Page 2 of The Alpha's Crimson Vow (Eternal Oath Saga #2)

Katherine

“Lady and gentlemen.”

My cousin Frank stands in front of the board as he begins his presentation, cunning green eyes shooting a snide look my way.

I can clearly hear the condescension in his tone when he says “lady”, as if trying to remind me that I’m the only woman here, trying to intimidate me somehow.

But it has the opposite effect. I am the only woman here. And the only woman here is their boss.

He goes on, pointing at the charts on the projector screen as he addresses the boardroom, “as you can see here, the proposed expansion into Asia may sound attractive, but it’s just not something we are prepared for… our infrastructure doesn’t currently…”

His words float toward me, but they don’t fully register. “... significant risk to our current operations… market volatility... potential erosion of shareholder value.” I barely listen to him. I don’t need to. It’s the same tired argument he’s been pushing since I proposed the expansion into Asia. Of course, he’s against it.

Frank. My cousin. My blood. He’s wanted my chair so badly he practically salivated over it. He takes every chance he can to undermine me, to poke holes in my plans, to cast doubt on my decisions. It’s pathetic, really.

I roll my eyes so subtly. He’s still talking, his voice climbing in intensity like he’s preaching to a congregation. He wants the board to back him, to rally against me.

I cross my legs beneath the table, smoothing my pencil skirt as I lean back in my chair. I force myself to appear engaged, my gaze locked on him, but my thoughts begin to wander.

This is such a waste of time . Frank doesn’t understand the vision, the potential, the necessity of this expansion. He’s too small-minded, too focused on protecting his comfort zone to see the bigger picture.

The fire of my annoyance dulls for a moment, giving way to something softer, warmer. My thoughts tilt, drifting to last night.

It’s almost comical—the contrast between this sterile boardroom and the memory of my office, where I sat cross-legged on the couch, sharing a bowl of instant ramen with Alex. The warmth of that moment sneaks into me like sunlight breaking through a storm cloud. I almost smile, but I catch myself and quickly adjust my expression, tilting my head as if I’m considering Frank’s latest graph.

It wasn’t the food—Goodness, no. It was way too salty. But it didn’t matter. For the first time in... I don’t know how long, I felt full. Not in the literal sense, but something deeper. Sitting there, over a pack of ramen that barely had any flavor, and a can of an energy drink, I felt something that’s become increasingly rare for me: ease.

With Alex, I didn’t feel like I had to have my guard up. I didn’t have to measure every word, calculate every move, or outmaneuver someone’s agenda. I could just be. The thought is terrifying and thrilling all at once.

I can hear my own voice from last night, rapid and unfiltered, spilling out anecdotes, half-formed thoughts, and even a few ridiculous tangents about the latest board drama. I remember the way he sat there, quiet but attentive, his eyes warm and steady. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to redirect the conversation, didn’t even seem bored. He just... listened.

And I talked. God, did I talk. I don’t think I’ve ever said that much to anyone in one sitting. But with him, it felt natural. Like the words were spilling out of me because they’d been waiting for someone like him to hear them. Someone who didn’t need to challenge me, but simply see me.

Frank’s voice jolts me back to the present, his tone insistent now, as if he’s gaining momentum. “... and if we proceed, the financial risks will undoubtedly outweigh the potential benefits.” His gaze darts toward me, sharp and calculating.

I meet his gaze, my lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile. It’s not warm. It’s not meant to be. It’s the smile of someone who’s already ten moves ahead, who knows exactly how this meeting will end, no matter how much noise he makes in the meantime.

“Frank.” My voice cuts through his monologue like a blade. He falters for half a second, but quickly covers it up.

“The expansion to Asia,” I say, my tone steady, commanding, leaving no room for debate, “will go ahead.”

Silence.

It blankets the room in the wake of my words. I can feel their eyes on me, assessing, calculating. I don’t flinch. I don’t blink. I let the silence stretch long enough to make my point.

Frank blinks rapidly, his composure slipping like a mask on the verge of falling. For a fleeting moment, I savor it, but I keep my expression carved from stone.

He clears his throat, his voice carrying that carefully measured tone of false confidence. “Miss CEO,” he begins, “I think that from everything I’ve just said, there’s a very compelling argument that we simply cannot properly execute an expansion of the magnitude you’re proposing.”

There it is again. The mockery embedded in those two words: Miss CEO. He says it like a slur wrapped in civility, as though the title doesn’t belong to me, as though my position is still up for debate. But now is not the time to dwell on his petty disrespect.

“Everything you’ve just said,” I reply, my voice steady and unyielding, “is the same as you said in the last meeting, Frank. So I’ll reiterate the things I’ve said previously. We certainly have the means, especially financially, to properly execute my expansion plan.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “But what about the infrastructure? We don’t have any infrastructure in Asia.”

“We will soon,” I counter smoothly. “I already highlighted the specific areas we are looking to make land purchases in. I also brought the board up to speed with initial talks to finalize those purchases.”

“Katherine,” he says, his tone more strained now, “the purchases you suggested are expensive.”

He always gets frustrated when he can’t get his way.

“Well…” I tilt my head slightly, a faint hint of amusement creeping into my tone. “Mr. CFO, I’m surprised you would think it’s expensive. Considering that over the last quarter we’ve generated record revenues, thanks to my expansion strategy within the country, by the way. I’m sure you’re aware we can easily afford this new plan.”

His jaw tightens visibly, and I catch the throb of a vein in his neck. The other board members are watching, their eyes darting between us like spectators at a tennis match.

“You didn’t let me finish. The increase in revenue from the previous project was wonderful because it was going to bring us all great profit. Expanding into Asia is a big expense and from my calculations, most of our current profit would become capital for that. What profit would be left for us in that case?”

My eyebrow arches before I can stop it. The board members around us all turn to me now.

He continues, more confident now that he has gotten a reaction out of everyone,. “Your expansion in the country has yielded some results, yes. And I think it would be more beneficial for morale if we increased the dividends of everyone on this board first, rather than embarking on another expansion that is a risk, and could lead to losses.”

He’s trying to sway the board with this hilarious attempt.

“So…” I lean forward slightly, fixing him with a look that’s all steel. “From what I gather, Frank, you haven’t been able to make any credible arguments against our capabilities for expansion… other than suggesting we divert funds to boardmember dividends?”

Frank bristles. “We’re in this to make money!” he starts.

I wave my hand, stopping whatever he means to say after that. “If your response to a little success is to immediately squander the profits, you won’t go very far.”

His face goes red. I turn to the board.

“I don’t want a slice. I want the whole cake. Rather than sharing a slice amongst ourselves, wouldn’t everyone be more satisfied if we had the whole cake to share?” I ask.

The boardmembers have to agree with me. Even they see it at this point. Despite the doubts they have in me, the one I see so clearly in their eyes, they know that I’m right.

“Even though it might take a little longer, wait for the whole cake,” I command.

Silence. The kind that stretches and gnaws at the edges of the room. Frank’s eyes dart to the others, searching for backup, but none of them speak. My authority is absolute, and he knows it.

“The expansion will go ahead as planned.” I declare with an air of finality.

Frank stands there looking like he’d rather melt into the floor, his face flushed.

I push back my chair with deliberate slowness.

“Well,” I begin, keeping my tone pointed, “if that will be all—” Before I can finish, an old, raspy voice interrupts. “Actually, there is one more thing to address.”

I stop mid-sentence, my eyes narrowing as I turn toward the source of the interruption. Lawrence. My uncle. The oldest person in this room. He sits to my left, his hunched frame radiating an air of gravitas that demands attention, even as his frail hands rest lightly on the table.

There’s something about him—the way he moves, slow and deliberate, every motion precise. If I didn’t know him better, I might have mistaken him for something otherworldly, a wolf shifter, perhaps. Not long ago, the very notion would have seemed absurd. But in the past few months, I’ve learned that this world is far more than it appears. Supernatural beings exist.

But Lawrence is human. It’s his title that makes him formidable. He is the head of the family elders.The spokesperson for a group of traditionalists who view Pinnacle Group as less of a corporation and more of a family dynasty. And, of course, he has something to say.

I sink back into my chair, schooling my features into neutrality. I already know what’s coming. Lawrence doesn’t speak unless it’s to make a point—usually one designed to undermine me.

“I have to say, Katherine,” he begins, his words slow, “myself, as well as the other elders, are quite disappointed with how things went with Mr. Chris Winters.”

The name sends a faint ripple of annoyance through me, but I push it aside, leaning back in my chair. I let out a slow, measured sigh. “That doesn’t sound like a pressing matter that warrants discussion in this meeting, Uncle Lawrence,” I say, my tone icy.

“Oh, but it is,” he replies, his voice carrying an eerie calmness. “You see, we’ve made it abundantly clear how your status as a single woman is… problematic, given the position you now hold.”

My fingers curl against the armrests of my chair, but I don’t flinch. “And I believe I’ve made it abundantly clear,” I say sharply, “that my private affairs have no bearing on my ability to perform as CEO.”

His eyes, sharp and unyielding despite their age, lock onto mine. There’s something unnerving about the way he looks at me—not fear-inducing, but unsettling in the way only someone used to unquestioned authority can be. He’s testing me, waiting for me to fold under the pressure. But I don’t.

The other board members stir in their seats, their discomfort palpable. I catch a few of their glances—wide-eyed, hesitant—as if they’re silently begging me to relent. But I don’t care. I won’t be cowed by Lawrence.

He sighs and straightens slightly. “The annual Pinnacle Group gala is this Friday,” he says, his voice taking on that maddeningly patient tone of his, like he’s speaking to a child.

“I’m aware,” I reply coolly.

He continues. “The elders have taken the liberty of compiling a list of suitable dates for you to attend with. You may select any name on it.” He slides a piece of paper across the table. It stops in front of me, and I glance down at it.

The list is exactly what I expect—names of sons of board members, each one more predictable than the last. I spot the final name and almost laugh. It’s so transparent, it’s insulting. A carefully curated selection of “appropriate” men to parade at my side like some sort of trophy, all under the guise of preserving the company’s image.

Lawrence leans forward. “As CEO, you are required to attend. And you must attend with a date. So please, Katherine, don’t embarrass us.”

I slowly rise from my seat, refusing to dignify his command with anything more than a single, withering look.

“That will be all.” I push away from the table, the sound of my heels against the floor as I exit the boardroom.

The rest of the day drifts by in a blur, the hours bleeding into one another as I bury myself in the comfort of work. My desk is a fortress, the spreadsheets and emails my shield against the memory of that infuriating board meeting. Lawrence’s words echo in my head like an annoying buzz I can’t quite shake. I focus harder on the screen, the numbers blurring slightly as I type furiously, as if working fast enough will erase the day’s irritations.

I don’t even notice how late it’s gotten until my eyes flick to the window. The inky black sky outside reflects faintly against the glass, interrupted only by the soft glow of city lights. I glance at my watch. 8 p.m. The quiet in my office is broken only by the soft clicking of my keyboard as I hammer out yet another email.

The knock at the door interrupts my rhythm, the sound pulling me out of my haze. I don’t even look up as I call out, my voice loud, laced with the frustration that’s been clinging to me all day. “Just come in!”

The door creaks open, and I glance up, my sharpness immediately softening as Alex steps carefully into the room. His broad shoulders seem almost too large for the doorway, his massive frame moving with an endearing hesitancy, like he’s unsure if he’s intruding. He peeks inside first, his expression cautious, almost asking for permission before fully stepping in.

“Oh, Alex,” I say, my tone gentler now. “Come in.” I gesture toward the space in front of my desk, my irritation already fading.

He steps in fully, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. A warm smile lights up his face as he holds out a coffee cup in one large hand. “Good evening, Ms. Lockhart. I thought I might bring you some coffee.”

I tilt my head slightly, my eyes locked on him as I process the gesture. It’s unexpected—sweet in a way I’m not used to. My surprise must be written all over my face, because he clears his throat, “I just knew you like to work late. And I thought you might need the caffeine boost.”

The simplicity of it, the thoughtfulness, is disarming. He looks so earnest, standing there like a child eager to help, and it sends a warmth through me. I can’t help but smile. Not the polite, practiced one I give during meetings, but a real, genuine smile. “Thank you, Alex,” I say softly.

He nods, his own smile widening as he steps closer and sets the cup on my desk. The warmth of his presence lingers in the air, stirring memories of that night over ramen—the way I felt so light, so at ease, so completely myself in his company. The thought makes me hesitate, watching him as he starts to retreat, and before I can think better of it, the words slip out.

“How about dinner again?” I ask.

He stops, turning back to look at me. There’s something in his expression—something I can’t quite pin down. An air of quiet confidence, almost like he’s holding onto some secret he has no intention of sharing. Then, as if deciding something, his features soften, and he gives a slow nod. “Guess I’ll go grab more ramen,” he says, already heading for the door.

“Oh no. Goodness, no,” I say quickly, laughing as I shake my head. “I’ll order something better this time.”

“Well… the ramen was admittedly rather salty,” he admits, his lips quirking into a playful smile.

“Uh huh,” I reply, a laugh bubbling out of me before I can stop it. The lightness of the moment washes over me, a welcome contrast to the heaviness of the day.

The pizza arrives quickly, the aroma wafting through the office as I set the box on the small table in the corner. I pop open a bottle of wine and pour us both generous glasses. The first slice of pizza disappears easily, and the meal feels lighter, more enjoyable, than the salty ramen from that other night.

Alex sits across from me, his massive frame making the chair he’s chosen look laughably small. He eats with quiet enthusiasm, while I lean back in my seat, gesturing with my wine glass as my words tumble out. The wine warms me, loosening my guard in a way I don’t often allow. But it’s easy with Alex. Too easy.

The conversation flows like the wine, smooth and unhurried. Alex listens attentively, his calm presence grounding me. He doesn’t need to fill the silence with unnecessary words, and I respect that about him. It gives me room to breathe, to talk, to vent. And talk, I do.

“I was a half second away from ripping the entire list to shreds right there in the meeting,” I say, punctuating my words with a sigh as I toss a pizza crust onto my plate.

“That would have been quite dramatic,” he says, a hint of amusement in his tone.

I pick up another slice, taking a bite before responding. “Yeah, well, not nearly as dramatic as being forced to go out with one of the board members’ sons. They’re all spoilt, entitled jerks, just like Chris Winters.”

There’s something endearing about how he listens to my frustrations as if he understands them. He reaches for the bottle and tops off my glass, the gesture so simple yet so thoughtful.

I take a sip. The words slip out before I can think better of them, born of the moment and the comforting ease of Alex’s company. “You know… honestly, I wish I could just take you.”

The room feels still for a beat, my careless statement settling between us. My eyes flick to his face, searching for his reaction. But Alex only grins again, the same warm, genuine grin.

“It must be a lot of pressure,” he says thoughtfully. “But I think you should do what you think is right.”

His words land heavier than I expect. He doesn’t press, doesn’t offer advice beyond that. Just a gentle reminder to trust myself.

I nod, mulling over his words as I take another bite of pizza. He’s right, of course. But for now, I push the thought aside. The gala, the list, the pressure of it all—it can wait.

Tonight is about pizza and wine and conversation. Tonight, I can forget about all my worries for a moment.

Even if only for a moment.