#Chapter 8: Sheep's Clothing

Amelia It really is him, Richard. Beautiful, composed, devastatingly powerful Richard. His eyes sweep over me, and I feel them catch—taking in every wrinkle in my dress, every frizzed hair, every trace of the mess I’ve barely tried to clean up. Somehow I look even more chaotic now than when I left his room this morning. “Follow me,” he says, his voice low and commanding, echoing across the lobby like it was built just to hold the sound. Meredith, the receptionist who had been dripping with superiority just minutes ago, now bows her head so fast I almost hear her neck crack. The smugness is gone, replaced with total silence as Richard and I walk past like she’s suddenly remembered how ranks work. We head toward the elevator. I’ve been to the pack house before, but never this wing. The doors close behind us and suddenly we’re alone. Neither of us speaks. The silence is thick—full of things we’re both pretending not to think about. I try not to look at him, but he’s ever