Lilith's POV
"If you're serious about advancing in life, you’ll do this, Lilith," Sylas, my boss, said with the same predatory look he always gave me—like I was his last meal.
I rolled my eyes and scowled. If I had a dime for every time I’d heard that manipulative line, I wouldn’t need to be here enduring his nonsense. It was just another way for him to get what he wanted—another task no one else would touch. For three long years, Sylas had been trying to lure me into his orbit, his saggy, aging body a stark contrast to the delusion of power he thought he wielded. No other female in the office was treated this way—just me.
But I wasn’t, nor would I ever be, his side chick. He must have missed that memo. Honestly, it’s a miracle I haven’t killed him yet.
"Take your interview and shove it up your ass where it belongs. That’s the only action you’re getting from me," I snapped, throwing the file at him with enough force to make my point clear.
I couldn’t care less about football. It was barbaric, and once college was over, no one gave a damn about it. The professional league didn’t even allow shifters—too much potential for chaos. Imagine grannies in the stands, puking up their overpriced hot dogs as heads went flying across the field. Yeah, no thanks.
"Lilith, get your sweet little tail over to the frat house and interview those players," Sylas ordered, raising a brow like he was giving me the privilege of a lifetime. "They’re future Alphas—every she-wolf’s wet dream. The papers would sell out overnight. Can’t believe we haven’t covered them yet."
I scoffed. Everyone knew the infamous Ashford brothers didn’t do interviews.
"You kiss your mate with that mouth?" I shot back, kicking his foot off his desk. "Douchebag."
Sylas smirked, knowing he had me cornered. I needed his recommendation, and he damn well knew it. Good she-wolves were expected to be obedient, to finish school and settle into domestic bliss if they hadn’t found their mate. Not me. I wanted a career, my own money, my independence.
The Full Moon Times, the largest shifter newspaper, was losing its junior editor to retirement next year. That position had my name on it. I could almost taste it. All I needed was a foot in the door—an internship, anything to prove myself. I had the talent, the tenacity, and the instincts no one else could match. I always got the story.
But football players? Really? It was the journalistic equivalent of watching paint dry. Here’s your headline:
*“Aspiring Reporter Dies of Boredom. Public Mistakes It for Performance Art.”*
"Look, sugar," Sylas said, leaning back with that greasy grin I despised. "You do this for me, and I’ll let you write your own damn recommendation letter. Say whatever the hell you want, and I’ll sign it. Deal?"
His hand was outstretched, sweaty and reeking of stale pizza and cigarettes. I hated this office. The futon in the corner confirmed what everyone suspected—his mate had thrown him out, likely because he was screwing the nanny. Disgusting.
I grabbed a tissue, wrapped it around my hand, and shook his. As I pulled away, he yanked me into his lap. My hand pressed against his chest as I tried to steady myself.
"I’ve got a list of questions I want answered," he said, his breath hot and foul. "Don’t let me down, Lilith."
"Brush your damn teeth," I hissed, scrambling to my feet.
As I stood, my lap brushed against his crotch, and the evidence of his excitement made my stomach churn. The urge to stomp him into oblivion surged through me, but the thought of touching him again—even with my shoe—was unbearable.
*KNOCK KNOCK.*
"Sylas, I have those advertisements for your approval," Sonia, his secretary, announced, walking in and catching me mid-escape from his lap.
Perfect. Just perfect.
"This isn’t what it looks like," I snapped, grabbing the file from his desk. "If he was on fire, I wouldn’t waste the spit to put him out. And for the love of the goddess, get an air freshener in here."
Sylas’s obnoxious laughter followed me into the hallway. "Love you too, Lilith!"
I took a deep breath, desperate for the stench of him to dissipate. But it clung to me like a curse. The first thing I did when I got home was rip off my dress and toss it straight into the trash. It wasn’t cheap, and I liked it a lot, but it was irreparably contaminated. Sylas-level contaminated.
---
**Later that Night**
When the campus nightlife was in full swing, I prepared myself for the mission ahead. I pulled half of my hair up, letting loose blonde curls cascade down my back. It was a warm night, and I took full advantage, slipping into a dress that my conservative mother would describe as "a jezebel’s attempt at modesty." High heels completed the look.
My mother still clung to the outdated belief that good she-wolves waited patiently for their mate. According to her, only the virtuous were blessed with one. Whatever.
Maybe that’s why my first sexual experience was a threesome—equal parts curiosity and rebellion. Long story short, neither gender had won me over completely.
Four years after my first shift and still no mate. Most shifters found theirs around seventeen. Maybe I was forgotten. Maybe I was destined to be alone. And maybe I didn’t care. I didn’t need a mate to enjoy myself—or my life.
I grabbed the file from my bag and glanced at the names. Only one photo. They were brothers. How different could they be? Shoving the file back into my bag, I cut across campus, feeling nostalgic. One more week of classes, then finals. Three years of calling this place home, and soon, it would all be over.
The Ashford brothers lived in a lavish green house that screamed wealth. Their parents probably hired an entire staff to maintain it. Must be nice.
Inside, the air was charged with music and the buzz of conversation. I made my way to the keg, snagging a beer without paying. The guys guarding it didn’t even ask—they were too busy staring at my cleavage.
Oh, I still had it—like some clueless freshman ever stood a chance with this fine piece of tail.
"Have you seen Caden around?" I asked, watching the guy's smug grin dissolve in an instant.