STERLING
Sleep was a lost cause after meeting Ariel Hayes.
She asked all the right questions, pushing me harder than anyone had in years.
And her smile? It was infuriatingly knowing, like she held some secret power over me.
I wasn’t used to being challenged like that, and it left me feeling restless and annoyed, my wolf clawing beneath the surface.
I walked into my office and threw my jacket on the back of a chair. Ariel’s notes from the meeting glared at me from the desk. I picked up the top sheet and scanned through it.
Sterling Nightfang: A man who built an empire to escape his past, but his past is catching up with him.
My jaw tightened at how accurately she summed up my situation.
The elevator doors swung open, breaking me out of my reverie. I checked the clock. It was 7:30 a.m. She was early.
Ariel stepped into the doorway. She carried two cups, one in each hand, and a paper bag that smelled like freshly baked pastries. Her attire was casual today, dark jeans that hugged her legs and a soft loose sweater.
Seeing her again sent a jolt through me. My wolf stirred, but I quickly schooled my features into a scowl.
She was shorter than I remembered. Perhaps it was the way she carried herself, all warmth and unapologetic presence, that made her seem larger than she was.
The sweater slipped off one shoulder, revealing a freckled collarbone I had no business noticing.
Her hair, that wild blonde mess, was tamed into a braid today, but a few stubborn tendrils had already escaped, framing her face as if she had just rolled out of bed.
Christ. I couldn’t think about her like that.
And those purple-rimmed glasses sitting slightly crooked on her face made her gray eyes look even bigger, like she was perpetually caught between surprise and amusement.
It was irritating.
And worse, it was distracting.
“Morning,” she said cheerfully, setting the coffee cups on my desk. “I brought fuel.”
The paper bag rustled as she placed it next to the cups. My nose twitched. I could almost taste the buttery, flaky pastries inside. Toasted almonds. Butter. Sugar. My stomach growled traitorously, and I scowled deeper, as if it were her fault my body was betraying me.
I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t drink coffee.”
She smirked, sliding one of the cups toward me. “You’re a liar. I saw the empty espresso cup in the trash yesterday.”
I stared at her, caught off guard, my pulse quickening. The scent of her perfume, something green and fresh, filled my nostrils. “You went through my trash?” My voice came out harsher than I intended, echoing slightly in the quiet room.
“Not intentionally,” she said with a shrug. “But I’m observant.” She gestured to the steaming cup in her hand, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee rich and inviting. “And you look like you could use it.” Her eyes flicked to mine, a small smile playing on her lips.
I grunted, reluctantly taking the cup. The warmth seeped into my palms and I took a cautious sip. The coffee was good, strong and bitter. Just the way I liked it. The heat traveled down my throat, warming me from the inside out.
“Alright, Hayes,” I said, setting the cup down on the desk. “What’s the plan for today?”
She pulled out her notebook, the pages rustling as she flipped it open with practiced ease. My nose picked up the scent of bleached paper and the sweet smell of ballpoint ink, mingling with the coffee. “We’re diving deeper,” she said firmly.
She tapped her pen against the page. Her eyes gleamed with determination. “Yesterday, you gave me the polished version. Today, I want the why. I want the raw, unfiltered truth.” Her pen hovered over the paper, ready to capture every word.
I stiffened. “The why?”
“Why you played through with the broken rib. Why you built this empire. Why you’re letting me poke at your life when you clearly hate it and every muscle is twitching to throw me out of your office.
” Her gaze didn’t waver, and I could see the gears turning in her head, the curiosity and determination that drove her.
She wasn’t just asking. Ariel was digging, searching for something, and I wondered what she hoped to find.
“People don’t care about what you did, Sterling. They care about what it cost you.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rose up.
I could’ve shut her down. I should’ve, by all accounts.
It was what I usually did when people got too nosy, too personal.
But there was something about her, something different.
Earnestness. That’s what it was. The quiet certainty in her voice made me hesitate.
It made me want to consider her words instead of dismissing them outright.
I leaned back in my chair, studying her.
The way she held herself, the set of her jaw, the glint in her eyes.
The top of her head didn’t even come past my chest but here she was, challenging me.
I couldn’t help but admire her for it. “You’re pushy,” I said, a hint of amusement in my voice despite myself.
“And you’re evasive.” She grinned, unrepentant. “Guess we’re at a stalemate.”
A reluctant smirk tugged at my lips. “Fine.” I exhaled sharply, rolling my shoulders. “The why is simple. Control.”
She scribbled a note, then glanced up. “Explain.”
I flexed my hand, the old ache in my knuckles flaring. "On the pitch, I decided the game. In business, I decide the rules. I cut myself off, but Ariel didn’t press. She just waited, her silence more compelling than any question.
“The Nightfangs don’t play by rules,” I said at last. “They take. They destroy. I won’t be like them.”
Her pen stilled. “So you built something they couldn’t touch.”
I gave a terse nod.
Ariel’s expression softened, her eyes filling with something I couldn’t quite name. Understanding? Empathy? Whatever it was, it made me want to push her away and pull her closer all at once. “That’s the heart of your story, Sterling. Not the trophies or the billions, but the fight.”
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed.
Violet’s name flashed on the screen. My eyes flicked down to the screen as dread settled in my chest. I wondered what she could want this time.
My thumb hovered over the answer button, hesitating for just a moment.
Should I take the call or let it go unanswered?
I snatched it up, turning away from Ariel. “What?” I barked.
“Charming as ever, Sterling.” My mother’s voice dripped with disdain. “I hear you’ve hired a writer.”
My grip tightened on the phone. “It’s none of your business.”
“Everything about you is my business,” her voice hissed through the line. “You think you can rewrite your story, Sterling? Erase us? You’re a fool if you believe that.”
I clenched my jaw, my free hand curling into a fist. “I’m not erasing anything. I’m reclaiming it.”
Her laugh was cold, devoid of humor. “Reclaiming? You’re exposing us. And when the world sees the truth, they’ll tear you apart. You’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”
The threat hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. I glanced at Ariel, who was pretending to focus on her notes but I noticed the way her pen had stilled, the small furrow of her brows as she listened in on every word.
“Listen carefully. I’ll burn everything you care about to the ground. I don’t care what it takes. Don’t test me.”
For a moment, I thought she’d hung up. Then her voice came through, quieter but no less menacing. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Sterling. And when you lose, don’t come crawling back to me.”
Even after the call ended, I stood there, the phone still pressed to my ear, my heart pounding in my chest.
I set the phone down, my hand trembling slightly. The room felt colder, the shadows deeper, as if Violet’s venom had seeped into the very air. I’d spent years building walls, carving out a life that was mine alone, and yet she could still reach me. Still hurt me like I was a little boy again.
Ariel’s voice broke through the silence, soft but steady. “Sterling?”
I turned to her, my chest tight. She was sitting there, her notebook forgotten.
“I’m fine,” I said, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue.
She didn’t call me out on it, but her gaze lingered, as if she could see the cracks in my armor.
She shook her head slowly. “That was intense.”
I rubbed my temples, the beginnings of a headache pressing at my skull. “My mother is a piece of work.”
Ariel hesitated, then set her notebook aside. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” The word came out sharper than I intended. I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Not now.”
She nodded, not pushing, but her gaze was thoughtful. Ariel studied me for a long moment, then reached into the bag. “You know,” she said, her tone casual, “I’ve heard that butter and sugar are scientifically proven to make terrible phone calls 97% less awful.”
I blinked. “That’s not a real statistic.”
She shrugged, nudging the pastry toward me. “Maybe not. But the croissant is.”
The absurdity of it drained the anger out of me. How was it possible that this tiny woman could slice through the fear in my chest with nothing but a smirk and a pastry?
I stared at the flaky croissant, then back at her. “No interrogation? No psychoanalyzing my tragic childhood?”
She took a bite, flaky crusts dusting her lips. “Nope. But I am going to ask you something completely unrelated to distract you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Yep.” She wiped a crumb from her lip, her eyes twinkling. “What’s the best goal you’ve ever scored?”
The question was so unexpected, that I barked out a laugh. “That’s your distraction tactic?”
“Hey, it’s working, isn’t it?” She grinned, nudging the croissant closer. “So? Spill.”
I picked up the pastry, the layers crumbling under my touch. Shaking my head, I took a bite. “Champions League semi-final, 2014. Last minute of extra time.”
Her eyes widened. “The bicycle kick? That was you?”
I smirked. “You’ve seen it?”
“Are you kidding? That clip’s legendary! The way you just soared through the air, like the laws of gravity didn’t apply to you. And the look on the goalkeeper’s face? It was priceless.” She leaned forward, her excitement shining in her eyes. “What was going through your head when you did it?”
“Honestly?” I took another bite of the sugary croissant. “I was just pissed we were about to lose.”
She laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. “Of course you were. You’re always so competitive. I can’t imagine you letting a loss slide.”
I raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk playing on my lips. “And what makes you think you know me so well, Hayes?”
She shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t. Not yet, at least.” Her eyes met mine, the grey irises seeming to darken, a hint of challenge flashing in their depths. “But I intend to. That’s what this book is about, isn’t it? Getting to know the real Sterling Nightfang?”
I held her gaze, the tension coiling tighter, like a spring ready to snap. “And what if you don’t like what you find?” I asked.
She didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. Instead, she leaned in, her eyes never leaving mine. “Then I guess I’ll have to write about that too, won’t I?” Her voice was steady, sure, the sound of it like a challenge, a gauntlet thrown down between us.
I couldn’t help but admire her, this woman who sat before me, all warmth and light, unafraid to push me, to challenge me.
My eyes flicked to the bag the croissant came from, and I frowned. “Isn’t that bakery on the other side of the city?”
Ariel glanced at the logo on the paper bag, then nodded. “Yeah, I live upstairs from it. Best almond croissants in Huntington Harbor.”
I stared at her, my mind ticking through the logistics. “You’re commuting two hours across city traffic for this job?”
She shrugged, picking at her own pastry. “It’s not that bad. I’m used to it.”
“Unacceptable,” I said, the word slipping out before I could think better of it.
“You’re wasting hours every day just getting here.
That’s time you could be working on the book.
Time you could be doing something else…” I trailed off, the thought of her spending hours in traffic, exhausted and frustrated, pissed me off.
She blinked, caught off guard. “It’s fine, really. I don’t mind the commute. It gives me time to think, to plan. And besides, I like my apartment. I like the bakery downstairs. I like my life.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her chin tilting up, a clear challenge in her eyes.
“I mind.” My tone brooked no argument. “You’re staying at the Four Seasons. It’s a block from here. I’ll arrange it.” My voice was firm, the words like a command.
Her eyes widened. “Sterling, you can’t just do that! It’s too much. I don’t need—”
“You’re here to work, Hayes,” I interrupted. “Not to sit in traffic. If you’re late because of some gridlock, it’s my time you’re burning. And I don’t waste time.”
She opened her mouth to protest again, but I leveled her with a look that silenced her.
The stubborn tilt of her chin told me she wasn’t happy about it, but she sighed, shaking her head.
“Fine. But only because I don’t want to argue with you.
And only until I finish this book. Then I’m going back to my apartment, and my bakery, and my life. ”
“Smart,” I said, though the corner of my mouth twitched. It wasn’t strictly about efficiency, and I suspected she knew that, but I wasn’t about to admit it.
In fact, as I watched her pick up her notebook, her pen hovered over the paper and ready to dive back into the depths of my past, I realized that I didn’t hate it at all. I craved it, craved her.
It was unsettling.
But I couldn’t tell her that. Not yet, at least. Not until I was sure that she could handle the truth, the raw, unfiltered reality of who I was.
So instead, I leaned back in my chair and gestured for her to continue. “Alright, Hayes, let’s get back to work. I’ve got a story to tell, and you’ve got a book to write.”
As a smile curled across her lips, I knew that I was in trouble.