impressive,” my father cut in, cold and clean. “Eight percent won’t secure our place against the other packs. Brooklyn pulled a fifteen percent growth. In Staten Island, it was eighteen.”
I watched Victor’s jaw tense. His grip on the fork whitened.
“The investments will pay off long term,” he said through clenched teeth. “We can’t expect—”
“I don’t want excuses, Victor.” My father’s voice turned glacial. “Results matter. Performance matters. This is exactly why—despite you being older—I named Luca as my heir. Your wolf is weak. And clearly, so is your business acumen.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Mrs. Chen had quietly excused herself to the kitchen. She always knew when to vanish. She could sense the tension that clung to these family dinners like smoke.
Victor stared at his plate. His breathing was even, controlled—but his scent gave him away. Anger. Humiliation. Boiling beneath the surface.
“Perhaps it’s time I consider replacing you as CFO,” my father said, unbothered. “Find someone who can actually deliver the results this pack needs.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Victor bit out, jaw tight.
“We’ll see about that,” my father replied with finality.
Dinner continued in silence.
The only sound was the quiet scrape of my father’s cutlery, chewing without pause—unmoved by the fact that he’d just threatened to gut his own son’s future.
Victor didn’t touch his food. Neither did I. I’d lost my appetite.
I started counting the minutes. No one left the table until my father was finished eating. That was the rule.
“On a more pleasant note,” he said, tone suddenly lighter, “I have an announcement to make.”
I looked at him.
“I’ve decided to ask Jessica to marry me.”
Jessica—his secretary. A woman five years younger than me. She’d been warming his bed for the last six months. And now, apparently, she was going to be my stepmother.
I kept my expression neutral.
“Congratulations,” I said flatly.
Hopefully Jessica doesn’t turn out like my mother. Or like Leila. Traitors who left.
But Victor—Victor wasn’t so restrained.
His chair scraped back sharply as he stood.
“Are you fucking serious?”
“Victor!” My father warned, his voice low and cold.
“No, this is insane. You think you can just replace her? Mom’s been gone what—twelve years? And now you’re marrying some kind of gold-digging trash who’s barely older than your son?”
My father snapped, voice rising into a venomous pitch. “I can replace her with whoever the fuck I want! Your mother didn’t disappear, Victor, she walked out. She chose to leave. She abandoned you. That alone makes any woman better than her.”
The words hit like a blade. Even after all these years, it still made my blood boil. The woman I’d adored, trusted—loved—woke up one morning and decided I wasn’t worth staying for. She left us with the man she’d once called a monster. Left me with him. And nothing was ever the same.
“She’s using you,” Victor growled. “And you’re too blind to see it.”
He threw his napkin down. “You want me to be perfect. The perfect son. The perfect Vaughn. But all you do is shove your own imperfections in our faces!”
He stormed out. His footsteps thundered down the hallway, and a second later, the front door slammed behind him.
The sound reverberated through the dining room like a shot.
My father didn’t flinch. He was seething, though.
He’d always had a temper. That’s where Victor got it from.
And even though I didn’t care much whether Victor had just dug his own grave, I understood the reaction.
I, on the other hand, knew how to hide my temper—and channel it.
Mrs. Chen always said I took after my mother.
Calm. Composed. Calculating. But that always felt like an insult.
Being like the woman who walked out without a word? Yeah, that was never a compliment.
Our mother’s abandonment had changed all of us. Victor wore his pain like armor—loud, bitter, constantly braced for war.
I buried mine. Used it to build walls, sharpen control, turn silence into power.
My father turned to me, his gaze hard.
“I need to know you’re focused, Luca. As you just saw, your brother will never be capable of leading this pack. The Moreau deal is our future. Your future. It all depends on you making sure this wedding with Elena Moreau happens. Fast. No distractions.”
“I understand,” I said, jaw tight. “Everything is under control.”
But sitting there, under his scrutiny, I knew that was a lie.
Nothing was under control.
My wolf was growing more restless by the day.
It wanted to find Leila. To claim her. To understand why, after everything, she still lived under my skin. Despite knowing what she did. Despite knowing what was at stake.
Seeing her again had shifted something in me. And no amount of cold logic could shift it back.
The question was, what the hell was I going to do about it?