Chapter 36: The Interview (2)

Amelia's POV

I stepped into the elevator, clutching my worn portfolio like it was a life raft. The woman beside me—tall, immaculately dressed in what was clearly a designer suit—pressed the button for the top floor without even looking. Her movements were precise, economical. Everything about her screamed money and power.

The mirrored walls of the elevator offered no mercy. There I was—Amelia Throne in all my budget glory. My thrift store blazer suddenly looked even more pathetic next to her tailored outfit. I'd thought I looked professional this morning. Funny how context changes everything.

"Mr. Westbrook usually doesn't personally interview for entry-level positions," she said, her voice cool and professional. "You're absolutely fortunate."

I glanced at her name badge: Seraphina Voss, Executive Assistant to the CEO. Her perfectly manicured fingers tapped impatiently against her arm as she watched the floor numbers climb. When she mentioned Alexander's name, something shifted in her eyes—a softness that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"I understand," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure she could hear it. The scent of her expensive perfume—something floral and sophisticated—filled the small space, making me feel even more out of place.

The higher we climbed, the more my stomach twisted. Why had Alexander agreed to interview me? After the disaster at the competition, after forcing me to write that blood oath at Westbrook Estate... what game was he playing now?

"We're here," Seraphina announced as the elevator doors slid open with a soft ping.

The executive floor of Westbrook Industries was exactly what you'd expect from a billion-dollar company—all sleek lines, glass, and subtle displays of wealth. The walls were adorned with photographs of Westbrook achievements through generations, charts showing company growth, and awards that probably cost more than my entire apartment.

Everyone moved with purpose. Not a single person looked stressed or harried, just intensely focused. They moved like a pack—disciplined, coordinated, efficient.

As Seraphina led me through the open workspace, I noticed several young female executives glancing our way. They were all cut from the same cloth as Seraphina—polished, perfect, powerful.

"College intern?" one whispered, not quite quietly enough.

"Why would Mr. Westbrook interview her personally?" another murmured.

"Maybe she's a Westbrook bastard we don't know about," a third suggested with a smirk.

I kept my eyes forward and my chin up. Their words shouldn't matter, but each one felt like a tiny needle under my skin.

Seraphina led me to the far end of the floor, where double doors loomed. A sleek metal plaque beside them read "Alexander Westbrook, CEO" alongside the company logo. Even through the closed doors, I could feel him. My wolf stirred, recognizing her mate nearby. My palms were sweating, and I wiped them discreetly on my skirt.

Seraphina knocked sharply, waited for a muffled "Enter," then turned to me.

"Good luck, little girl," she said, her perfect smile never reaching her eyes. "You'll need it." The jealousy in her gaze was unmistakable.

I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and stepped inside.

The office was a study in contrasts—stark white walls against black furniture, the space simultaneously minimalist and overwhelming. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a godlike view of the city sprawling below. The morning sunlight streamed in, illuminating everything with crystal clarity.

A massive black desk dominated the center of the room, its surface holding only a few precisely arranged documents and a silver wolf sculpture. The walls displayed maps of Westbrook global operations and historical family photographs.

And there he was.

Alexander Westbrook stood with his back to me, hands clasped behind him as he gazed out over the city like he owned it—which, in many ways, he did. His Armani suit fit his broad shoulders perfectly, accentuating the powerful frame beneath. Even without seeing his face, his presence filled the room, suffocating in its intensity.

When he turned, those ice-blue eyes hit me like a physical blow. Cold. Assessing. Powerful.

His scent hit me next—cedar, leather, and raw power. My heart immediately lost its rhythm, and my wolf whined in recognition.

"Mr. Westbrook," I managed, my voice embarrassingly small in the vast space. I fought to control the trembling that threatened to overtake me—not from fear, but from the mating bond that vibrated between us, demanding acknowledgment.

"Sit." One word, delivered with such authority that it wasn't just a suggestion—it was a command, his eyes briefly flashing gold.

I sat in the chair across from his desk, gripping my portfolio so tightly my knuckles turned white. He remained standing for a moment longer, establishing dominance through height, before finally taking his seat.

"It seems your financial situation has become quite dire since I cut off your access to pack resources," he said, his voice smooth as ice. His eyes flicked over my clothing, taking in every detail of my budget outfit.

I pressed my lips together, refusing to respond to the bait.

"I must admit, I didn't expect you to seek my attention in such a creative way," he continued. "Those slides during your presentation were quite the spectacle. Now the entire university is buzzing about our supposed 'relationship.'"

My head snapped up in shock. "That wasn't me! My slides were switched! You know the truth—Daniel already confessed and was punished for it."

Alexander's lips curved into a cold smile. "And you expect me to believe such a transparent lie?"

"It's not a lie!" My voice rose despite my best efforts to stay calm. "You were trying to humiliate me! You were the one who insisted I explain those slides! You knew exactly what would happen!"

His eyes flashed dangerously, golden light swirling in their depths. The pressure in the room increased as he leaned forward, power radiating from him in waves.

"Watch your tone," he warned, his voice dropping lower. "You're addressing your Alpha."

I forced myself to breathe through the crushing weight of his dominance. "In this building, you're just the CEO. You're not my Alpha. You're just my unfortunate mate. I came here for a job interview, not to be humiliated again."

Alexander rose to his feet in one fluid motion, towering over me. "Do you think I don't know why Professor Lambert recommended you? Your financial struggles, your mother's medical condition, the real reason you entered that competition?"

The blood drained from my face. He'd investigated me. Of course he had.

"Then why are you doing this to me?" I asked, hating the vulnerability in my voice.

"Because you need to remember your place," he answered coldly.

I sighed, pushing myself to my feet. "I don't think I'm a good fit for this position after all. Sorry to waste your time, Mr. Westbrook."

"I did not give you permission to leave!" he roared, his command hitting me like a physical force, making my knees buckle.

I gripped the back of the chair, fighting against the weight of his order. "You can't have it both ways," I said through gritted teeth. "You can't reject me as your mate but still control my life. We're in your company, not your pack."

Alexander's eyes turned completely gold, his power filling the room like a storm. "Sit down, Amelia. Our conversation is not finished."

I stood frozen, caught between my instinct to obey and my desperate need to escape him, wondering how I'd ever thought this interview was a good idea.