“Raven, there’s no need to hurry away just yet,” he said, adjusting his glasses, the tone of his voice laced with authority and a thin veneer of civility. “Before stepping down, you must sign a declaration confirming that your actions while under our pack’s roof have no ongoing influence over our affairs. You’ll also need to sign a binding non-compete clause—ensuring you cannot use your connections to poach clients or allies once you leave.”
Not long ago, I had been Alaric’s mate, respected and feared in equal measure, my ability to secure powerful alliances earning me the utmost courtesy from the pack.
Mr. Webb had fawned over me then, bowing his head and addressing me with the reverence due to “Mrs. Thorne.” That time had passed. Now, he looked down at me with a self-satisfied smirk, as though diminishing me might somehow restore his own sense of significance.
I studied his pathetic display and replied, voice ice-cold, “A declaration? A non-compete? And what makes you think I would ever sign either of them?”