"Seriously? The President's wife is coming today?" one of Eren's coworkers gasped, prompting him and Clara to glance toward the trio of women whispering near the break room.
"You know, it's been a rumor forever that the President's wife works here," the second woman said. "But no one's ever seen a shadow of her. Honestly, I thought they made her up just to stop all the matchmaking attempts. That man's practically the country's most eligible Alpha billionaire—and now he's apparently taken."
Eren's grip tightened around his pen. His pheromones wavered, faint but unsteady, betraying the knot in his chest. No one at the main office had any clue he was Adriel's Omega—his mate. By day, he was still under the radar, just another secretary.
Their chatter cut off abruptly as the office door swung open.
In stepped a tall, elegant young man alongside the HR Manager. His presence filled the room instantly—broad-shouldered, graceful, with the kind of cultivated poise that made people stop mid-breath. His scent was faint but refined, sweet spice curling through the air like a deliberate tease.
All eyes shifted to him.
"Hold on—isn't that Claude Parker? The dancer who went viral last year?" one of the women blurted out.
Eren's stomach dropped. His pulse stumbled. Claude. Of all people. His mind flashed back to the Ulrick mansion—the very same Omega who once stood where Eren stood now.
"No way," another woman whispered, stepping closer. "Are you… are you President Adriel's spouse?"
Claude's lips parted as though caught off guard. But the surprise lasted only a second—then his composure snapped into place, smooth and unshakable. He smiled, sharp and charming.
"You figured me out already?" His voice was playful, threaded with something knowing, like he'd rehearsed the role for years.
Gasps and giggles rippled through the room.
"I just guessed," the woman said breathlessly. "But you look exactly how I imagined the President's mate would—elegant, polished, gorgeous. So I was right—his thing with Kairen was just gossip. Just seeing you is enough to crush those rumors. But… wait, you're actually going to work here?"
Claude tilted his head, his smile deepening, scent curling richer with amusement. The attention suited him like a second skin.
Eren sat frozen at his desk, the bitter taste of Claude's pheromones brushing against his own, making his chest ache. He couldn't speak, couldn't correct them. Not without blowing everything wide open.
And in that moment, watching Claude bask in a title that wasn't his, Eren felt smaller than ever—like he was suffocating under someone else's claim.
"Well, I suppose there's no need for introductions," the HR Manager said with a half-smile, gesturing toward the poised man beside him. "Looks like most of you already know him better than you know me. Mr. Parker here is our new head designer for the jewelry division. He'll also be one of the key critics in the upcoming collection review."
"Wait—head designer? Weren't you a ballerino?" one of the employees blurted, clearly stunned.
Claude let out a soft laugh, smooth and practiced, his scent curling faintly through the air—polished citrus, tinged with spice. It made heads turn without him even trying.
"I am," Claude replied, his voice warm but steady, confidence dripping from every syllable. "But I also earned a design degree years ago. And now felt like the perfect time to support Adriel. It's been a dream of mine—to finally work alongside him."
That last sentence sent ripples through the room. The trio of women near the back whispered to one another, their scents sweetening, eyes sparkling, like they'd just stumbled into a fairy tale come to life.
But Eren's thoughts spun in a different direction. So… he left Adriel once to chase his dream, and now that he's done with it, he thinks he can just walk back into his life—as if nothing happened? Bold. Too bold.
Still, he couldn't ignore the sting in his chest. Adriel had stood in front of Claude and introduced Eren as his spouse. Yet here Claude was—standing in Adriel's company, welcomed, respected. Was I fooling myself?
"He's perfect for the role," one of the women murmured. "Who better to judge the designs than the President's own mate?"
"Mr. Parker," the HR Manager continued, turning toward Claude, "this is the secretarial department. You're free to choose your personal assistant from any of the staff here."
Immediately, three of the secretaries sat up straighter, Omega pheromones spiking eagerly, practically offering themselves with bright smiles. Claude's eyes swept the room, slow and deliberate, lingering on each desk as though weighing their worth.
Eren's stomach twisted. His own scent pulled tight, faint and brittle, as he turned slightly away, hoping to disappear into the corner of his desk. But Clara stiffened beside him, her startled expression flicking toward Claude—an unintentional signal.
And just like that, Claude's gaze locked on them.
His eyes narrowed, a flicker of recognition flashing across his face, and the air thickened instantly.
Eren's pulse stumbled. No, not here. Not now.
Claude stopped.
"You," he said, pointing directly at Eren. His brows knit, gaze fixed on the man with unmistakable red hair. That hair… I've seen it before.
Recognition flickered in Claude's eyes, sharp and immediate. If the rumors circling the company were true—then the President's elusive Omega spouse was sitting right here, working as a secretary, unnoticed.
"Hey, what are you doing? Why aren't you facing him? That's incredibly rude—you're ignoring the President's wife," one of Eren's coworkers scolded, her voice sharp with disapproval. Clara touched Eren's arm, urging him to turn.
Eren's chest tightened. His scent betrayed him—sharp, bitter with anxiety—as he drew a steadying breath. He knew this moment was inevitable. Slowly, he straightened and turned to face Claude.
And Claude froze.
His pupils dilated, his nostrils flaring subtly as he took in the red hair, the faint shift of Eren's pheromones. Surprise cut through his composure, if only for a heartbeat. He hadn't expected him here.
"She's new. Still learning the ropes," another secretary offered quickly, trying to ease the sudden tension.
Claude's brow furrowed. New? They don't even know who he is? The realization hit fast—Eren, the Omega Adriel had claimed his wife and mate, was here every day among them, unrecognized. His gaze skimmed Eren's plain shirt, unpolished shoes, the curve of a belly still subtle but undeniable. He looked like any other employee… if not for that rare, arresting hair.
He's Adriel's mate, Claude reminded himself. The Alpha would drape him in jewels, silks, whatever he desired. Yet he looked like… this? Ordinary. Untouched by the world Adriel ruled.
Unless… it wasn't about wealth at all. Unless Adriel truly wanted him.
Claude's lips curved into a smile, though it never reached his eyes. "I want him to be my assistant," he said, his voice smooth but pointed.
"What?" Eren blurted, his scent spiking in alarm, sharp with disbelief.
"Mr. Parker, I'm afraid that won't be possible," the HR Manager cut in quickly. "He's President Adriel's personal secretary."
Claude paused, then let out a low chuckle. Slowly, deliberately, he turned back to Eren, his smile widening.
"Is that so?" His voice dropped, intimate, as if they were the only two in the room. His gaze locked on Eren's, predatory in its focus.
Eren's pulse thudded painfully in his ears. He bit the inside of his cheek, willing his scent to steady, but the sharp edge of unease betrayed him. Claude had recognized him. And that smile—it wasn't politeness. It was a warning.
Just when I thought I'd survived the storm, Eren thought bitterly, another one arrives. And this one's name is Claude.