Trip

Dylan

The private jet was chilly, and so was Mr. Wolfe. He was sitting across from me, absorbed in his tasks. His gaze skimmed over his tablet, keen and intent, as if I were invisible.

I had anticipated quietness, but this was stifling.

Mr. Wolfe’s private jet was big and beautiful, far exceeding anything I had ever envisioned being in, yet it didn’t instill any comfort in me. The gleaming wood, leather seating, and tinted glass screamed authority and riches—two aspects that Mr. Wolfe had in spades.

I sank further into my seat, observing the clouds beyond. The metropolis below vanished as we ascended.

I wasn’t certain why I had come. A social gathering? A hunt in the forest? It wasn’t as though I fit into his world.

It was yet another trip that he had, and here I am, his capable personal assistant.

When the plane touched down, a sleek black vehicle awaited us. I followed Mr. Wolfe, clutching the documents he had given me earlier. He hadn’t uttered a word to me since we boarded the plane.

Mr. Wolfe appeared relaxed, yet something in the manner he gazed out the window suggested otherwise. His body remained motionless, but I could sense his intensity.

“Stay nearby,” he stated abruptly, his tone low and gravelly, like a directive that thickened the air. “Don’t wander away. ”

His words enveloped me, drawing me in. I wasn’t certain what more to say, so I murmured, “Yes, sir. ” My breath caught in my throat.

I truly was uncertain what to say next. Mr. Wolfe had his weird moments with me….

The manor was massive, standing prominently against the extensive woods behind it. Ivory walls, arched windows, and towering gates—it resembled a scene from a film.

Individuals filled the courtyard, conversing, laughing, and sipping beverages. They were all flawlessly attired, radiating the same affluence and assurance as Mr. Wolfe.

I lagged behind him, attempting not to feel overly conspicuous.

“Tristan! ” someone shouted.

A group of alphas approached us, all tall and broad-shouldered. Their muscles were robust, their strides heavy yet self-assured.

Their features were angular, with strong jaws and wide smiles, radiating an aura of dominance. One had dark hair, cropped short, his eyes glimmering with mirth.

Another had rough stubble, his grin nearly too broad. The last bore a scar running down his cheek, which enhanced his intimidating appearance.

They welcomed Tristan with handshakes, their voices boisterous and relaxed, as if the world was theirs.

I remained silent, awaiting his introduction of me.

“This is Dylan,” Mr. Wolfe said, finally motioning toward me. “My assistant. ”

Their gazes shifted to me.

“A beta?” one of them remarked, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t expect you’d bring someone like him, Tristan.”

Heat flooded my face. I managed a polite smile, my fingers tightening around the files I held.

Another alpha chuckled, his tone derisive. “What happened to bringing omegas? Betas don’t precisely turn heads, do they?”

My chest constricted, yet I maintained my expression.

“Nevertheless,” the alpha proceeded, smiling. “Betas can be entertaining too, right? Perhaps not as thrilling, but—”

“That’s quite enough,” Mr. Wolfe interjected firmly, interrupting him.

The amusement ceased immediately. Mr. Wolfe’s voice was composed, yet there was a sharpness to it.

“Dylan is my assistant,” he stated icily. “Please show some respect. ”

The alphas shared looks but remained silent.

Mr. Wolfe continued walking, and I trailed behind, my face still flushed.

That night, I unpacked in the small room that had been assigned to me. It may not have been as opulent as the rest of the manor, but it was cozy. The window faced the forest, the trees dark and motionless under the moonlight.

I perched on the edge of the bed, attempting to move past the events of the day.

The way Mr. Wolfe’s friends had referred to me—it wasn't unfamiliar. I had grown accustomed to being regarded as lesser as a beta, yet it still hurt.

I exhaled deeply, running my fingers through my hair.

My phone vibrated on the nightstand.

“Come to my room. ”

I looked at the message, contemplating whether to act as if I hadn’t seen it.

However, ignoring Mr. Wolfe wasn’t a possibility.

Upon knocking on his door, he opened it without delay.

“Come in,” he instructed, stepping aside.

I walked in cautiously. His room was more spacious than mine, with a balcony that overlooked the courtyard. The fragrance of fresh soap lingered in the atmosphere.

Mr. Wolfe was dressed in a robe, his hair damp from a shower.

“What do you require?” I inquired, attempting to keep my voice steady, though it came out softer than I anticipated.

“A massage,” he replied plainly, his tone low, like a whisper intended solely for me.

I blinked. “A massage? ”

“Yes. ”

I hesitated, uncertain if I had heard him correctly, or if this was something entirely different.

“Is there an issue?” he asked, his voice smooth and calm, yet there was an intensity within it—a tension that made my skin tingle.

“No,” I quickly responded, my breath hitching. “Certainly not. ”

I stepped closer, my hands trembling slightly as I reached for him. His shoulders were broad, tense beneath the fabric of his shirt. The muscles were tight, strained from pressure, but I could sense the warmth of his body beneath it, inviting and reassuring.

My palms glided over his skin, slow and intentional. He didn’t react initially, his breathing deep and even. But then, something shifted.

The atmosphere between us became denser, the silence extending beyond what felt normal. I could perceive his body beneath my hands, the tautness of it, but it was no longer solely due to stress. It felt like something deeper, something more thicker.

I hesitated, my hands placed just above his shoulders. My heart raced.

I recognized this change. His tension had evolved beyond just his tiredness and an innocent massage. I felt my hand slipping lower, lower, and then my hands accidentally slipped, brushing his… well arousal.

Jesus Christ.

I could feel it—feel him. He was aware.

“Dylan,” he stated, his tone now deeper, low and heavy, akin to honey. “That is enough. ”

I stopped in my tracks, ensnared in the strain that vibrated between us. His voice caused my breathing to falter, and I quickly took a step back, anxiously rubbing my hands on my trousers.

“Leave,” he said without looking at me.

I didn’t argue. I grabbed my things and left, closing the door behind me as quickly as I could.

Back in my room, I collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

My hands still tingled from touching him.

What was I doing?

This wasn’t my job. This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Tristan Wolfe.

The perfect alpha.

And me?

I was just his assistant.