The soft chime of a notification pulled Clara out of her dreams.
Blinking against the morning light, she groaned, fumbling for her phone on the bedside table. The screen glowed: an unread email.
Her heart skipped.
She squinted at the name in bold:
"Marlowe Industries – Interview Invitation."
For a second, she just stared. Then she sat upright so fast the blanket slid off her lap.
Her hands trembled as she opened the mail.
Dear Miss Clara Jean,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been shortlisted for an interview for the position of Intern – Sales Department at Marlowe Industries.
Date: Tomorrow, 10:00 AM.
Venue: Marlowe Headquarters, Woodsridge.
We look forward to meeting you.
Clara's jaw dropped. She reread the lines again. And again.
Then, with a gasp that was half a laugh, she jumped out of bed.
"Aunt May!" she shouted, nearly tripping over the blanket as she dashed toward the door. "Aunt May, guess what!"
Downstairs, the scent of toast and butter filled the air. Aunt May turned, startled, a spatula still in her hand.
"What's all the noise so early?"
Clara waved her phone. "They called me! Marlowe Industries! They called me for an interview!"
Aunt May blinked. "What?"
"I got in!" Clara squealed. "Well, not in, but an interview! Aunt May, can you believe this?"
The older woman's lips parted, a dozen emotions flickering behind her eyes—surprise, joy, and something quieter… worry.
But when she saw the glow on Clara's face, she smiled anyway.
"That's wonderful, darling. Really wonderful."
Clara threw her arms around her aunt, laughing into her shoulder.
"I told you! I told you I'd try my best!"
"Of course you will." Aunt May chuckled softly. "Lucy would be so proud."
The mention of her mother's name made Clara pause for a heartbeat.
"I hope so," she murmured. Then her eyes brightened again. "I need to tell Sophie!"
She snatched up her phone and dialed before Aunt May could stop her.
---
"Wait—wait, what?" Sophie's voice almost cracked through the speaker.
"Marlowe Industries?"
"Yeah!" Clara beamed, pacing the small living room. "They called me for an interview tomorrow morning. Isn't it amazing? I can't believe it myself!"
There was silence on the other end for a moment—just a faint sound of breathing.
When Sophie finally spoke, her tone was cheerful.
"T-that's great, Clara! You totally deserve it!"
"You sound weird," Clara teased. "Aren't you happy for me?"
"I am!" Sophie said quickly. "Just—uh—surprised. Marlowe's pretty big. You sure you're ready?"
Clara laughed. "Of course I'm not ready! But I'll do my best."
Sophie chuckled weakly. "You always do."
Her hand gripped the edge of her desk, knuckles white.
Behind her calm voice, her wolf stirred uneasily. Marlowe Industries.
Out of all the companies she could go...
But she couldn't tell Clara that.
"Just promise me you'll be careful, okay?"
"Careful?" Clara laughed again. "Sophie, it's an interview, not a battlefield."
"Well, hope it's not..." Sophie muttered under her breath.
But she forced a smile into her voice. "You'll do amazing. Text me after, alright?"
"Promise!"
The call ended. Sophie leaned back in her chair, staring at her phone for a long time.
Then she whispered to no one, "Why her, of all people…"
---
The next morning dawned bright and cold.
Clara stood before her mirror, trying not to panic as she adjusted her blouse for the fifth time.
Her outfit was simple, a white collared shirt tucked neatly into a navy skirt, paired with low heels that made her feel both taller and terribly unsteady.
She clipped on her mother's old silver pendant. "For luck," Aunt May had said, pressing it into her palm that morning.
Now, under the soft gleam of daylight, it shimmered faintly against her collarbone.
"You look perfect," Aunt May said from the doorway, pride softening her voice.
Clara smiled nervously. "Perfectly terrified."
"Good. Means you care."
Clara laughed, grabbed her file, and headed out.
The cab ride felt both endless and too short. Fields faded into roads, roads into tall towers. The further they went, the smaller the world she knew became.
When the cab finally stopped, she blinked in awe.
Marlowe Industries.
The building rose like a monument of glass and silver against the edge of the forest, its mirrored surface reflecting the morning sky. The logo, an elegant M carved into steel—glimmered on the front gates.
She paid the driver, stepped out, and drew a deep breath. The air smelled faintly of pine and polish.
A faint hum of distant chatter filled the space around her as she approached the revolving doors.
Inside, the reception hall was breathtaking.
Polished marble floors gleamed under soft white light. A chandelier of interwoven glass spirals hung from the ceiling. Employees moved briskly in suits and badges, voices low but confident.
A giant screen displayed the company's achievements—"Innovating Futures," "Expanding Beyond Borders."
Clara swallowed. What am I even doing here?
The receptionist gave her a polite smile. "Miss Clara Jean? Please have a seat. The panel will call you soon."
Clara nodded and sat among other nervous candidates. Her fingers tapped the edge of her folder as minutes stretched into an hour.
When her name was finally called, she nearly jumped.
"Miss Clara Jean, Conference Room B."
---
The room smelled faintly of coffee. Three people sat behind a long table—two women and one man.
The first woman adjusted her glasses. "Please have a seat."
Clara nodded, trying not to trip as she sat down.
The questions came steadily—qualifications, communication skills, reasons for applying.
Clara answered as honestly as she could, her voice trembling only once or twice.
When her eyes met the man's, something about him felt different. Calm, observant, maybe even kind.
He gave a faint smile before asking, "You mentioned your mother worked with Marlowe once?"
Clara nodded. "Yes, sir. She always spoke highly of the place."
"Hmm." His eyes softened briefly before he scribbled something on his notepad.
That was Max. Though she didn't know it, he was studying her carefully—seeing her resemblance to another woman from long ago.
"Thank you, Miss Jean," the lady with glasses said at last. "We'll inform you soon."
Clara stood, bowed slightly, and turned toward the door. Her heart was pounding but lighter than before. She had done her best.
Then—she froze.
Across the hallway, near the elevator, stood a man in a black shirt.
His head tilted slightly, silver eyes glinting under the lights.
Her breath caught.
No. It can't be.
The elevator doors closed before she could take another look. The man was gone.
Clara shook her head, forcing a laugh.
"You're imagining things," she whispered. "He couldn't possibly be here."
Still, the image of those silver eyes lingered long after she walked out of the building.
---
That afternoon, Clara returned home exhausted but smiling.
"I think it went well," she told Aunt May, slumping onto the couch. "They were kind… and I didn't stutter too much."
Aunt May handed her a cup of tea. "I'm proud of you, dear. No matter what happens."
Clara nodded, taking a sip. "Thanks, Aunt May."
Her phone buzzed—a message from Sophie.
Did it go okay?
Tell me everything!
Clara laughed softly as she typed back.
It went great. I think I even impressed them a little.
Her world felt brighter, lighter. She didn't notice the storm already forming elsewhere.
---
Up in the topmost floor of Marlowe Industries, Ronan sat in his office, one hand pressed to his temple. The faint headache that had been gnawing him all morning returned tenfold.
He had sensed her. That scent he could never get wrong.
Draven stirred inside him, a low growl vibrating beneath his skin.
She shouldn't be here.
Ronan exhaled slowly. "Why are you here, Clara Jean…"
The door clicked. Max entered, file in hand. "You called, Alpha?"
Ronan's jaw tightened. "Interview results. Show me."
Max placed the folder on his desk. "It's already processed. Three selected. HR has sent confirmation emails."
Ronan flipped through the pages—then stopped.
Her name stared back at him.
Clara Jean – Intern, Sales Department.
Max looked at him surprised. When did he start checking the internship interviews?
Then he got the answer. It's because of her. Clara!
Ronan closed his eyes, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Of course."
Max hesitated. "Should I retract it?"
Ronan didn't answer right away. His fingers tightened on the file. "No. It's done."
He stood up and went towards the huge glass windows.
"But—" Max hesitated.
Draven's growl reverberated through the room, low and possessive.
"You can't just let her go," he rumbled inside Ronan's head. "She's ours. You felt it too."
Ronan clenched his fists, pacing near the wide glass wall. "That's exactly why she shouldn't be here," he channeled his thoughts. "She doesn't belong in this world, Draven. She doesn't even know what we are."
Draven snarled in defiance. "Then let her learn. Keep her close."
Ronan stopped pacing, his jaw tight, eyes darkening to molten silver. "And risk exposing everything?"
Silence crackled between them. Then, with a long exhale, Ronan pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Fine," he said at last, voice rough. "Let her stay. But if anything happens—"
Draven's deep chuckle rolled through his mind. "Nothing will. I'll be watching her… always."
He cut the link and started at Max.
"Let her join." His voice dropped, colder now.
"Keep an eye on her," he murmured. "But make sure she never finds out."
"Max bowed slightly. "Understood.
"If fate wants to play games, then let's see how far it goes." Ronan murmured to himself.
As the door closed, Ronan leaned back, his gaze distant.
Somewhere deep inside, something told him—this was only the beginning.