Page 1 of Rivals

Chapter one

Nick

Nick glared at the towering stack of reports like they had personally wronged him. Maybe they had. It felt like they were breeding when he wasn’t looking. He drummed his fingers against the desk, the staccato beat of a man teetering on the edge of an existential crisis. Overhead, the fluorescent lights buzzed like a judgmental aunt, casting a soul-sucking glow over the endless wasteland of cubicles.

"Hey Nick, got those quarterly numbers ready?" Sarah from accounting leaned against his cubicle wall, her smile way too bright for a Monday morning.

"Almost done." He flashed his signature smirk, a practiced shield that never quite reached his eyes. "Just putting the finishing touches on this riveting analysis of paper clip consumption."

"Always the comedian." She lingered, fidgeting with her pearl necklace. "Listen, a few of us are grabbing drinks after work…"

"Can't." The word came out sharper than intended. Nick softened his tone, maintaining the careful distance he'd cultivated. "Deadlines. You know how it is."

"Right. Of course." Her disappointment was palpable, but Nick kept his eyes fixed on his monitor.

Once she left, he slumped in his chair, the façade cracking just enough to reveal the exhaustion underneath.

Usually it would have been just a lie. Another invitation deflected, another potential connection severed before it could take root. Safer that way. Easier.

But tonight, hedidhave something planned. Something that had required a lot of long nights, deep in thought. Pros and cons columns. Risk and reward.

Nick had finally bet on risk, needing that reward.

Tonight, he'd find out if he'd chosen correctly.

The spreadsheet before him blurred into meaningless columns of data. Nick rubbed his temples. The office walls seemed to close in, suffocating in their beige mediocrity. Every keystroke felt like another nail in his professional coffin.

"Meeting in five, everyone!" His supervisor's voice carried across the floor.

Nick's jaw clenched. Another hour of nodding and pretending to care about market projections while his soul died a little more. He straightened his tie—a noose by any other name—and gathered his materials. The mask slipped back into place, his features arranging themselves into practiced indifference.

"Ready to dazzle them with your insights?" Sarah asked as she passed.

"Always. Someone has to keep everyone awake during these things."

She smirked, tapping her pen against the file in her hand. "Good luck with that."

Nick exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as he stepped toward the glass-walled conference room. The low hum of conversation, the rhythmic tapping of keyboards, the occasional chime of an email notification—just another day in corporate purgatory. He adjusted his grip on his notes, mentally preparing for another hour of strategic boredom.

Then the air shifted.

The relentless buzz of the office faded as Viktor strode in, looking like he’d just stepped out of a high-end cologne ad—if cologne ads featured insufferable werewolves with stupidly perfect jawlines.

Nick’s breath hitched—probably just his body rebelling against the stale office air. Or maybe a delayed allergic reaction to corporate bullshit. It certainly wasn’t because Viktor had entered the room like he owned the place, all broad shoulders and calculated ease, his suit annoyingly well-fitted, as if even the fabric had given up resisting him.

The fluorescent lights, which always made Nick look half-dead, somehow decided to play favorites, casting sharp, dramatic shadows across Viktor’s face. Because of course they did. Even the damn lighting had fallen for his act.

Nick scowled. Fantastic. As if meetings weren’t painful enough without having to endure Viktor’s smug existence on top of everything else.

Viktor’s accent rolled through the room like distant thunder—deep, smooth, and just smug enough to be irritating. “We have much to discuss, yes?”

The words were crisp, each syllable wrapped in that rich Russian lilt that Nick definitely didn’t find distracting. And because the universe clearly hated him, Viktor’s suit only made things worse—sharp lines and expensive fabric doing absolutely nothing to disguise the raw power underneath. If anything, the whole civilized businessman look just made him seem moredangerous, like a wolf humoring the idea of wearing sheep’s clothing before tearing it off.

Nick exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax his grip on his pen. It wasn’t like Viktor was about to lunge across the table and sink his teeth into him. Werewolves were civilized these days. Mostly. Their kind had their little rules, their polite smiles, their tightly leashed instincts, all carefully packaged to avoid scaring the fragile humans.

Not that Nick considered himself fragile. He got by just fine in a world where he’d always be a few steps lower on the food chain. He was quick, clever, and had perfected the art of looking unimpressed, which was basically a survival skill when surrounded by creatures who could bench-press a sedan.

Sure, he lacked the raw presence, the ridiculous strength, the way they moved like their bodies had been custom-built for the hunt—but who needed that? Nick had wit, charm, and a distinct lack of fleas. He was doing just fine, thanks.

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