“Mr. Hells.”

Her voice slices through the moment like a knife, sharp and detached.

I blink, snapping out of whatever spell she just put me under.

Mr. Hells?

Like I’m a stranger.Like she doesn’t know my first name. Like she doesn’t care.

I tighten my jaw. “You are my new secretary.”

“That’s correct,” she replies smoothly, emotionless. “I assume you received the memo.”

The memo I didn’t read properly.

Fuck.

My wolf paces restlessly, growling, demanding I move closer.

Touch her. Make her look at us. Make her remember.

How easy would it be to stand up, close the distance, and kiss her? To feel those curves under my hands again, to tilt her chin and taste the mouth that once moaned my name?

I exhale sharply, shoving the thoughts away. Control. Focus.

But my mind keeps whispering her name.

Lila.Lila. Lila.

Goddess, she looks beautiful. Infuriatingly stunning. The kind of stunning that sneaks up on you, knocks the breath out of your lungs, and leaves you wondering whether you’ve been blind for a century.

Her hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail, exposing the graceful curve of her neck—an unintentional invitation my wolf doesn’t fail to notice. The blue windowpane blouse fits her snugly, accentuating every line on her body. It’s tucked into a black skirt that hugs her hips just right.

And those black heels?

Damn those heels.

They add to her confidence, making her look taller and fucking sexy.

I run a hand through my hair, forcing myself to stay grounded.

I lift my eyes to hers, searching for something…anything.

But all I find is disdain.

Still, I try. I have to try.

“Lila…about what happened in the past, I—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Her voice is calm. Unshaken.

“You said it yourself, Mr. Hells. It’s the past, and it’s best left there. I’m here to work, nothing else.”

I swear I feel my stomach drop.

I could write her a poem of apologies, spell my guilt into words, strip myself of every ounce of pride and lay it at her feet, and she would toss it out the window without a second thought.