I lost control before I even understood why.
It happened the moment I stepped into his office.
The reaction came fast and sharp, cutting through years of discipline in a way that didn't make sense. My breathing hitched, just once, but it was enough. Heat followed immediately, low and unwelcome, spreading through my body with a precision that felt almost deliberate.
I kept walking.
Stopping would have made it obvious.
Charles Damien didn't look up at first. He was seated behind his desk, focused on the document in front of him, posture relaxed in a way that suggested complete ownership of the space. The room felt aligned around him, controlled without effort, every detail placed exactly where it belonged.
I reached the chair in front of him and stopped.
The reaction didn't fade.
It intensified.
My fingers tightened slightly at my sides as I forced my breathing back into something steady. The suppressants were still working, but not well enough. The realization settled quietly, but it didn't change anything.
I had come too far to hesitate now.
Five years of planning didn't get abandoned because my body decided to react at the wrong moment.
He finished the page he was reading before lifting his gaze.
The moment his eyes settled on me, the pressure sharpened.
There was nothing careless in the way he looked at people. His attention moved slowly, deliberately, taking in details without rushing past them. It wasn't curiosity. It was assessment.
In that first glance, he registered everything that mattered.
My posture.
My expression.
The slight delay in my breathing that I had already corrected.
And something else.
I could feel it in the way his gaze held just a fraction longer than necessary.
"Eric Hart."
His voice was even, controlled, but it carried weight. The sound of it sent another pulse of heat through me, sharper this time, strong enough to make my jaw tighten before I forced the reaction down.
"Yes, Mr. Damien."
He leaned back slightly in his chair, still watching me.
"You're early."
"I prefer not to be late."
"Most people say that," he replied. "Few mean it."
I didn't respond to that.
There was no advantage in it.
He held my gaze for another moment, then closed the file in front of him and set it aside.
"You're aware this position doesn't follow standard structure."
"I am."
"And you still applied."
"Yes."
There was a brief pause.
Not empty.
Measured.
"Why?"
The question was direct, but not aggressive. It didn't need to be.
Because you destroyed my father, and I've spent five years building a way into your life.
"I work better in environments where decisions are made quickly," I said instead. "This seemed like one of them."
A faint shift touched his expression.
Not approval.
Not yet.
"You've done your research."
"I make sure I understand where I'm going."
His gaze didn't move away from mine.
"That implies you think you understand this place."
"I understand enough."
"Enough for what?"
The question landed quietly.
I didn't hesitate this time.
"To be useful."
Another pause.
This one lasted longer.
He stood.
The movement changed the room immediately.
He wasn't taller than I expected.
He was closer.
The difference mattered.
He stepped around the desk without rushing, closing the distance in a way that didn't feel aggressive but wasn't passive either. The air shifted as he approached, the Alpha presence that had unsettled me from the moment I entered sharpening with proximity.
My body reacted again.
Stronger.
Faster.
I held still.
He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him without contact. His gaze moved over me once more, slower this time, more precise.
"You're not nervous," he said.
It wasn't a question.
"I don't see the benefit in it."
"Most people do."
"I'm not most people."
That earned a slight change in his expression.
Interest.
Brief.
But there.
His hand lifted without warning.
He caught my chin lightly between his fingers, tilting my face up just enough to adjust the angle of my gaze. The contact was controlled, not forceful, but the effect hit immediately. Heat surged again, sharper than before, dragging a response out of me that I had to suppress instantly before it reached my expression.
His thumb brushed once against my lower lip.
It was a small movement.
It shouldn't have mattered.
It did.
My breath shifted.
Just slightly.
His eyes didn't miss it.
There was no reaction in his expression.
Only confirmation.
"You don't react like a Beta," he said quietly.
My pulse jumped hard enough to hurt.
I didn't pull away.
I didn't answer.
He held my gaze for a second longer, then released me and stepped back.
The loss of contact registered immediately, which was a problem I refused to acknowledge.
He turned, pressing the intercom on his desk without breaking rhythm.
"Cancel the remaining interviews."
A voice answered immediately. "Yes, sir."
He released the button and looked at me again.
"You start tomorrow."
The words landed without hesitation.
I studied him for a moment before responding.
"You're making that decision quickly."
"I don't need more time."
"And if I'm not what you expect?"
His gaze didn't shift.
"Then I'll deal with it."
There was no uncertainty in the answer.
I reached for the card he slid across the desk, taking it without letting my hand linger against his.
"Understood."
I turned before the reaction in my body had the chance to betray me again.
The door closed behind me with a soft click.
I kept my pace steady as I walked down the corridor, each step controlled, each movement deliberate. The pressure in my chest didn't ease until I reached the elevator, and even then, it didn't disappear completely.
The doors closed.
I exhaled slowly.
The reflection staring back at me in the mirrored wall looked composed. Controlled. Exactly what it needed to be.
But the reaction was still there.
Lingering.
Unwanted.
Five years of planning had brought me here.
Five years of control had held until this moment.
And now, after less than ten minutes in the same room as him, something had already shifted.
That wasn't part of the plan.
Neither was the fact that he had noticed.
And worse—
He hadn't said anything about it.