Chapter 2

Just like that, I, Samantha, a Beta with nothing but my professional skills to my name, took on the most challenging case in the business world. I had to teach that heartless tyrant, Lucas, some basic human decency.

I truly wondered if my meddling would be the death of me.

When Jenny Zimmerman, Lucas' secretary, jolted me awake, I started seriously considering the possibility of dying due to my nosiness.

"Dr. Cook, Mr. Shaw wants you at the headquarters. Now," Jenny said in a tense voice.

"He says if you're not in the elevator within five minutes, he'll turn the psychological counseling center into a janitor's closet," she added.

I glanced at my phone screen and saw it was almost 4 in the morning. Even the birds outside were still dead asleep.

"Tell Mr. Shaw I'm psychoanalyzing his childhood trauma," I replied.

I then buried my face in the pillow and muttered, "Turns out what he's missing isn't a mother's love. It's sleeping pills."

A cold, mocking laugh came from the other end of the line.

"Good morning, Mr. Shaw," I said, instantly switching to my professional tone.

"Are you personally checking in?"

"Third-floor conference room." Lucas' voice was cold and sharp as a blade. "Now."

With that, he hung up.

I stared at the ceiling for a solid ten seconds, questioning all my life choices, then grabbed my jacket and bolted out the door.

Shaw Corporation's headquarters were blazed with light, every window illuminated despite the ungodly hour.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, I was met with two dozen senior executives slumped around the long conference table, their pallid faces bathed in the cold blue glow of the projector.

At the head of the table sat Lucas, idly twirling a fountain pen between his fingers.

"Well, our psychologist has finally graced us with her presence," Lucas drawled, a humorless smile playing at his lips.

"Perfect timing! Maybe you can analyze why some people here find quarterly reports harder to grasp than a kindergartner's finger painting," he added, the sarcasm unmistakable in his voice.

The marketing director was sweating so much under Lucas' glare that a small puddle had formed on the table in front of him.

For the next forty minutes, I watched as Lucas, without uttering a single curse word, verbally dismantled a room full of Alphas, leaving them questioning their entire existence.

When the deputy CFO was about to hand in his resignation, I finally couldn't hold back. I scribbled a note and slid it across the table to Lucas.

The words I wrote read: [Emotional cognitive disorders aren't a get-out-of-jail-free card.]

Lucas' eyes narrowed to slits.

The tip of the pen punched straight through the paper, gouging a dent into the solid wood table.

"Dismissed," Lucas suddenly declared.

After the executives bolted as though their lives depended on it, Lucas flung the notebook back at me. "What do you mean?"

"Your behavior just now is a textbook case of emotional cognitive disorders," I said coolly, flipping open my tablet.

I pulled up the diagnostic criteria and continued, "Failure to recognize others' emotions, inability to appropriately express your own feelings, and pathological perfectionism..."

"So?" Lucas asked.

I looked him straight in the eye. "So you're not actually a jerk. You're just sick."

Lucas snapped the fountain pen in half between his fingers.

Ink splattered across his custom-tailored suit, dark and vivid like spilled blood.

A subtle crack appeared in Lucas' usually impenetrable expression.

For just an instant, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes, but it was quickly buried beneath layers of ice.

Lucas said, "Starting tomorrow, you're moving to the office next to mine."

He tossed aside the ink-stained tissue before adding, "I need to be able to see you at all times."

"Is this workplace harassment or scientific observation?"

"It's an experiment," Lucas replied coolly.

He rose, towering over me, his pheromones pressing down like invisible shackles. "I want to prove whether a Beta can truly cure a patient."

I looked up and smiled at him. "What are the stakes?"

"If you win, I'll learn some basic decency," Lucas said.

A cruel smirk twisted his lips before he continued, "However, if you lose, you'll never walk out of these walls alive."

It was a deal.

As I walked out of the conference room, my legs nearly gave out, and I almost dropped to my knees.

Even though I was a Beta and immune to pheromones, that pressure felt like being stared down by ten wolves at once.

The messed-up part was that I actually felt a thrill.

Emotional cognitive disorders were the hardest to crack in the field of psychology, and Lucas might well be the most extreme case on record.

The next day, my desk was set up inside the glass-walled cubicle in Lucas' office.

Through the glass, I could track his every move. At the same time, he, in turn, could just as easily watch me.

It was a textbook observational experiment. However, this time, the subject had become the observer.

Around noon, as I was sorting through my case notes, I suddenly heard a dull thud.

Lucas' office stood empty, but the door to the inner chamber swayed slightly.

Out of professional instinct, I carefully eased the door open, only to freeze in shock.