Chapter 3 Desperation

(Layla)

I clutched my necklace tighter. Abigail’s gaze locked onto it, her thin, dark eyebrows rising.

“That pattern…” She stepped closer, releasing Mason’s hand. “Those markings look exactly like the ceremonial pieces in my pack’s vault.”

Mason glanced at it dismissively. “Must be a cheap copy.”

“But look at those engravings,” Abigail insisted. “The craftsmanship is similar to—”

“Abigail, dear,” Mason cut in. “Why don’t you browse the displays? I need to speak with Layla privately.”

He gripped my arm, pulling me toward a small office at the back. The clerk opened his mouth to protest but Mason silenced him with a glare.

“Let go of me,” I snapped, yanking free once we were inside.

Mason pulled an envelope from his jacket. “Your resignation is approved.”

“Give it to me.”

“Not so fast.” He dangled it just out of reach. “I have a proposition first.”

I crossed my arms. “Not interested.”

“Your mother’s treatments.” Mason stepped closer. “I could take care of everything. The bills, the specialists, all of it.”

“In exchange for what?”

His fingers brushed my cheek. I jerked away.

“Keep seeing me,” he murmured. “In private. No one needs to know.”

“You want me to be your mistress?” Bile rose in my throat.

“Be practical, Layla. You need money. I need you.”

He moved to kiss me, but my leg shot up, connecting hard with his groin. Mason stumbled backward, face contorting in shock and fury.

“Go to hell,” I snarled, snatching the envelope from his slack grip.

I grabbed my necklace off the counter and stormed out, ignoring Abigail calling after me.

Two days later, I sat in the waiting room of Red Moon Corporation. My hands twisted in my lap as other applicants filed in and out.

“Miss Wilkes?” A secretary beckoned me inside.

The interview started well. The department head seemed impressed by my experience—until she opened my file.

“I see you worked for Alpha Mason.” Her smile vanished. “As his Beta.”

“Yes, but—”

“I’m afraid the position has been filled.” She closed my file with a snap. “Good day.”

The next interview went worse. I barely made it through the door of Crescent Technologies before security escorted me out.

“We don’t hire pack rejects,” the guard sneered.

My third attempt was at Luna Industries. The receptionist took one look at my application and laughed.

“Save yourself the trouble, honey. No one’s going to hire Mason’s leftovers.”

Yesterday’s rejections still stung as I walked into Silver Pack Trading for my fourth interview. The lobby was lined with marble and chrome. A receptionist peered at me over designer glasses.

“Miss Wilkes? Take a seat.”

I perched on the edge of a leather chair, watching other applicants stride confidently past. Each one emerged from the interview room smiling.

Finally, my turn came. The interviewer, a sharp-faced woman in a blazer, barely looked up from my resume.

“Quite impressive credentials,” she said. “Top of your class, five years as Beta…” Her eyes narrowed. “For Alpha Mason’s pack.”

My stomach dropped. “Yes, but—”

“Did you think we wouldn’t check references?” She slammed my file shut. “We don’t hire troublemakers.”

“Troublemakers?” I leaned forward. “What exactly did Alpha Mason tell you?”

“That’s confidential. Security!”

Two guards immediately appeared beside my chair.

“Wait!” I struggled as they grabbed my arms. “At least let me explain—”

“Get her out,” the interviewer ordered. “And don’t let her back in.”

They dragged me toward the exit, my boots scraping the marble floor.

“My purse!” I twisted in their grip. “I need my—”

One guard thrust it at me roughly. I lost my balance, toppling sideways. The purse flew from my hands.

Everything scattered across the floor—lipstick rolling under a chair, keys skittering across marble, papers fluttering like dead leaves.

“You have thirty seconds to collect your things,” the guard growled.

Red-faced, I crawled around gathering my belongings. Other applicants stared and whispered.

A white rectangle caught my eye, half-hidden under a potted plant. I reached for it.

Samuel’s business card.

I remembered his words from that night: “Call if you need anything. Money, protection—whatever.”

“Time’s up,” the guard barked.

I shoved everything into my purse. Everything but the card digging hard into my palm.

“Out,” he ordered, pointing at the door. “Before we call the police.”

I stumbled outside, my cheeks flaming. Four interviews, four humiliating rejections. Mason’s influence reached further than I’d imagined.

The card seemed to dig harder into my hand, but I couldn’t put it away. I couldn't stop looking at it.

Getting involved with Samuel again would only pour gasoline on this dumpster fire, but as I stared at his elegant black lettering, one thought kept circling: What other choice did I have?

“Miss!” The guard stuck his head out. “Leave the premises immediately!”

I clutched the card tighter, backing away from the building. Samuel had used me and tossed me aside, but right now, he might be my only hope.