Two Kinds of Hunger
In this world, packs are just the family you love, leave, or raise quietly in your den. Everything else? You earn with teeth.
Jonathan Hitchcock has spent six years perfecting the art of becoming someone else before 9 a.m.
At Fenwick Capital, like most everywhere else in this world, status isn't inherited, it's taken. Wolves don't fight for packs here, they fight for rank, clawing over each other in boardrooms instead of moonlit forests, and John has spent a decade making sure no one climbs higher than he does. He's good at it. He's good at all of it, the negotiations, the acquisitions, the quiet, surgical destruction of families who remind him too much of the one he walked away from.
He's less good at being human.
Wren Ashby wasn't hired to fix him. She's just the new girl at the front desk who's noticed the things nobody else stays around long enough to see, the version of him that exists in the five minutes before the mask goes on. Jaiden Marsh, his loyal, devoted PA, adores exactly the opposite: the polished, ruthless apex predator the world sees, the man who's never lost a deal in fourteen months.
Two people. Two versions of the same man. And a rival closing in with a nose for blood in the water who might not care which version survives.
Some wolves climb to be seen. John climbed to disappear. He's about to learn he can't do both.