FACES

THIRD-PERSON POV.

Head bent, brows furrowed in deep thought crouched in front of car parts she had disassembled. The eighteen-year-old couldn't seem to get any of her bright disastrous ideas. And it was worrying, given the fact that she had an entire notebook full of them.

"Darling! Your mother's calling us to come get lunch."

No response.

"Pumpkin! I know you heard me!"

"Go away, Papa! I'm thinking!"

"And you know who else thinks? Every other human on the planet! Now get moving!"

"Right, right. You don't have to get so annoying. I'm coming!"

She stood and made her way toward the garage door.

"I'm here. What is it?"

She brazenly questioned. Deliberately avoiding her father's gaze.

"Morozova."

"Papa."

"Look at me Morozova."

The man ordered firmly but not threateningly.

His daughter had begun to trace circles on the floor with her sneakers. And slowly but surely, she moved her head upwards eventually reaching the gaze of the towering figure of a man.

"What happened? Morozova, talk to me."

The girl immediately averted her gaze, still carving invisible circles into the ground with her aglet.

"Papa...I...They...I," The young lady couldn't seem to put words together. She was bold enough to attempt speaking but the anxiety from recollection was burdening her mind and body.

"They did what?"

Her father inquired doing his very best to keep his calm. But he felt as though that calm he was gripping on to was slipping and slipping fast.

"I'm sorry...Papa, I just w-wanted to go for a run with everyone else and go bathe by the waterfall like e-everyone else. I'm s-sorry...I didn't know I wasn't the standard for a girl or boy or...whatever I am."

Her father was seeing red at this point. As far as he was concerned they had no right to make his princess feel this way.

"Who was it? How many were they? Where are they now?"

The young lady felt a shiver travel down her spine at her father's words. She was hesitant, frightened and confused. But another thing which she felt greatly was anger. She hated them and she hated herself -at the moment. They were supposed to be her friends so why did they humiliate her that way? Why had they pried her clothes off her? Disregarding her words and constant pleas? What was the point of all this and why? She wanted to understand. And she was going to get the information she so yearned for.

"Sandra, Anita and Anne."

"Alright."

The Alpha turned to leave. One foot ahead of the other, he took his time. He was thinking. He as well needed to understand why his daughter had been discriminated against and disgraced by their own brethren. But what came next caught the Alpha completely off guard.

He felt two greasy hands wrap around his waist tightly.

"Papa,"

She whispered into his shirt in a shaky voice.

"I want chicken, mother's spicy baked chicken. Let's eat together."

The older man paused at his daughter's words. His silence lingered for minutes, mind blank but still agitated. He then chuckled.

"You mean to tell me you're hungry but also angry. So you want comfort food. And me."

"Mhm. I'll talk after we eat. Promise."

"Liar."

"Papa!"

"But you drive a hard bargain. I'll take it."

He beamed, twisting his upper body and grabbing his daughter by the waist he carried her into her gigantic home.

~PRESENT DAY~

It'd been days since the Mojéleno fiasco. And Kharyah had been keeping tabs on all of it. The news inside of the Mojéleno pack and the news on the tabloids.

There she sat in a plush leather seat, with a glass of whiskey in one hand and the 'High S Daily'- the front page read "Business Royalty proves Critics wrong- The outdooring of a queen."

Bullshit! Bullshit! Bullshit! Absolute garbage.

Kharyah sat in her chair seething. Legs spread apart in a sinfully low-cut V-neck silk shirt tucked in neatly pressed high waist suit pants with matching Louboutins.

That party had been a disaster! And how did she know? She had people there. She'd had people there even before Hakan had gotten married. She knew everything, she knew how they breathed, how they fought, how they conducted business. Down to how they fucked and pissed.

She hadn't yet figured that the new Luna was the lovely young woman she was flying from her family's private island to visit. But her intuition was telling her something was amiss. And nothing irritated her more than a feeling or hunch supported by no evidence or fact. She put the glass of whiskey away and nervously tapped away at the arm of her seat with her red stiletto nails.

Going on long trips was irritating enough, she didn't need her senses eating away at her for no good reason.

"Fuck you! Jean! Screw you!"

She swore at her wolf.

'Woman, man or whatever you identify as. Fuck you as well. Now if you don't mind, I'm going back to being a nervous wreck. Bitch!'

She wished she could take her wolf out and give him a good beating because that furry piece of meat was just getting on her last nerve.

"Kha, baby. You're gonna need to get those claws off that seat before you rip it to shreds again!"

Tray, her makeup artist and hairstylist sashayed into the cabin with his suitcase in tow and a slayed blonde human hair wig.

Kharyah stared at him in annoyance.

"Oh please, Tray. And I thought I told you to get Mongolian curls. Bleached! Not straight and bleached! I look white enough as it is!"

"So bleach your own fucking hair! You cunt! And stop hiding your hair! Your hair is like what? 30? 45 inches in coil length? "

Tray was not having it.

"Tray, I wanted bleached Mongolian wet curls, an HD frontal and for you to hold it in a fucking loose high bun! How-"

"Nuh-uh. Bitch. Do not finish that diabolical sentence. You told me about this at MIDNIGHT and I doubt Jesus would have even picked up your call. So save it! How on earth was I supposed to gather and make all this shit by the crack of fucking dawn?! You inconsiderate little shit!"

Kharyah kept silent, she wanted her friend to let it all out. Clearly, something was wrong and she had been caught in the crossfire because of her inconsiderate ways.

No minute sooner, Tray dropped into the seat next to her, covering his face with his palms and quickly turning into a quivering mess.

"What did he do?"

She asked solemnly.

"I c-caught him ch-heating."

Kharyah reached for his hands and gently took them off his face. Her friend was a sobbing mess.

She tore off some tissue from a tissue box and dabbed off the salty liquid from his face.

"That's not all. This isn't the first time he's cheated."

"He...I...confronted h-him. And he said he'd been doing this for fun. The saddest part was that I caught him cheating with a woman. He...I cancelled the wedding."

"Come 'ere."

Kharyah pulled Tray into a tight hug and whispered soothing words into his ears.

After what seemed like forever, Tray broke out of the hug.

"We should get you all dolled up."

He said wiping his wet cheeks.

"You sure?"

She asked cocking a brow.

"Don't give me that look. I know I was stubborn and didn't listen. And I also know you wouldn't understand what it's like to be in love."

"Yada yada. I told you so. It is what it is. It was a toxic relationship. But I'm happy I now have you all to myself Tray."

Kharyah said flashing a devilish grin. Tray shook his head in disbelief and proceeded to unpack his brushes and material.

What would he do without her? That bitch.

The jet took off thirty minutes later and landed six hours after. Right after getting off, Kharyah made a couple of calls and set up a board meeting with the Miami branch-(current location).

******

Kharyah strutted into the conference room, black coat hanging from her shoulders and her hands pocketed with that sexy loose bun she had wanted. She was feeling herself way too much.

As soon as she stepped into the room everyone would stood from their seats.

She looked around the room, a nonchalant look plastered on. She took her seat, putting one leg over the other and crossing her arms.

"You may sit."

They got back in their seats.

"Report."

Her cold and authoritative voice made the Secretary shiver.

"Um...t-this week...we, we-"

"Stop. What are you? Learning how to speak. Straighten your back, head up and look me dead in the eyes and make that report."

The tension in the room grew unrealistically thick. The ten branch executives had shrunk in their seats with their heads bowed. They were like puppies who had been thrown into a wolf's den-boy, were they terrified.

"Yes ma'am!"

"Good. Proceed."

"This week we made approximately a hundred thousand dollars in sales of appliances alone. As for the cars, the latest model a.k.a 'Strëiger' was purchased for testing by Dr William Hughes and Mr Callum Fraser-"

"Last I checked he was a Psychiatrist. Make that correction. Don't make such blunders. The report matches the one I'm aware of. Good job."

"Thank you. Ma'am."

The secretary took her seat, clutching her file as if her life depended on it with tinted cheeks and a nervous smile.

Kharyah turned to the rest of the room-well, the people.

"What is this I'm hearing about sexual harassment? Who's in charge of HR? What the fuck are you doing?"

She asked in absolute disgust.

The head of HR went stiff, stood from his seat and cleared his throat.

"Boss, I-"

"Save it. You're fired. Effective tomorrow night. Get the fuck out!"

Kharyah was ruthless, she had every reason to be.

"Look here you autocratic bitch! I don't care if you-"

"Mr Sanders? Is that right?"

"Why, y-yes."

"I have evidence of you engaging in the said act and photocopies of you colluding with our main competitor in Miami, as well as of course, you trying but miserably failing to hide your questionable engagements."

The man paused, opened his mouth to speak but uttered no words.

Kharyah glanced at him, unimpressed and looked back down at her documents.

He then stormed out of the room in utter humiliation. Kharyah sighed.

"Anyone else wanna confess while we're at it?"

The room fell silent for several minutes, no one dared to speak or breathe. Most had become self-conscious and waited in head-splitting anxiety for the whole arrangement to come to an end.

"Oh, right. We need a new head of HR. Lady secretary,"

"Y-yes ma'am."

The young lady literally jolted from her seat.

"You're hired. Submit all your particulars for processing tomorrow. "

"Y-yes Ma'am. Wait no! That can't be r-right!"

The young lady fidgeted with the rim of her glasses as her breath hitched and her mind went into overload.

Kharyah chuckled. Oh how she loved teasing these types of girls, their reactions were so priceless.

"It's alright lady secretary, deep breaths. And you didn't hear wrong. You're hired or rather...promoted."

"Yes, t-thank you ma'am. I won't waste this opportunity."

"Right, right. Before that, did anyone from Mojéleno drop by? Say about two days ago to drop some papers?"

She asked turning her full attention to the jittery young lady.

"Yes, yes. A woman. Blonde hair, about five foot four, blue eyes-"

"Wonderful. Did she leave any contact details?"

"Yes. She did."

Kharyah sighed.

"Hand them over on the double!"

The lady secretary leapt into her seat and tapped away at her laptop.

"I've sent it to your mail."

"Right. So if anyone has nothing else to say, it was lovely seeing your faces again."

With that, she sprung from her seat and walked out of the conference room in three steps.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as soon as she stepped out. Some were going to need some therapy after this meeting.

***********

It took a good fifteen minutes for the chauffeur to get to the hotel. Kharyah grumpily got out of the car and dashed into the establishment, quickly checking into her room and upon locking the room door, she leapt unto the plush bed. She needed sleep and she needed a lot of it.

But she could sense someone in the room.

Who the fuck?! She did not have a single drop of patience left for this.

"Who the fuck is it?"

She questioned no one in particular.

"Mm, I wonder."

Before her stood her 6'1 beta Dusha Korolʹ. The porcelain-skinned man was the human definition of practical and logical. They got along but Kharyah found him too rigid and unimaginably stubborn. Her father must have sent him. Given the fact that he always had a way of speaking to her intellect and micromanaging her reckless nature.

"Get out Douche."

She said dropping her head unto her pillow.

"Right. Says the person who's splurging company funds for the sake of her comfort."

"Douche, get out."

"But of course. It would be improper of me to overstay my welcome. See you tomorrow. I reckon you'll visit the Miami headquarters tomorrow."

This Russian bastard couldn't sound more British.

"Yeah, yeah. But at noon or whenever I get there. I'm too tired to think."

"Very well."

Dusha left the same way he came. Unseen and unheard.

He was one terrifying individual and very handsome as well. Best combination there was in a man. Until he ripped you apart.