Waiting just beyond the revolving doors were two sleek black cars, engines idling softly. A small cluster of sharply dressed figures stood beside the vehicles—her escort for the next phase. Among them stood Alex Wolf.
He stood tall and still, the suit had been changed into a new one. His dark eyes scanned the crowd with cool precision, but they didn't flicker toward Sophie. It was the second time she'd seen him—close enough to recognize the faint Asiatic slope of his cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw—but he made no sign that he remembered her presence.
Sophie's heart quickened, she had to stop herself to refer to him as 'the unknown man' he had a name and with a swirl of nerves mixing with a fierce need to stay composed she decided to call him Wolf. She adjusted her bag, squared her shoulders, and stepped forward deliberately.
Grant Li appeared beside her, younger and more relaxed than she'd expected, offering a brief nod. "This way."
The team of lawyers moved ahead toward the larger vehicle, their conversation a low murmur of clipped voices and occasional sharp exchanges. Sophie caught fragments—points of strategy, legal jargon, tension heavy enough to thicken the air.
Alex Wolf held the door open to a sleek, black sedan. "In," he said, voice low but without invitation.
Sophie slid inside the car, the space tight. The faint scent of leather and subtle cologne filled the confined cabin. She sat quietly, hands folded in her lap. Alex moved around the car, opened the door and sat beside her without saying anything. Just portraying a cold, hard and calculating expression. She had her eyes fixed on the window looking up at the enormous building that was Wolf Industries.
Behind them, the second car pulled away, carrying the lawyers leaving Mr. Grant Li to watch them go. Sophie's mind raced—an uneasy mix of excitement and uncertainty—and the silent weight of Alex's presence beside her pressed in, colder than the air conditioning.
He said nothing. Didn't offer a glance, a word, or even the barest acknowledgment. Yet somehow, his very stillness was a presence all its own.
As the cars sped toward their next destination, Sophie braced herself. Whatever came next, she knew this was only the beginning.
The city streets slipped by in a blur of glass towers and flashing billboards, the hum of the engine a steady pulse beneath the quiet.
Sophie kept her gaze fixed outside the window, willing herself not to look at him sitting rigidly beside her. His profile was sharply defined against the leather seat—strong jaw, high cheekbones, and eyes that seemed permanently shadowed with fatigue and something sharper, colder.
Her fingers nervously tapped the edge of her bag, the only movement she allowed herself. The silence between them stretched, thick and unyielding, like the calm before a storm.
She wanted to say something. To break the ice, even with a simple "Thank you" or "I'm ready." But the words caught in her throat, swallowed by nerves and the overwhelming presence of the man beside her.
Instead, she let her thoughts wander.
Who is he, really? she wondered. The man everyone seems to fear but no one truly knows.
The car swerved slightly as his hand briefly brushed the console—an unconscious tic. Sophie caught the subtle flicker of frustration in his jaw, the tightness of his shoulders.
He's fighting battles no one sees.
Her own heart thrummed in time with the tires on asphalt.
Suddenly, his voice broke the silence—not looking at her, but low and clipped. "This isn't a social call."
Sophie startled, blinking in surprise. She hesitated before answering, careful and measured. "I understand. I have been filled in by Claire and Grant."
His only answer was "Good." Turning his attention away again to the unknown battlefield Sophie knew nothing about.
The car slipped into a quieter avenue.
Her mind raced with questions, but she kept them locked away.
Outside, the city seemed to hold its breath. Inside the car, two strangers sat side by side—linked by circumstance, yet worlds apart.
Sophie didn't know where the road would lead, but somehow, she knew she was already on a path she couldn't turn back from.
The convoy slowed as they turned off the main avenue, the second car of suited lawyers following close behind like a silent escort. Through the tinted window, Sophie glimpsed an older brick building partly wrapped in modern glass and steel, the past and present pressed together into something both grand and unwelcoming.
They arrived at the rival firm's offices just before noon. The building itself was all brushed steel and tinted glass, its lobby designed to impress without warmth—cool marble floors veined in grey, modern light fixtures that cast a cold, bluish glow, and reception desks carved from pale stone.
"We're here, sir," the driver announced, his voice clipped and respectful.
The man beside her didn't reply. His gaze stayed fixed ahead, the set of his jaw carved in stone, as though the building outside was already part of the next battle waiting for him.
Sophie's fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. Her heart rattled in her chest despite the outward calm she forced herself to hold.
The car eased to a stop. Outside, the other lawyers were already stepping out of the second vehicle, straightening ties and smoothing jackets, their faces drawn with the weary sharpness of men used to arguing in marble-lined rooms.
He moved first, pushing open the door and stepping out without a word. He didn't so much as glance back at Sophie, but his pause—brief and silent—made it clear she was expected to follow.
She drew in a breath, brushed her skirt smooth, and stepped out into the city's thick, humid air. Traffic hummed in the background, but her focus narrowed to the tall figure walking just ahead.
Sophie matched his pace as best she could, her shorter legs working quickly to keep up with his long, steady stride. He moved like someone carrying invisible weight—his expression a mask of focus, his suit cut perfectly to his frame, dark fabric catching the sunlight. Close up, she noticed what she hadn't dared look at before: the faint arch of his cheekbones hinting at Asian ancestry the same as her, but still different because of the absolute authority in the way he held himself.
The entrance to the building loomed, all glass and polished brass. Alex paused just a moment, his hand hovering near the door. Then, finally, he turned his head slightly, eyes brushing over her face with a glance so quick it barely registered.
"You're coming?" he asked. His voice was low, as emotionless and final as a closed file.
"Yes," she managed to answer, her voice a little lower than she'd intended because of the shortness of breath. Trying to match his pace was a battle in itself.
He didn't acknowledge the reply. Without waiting, he stepped inside the building, the team of lawyers falling in behind them. Sophie hesitated for half a breath—long enough to feel the weight of the moment—then followed him, the echo of her heels quiet but insistent on the marble floor.
The lobby felt cool and hushed after the city heat, lit by long beams of light slanting across stone. Sophie watched Alex's broad shoulders ahead of her, every step measured, controlled. He didn't look back, didn't speak—but somehow his silence felt louder than words.
Sophie followed in Alex's wake, the team of lawyers behind them moving like a well-rehearsed formation. Her gaze flicked across the walls, where the other company's insignia—a stylized silver emblem shaped like interlocking rings—stood out in quiet dominance, repeated on glass partitions and etched onto polished brass nameplates.
It wasn't Wolf Industries' dark and sharp branding; here, everything whispered modern power rather than proclaimed it. And for a moment, Sophie felt doubly out of place: a stranger to both companies, caught in the undercurrent of something larger than her résumé could possibly justify.
What am I walking into? she wondered, anxiety twisting itself into something like anticipation. She lifted her chin, forced her breath to steady, and walked on—her gaze locked on the man she barely knew, yet who somehow already seemed to command every step she took.
An assistant in a sleek charcoal dress led them down a hall lined with minimalist artwork: black-and-white cityscapes and abstract shapes meant to soothe or intimidate—depending on who was looking. They paused at a pair of tall glass doors, beyond which she guessed would be the meeting room. The doors opened and revealed a sharply dressed young man in a charcoal suit.
He stepped forward as they approached, offering a small bow of deference that seemed oddly practiced.
"Mr. Wolf," the young assistant greeted smoothly. "Welcome. The boardroom has been prepared, and the others have just arrived."
Mr. Wolf. Wolf Industries.The one and only Alexander Wolf - Wolf Industries that began as a boutique investment and strategic consulting firm specializing in high-risk corporate turnarounds. What started in a half-rented Manhattan office grew—almost ruthlessly—into a diversified powerhouse.
Today, Wolf Industries operates across multiple sectors: private equity, real estate development, renewable energy ventures, and cutting-edge technology incubators. Known for its aggressive acquisition strategies and no-nonsense executive culture, the company has become both admired and quietly feared in boardrooms across the city.
It was the company infamous for its demanding standards: late nights, sharp suits, and an unspoken rule that only results truly matter.
The acknowledgement of Mr. Wolf's presence fell into Sophie's mind like a stone dropped in water, rippling outward until she felt shock mingled with a strange, inexplicable thrill. She'd known she was following someone powerful, someone whose presence made lawyers drop their voices and quicken their pace. But now she understood fully: this was Alexander Wolf, the founder and CEO himself. The man whose name towered across the city skyline in backlit letters.
Her heart stumbled once, and she forced herself to keep walking, careful not to let the realization break through her composed exterior.
Alex, for his part, offered the assistant only the smallest nod of acknowledgment—neither warmth nor disdain, simply practiced efficiency.
"Show us in," he said, his voice carrying that same low finality Sophie had already heard.
"Of course, sir," the young man replied. He gestured toward the meeting room behind him.
They moved as a group: Alex at the front, the lawyers keeping respectful distance behind, and Sophie just behind Alex, her eyes flicking now and then to his tall frame and rigid posture.
Every few steps, she felt the name echoing silently in her mind: Alexander Wolf.
He didn't glance back at her even once, yet his presence seemed to pull her forward all the same—like gravity made flesh.
With the doors widely open, Sophie's gaze drifted to the walls hung with framed photographs: black-and-white images of boardrooms, blueprints, city skylines rising decade by decade.
Alex paused just a fraction before crossing the threshold, his jaw tightening, as though settling unseen armor into place. Then he stepped forward without a backward glance, the lawyers flowing in after him.
She straightened her shoulders and stepped inside behind him, telling herself to remember why she was here: to observe, to prove herself useful, and not to let the quiet, magnetic force of the man in front of her unravel the composure she had worked so hard to hold together.
Inside, the table was a long, dark slab of stone polished to a mirrored finish. Soft chairs upholstered in dove grey surrounded it, and near the head of the table sat a discreet arrangement of branded folders and bottles of sparkling water. The company's insignia was etched large across the frosted back wall: a gleaming promise—or threat—of identity and unity.
Alex moved first, taking the chair at the table's head as if it had always belonged to him. His lawyers fanned out beside him, unpacking laptops and notes with practiced precision.
Sophie hovered awkwardly near the doorway, portfolio clutched to her chest. An assistant from the other firm—young, professional, politely distant—gestured to a free chair at the far end, almost out of the direct line of sight from where Alex would sit.
Relief and self-doubt tangled in her chest. She made her way toward it, shoes clicking softly on the stone floor, every step echoing louder in her mind than in reality.
Just as she touched the back of the chair, Alex's voice cut through the quiet hum of conversation—cold, precise, unmistakably his:
"No," he said, without raising his head fully from the documents in front of him. "Sit here."
He nodded toward a seat closer—the chair to his right.
The lawyers nearest to him paused, glancing between Sophie and Alex, faint surprise registering before they without a word rearranged themselves making room for her and turned back to their notes.
Sophie froze. Her pulse stuttered, heat rising in her face. For the first time since stepping into the building, she felt every gaze in the room flick briefly to her—and then slide away, as though she'd just become part of a more complicated game.
She swallowed, pushed her shoulders back, and moved to the seat Alex had chosen for her. The soft leather felt colder than it looked.
Alex barely acknowledged her arrival, eyes scanning his folder with an expression of stone. Yet the message had been delivered without words:
She would not be seated at the margins. She was someone important. She was to watch—and be seen.
Heart hammering, Sophie hid her portfolio underneath a notebook, trying to steady her breath. The room felt both too large and suddenly far too close, the polished stone table reflecting not just her own uncertainty but Alex Wolf's silent, commanding presence beside her.