My Family Pushed Wolf Culture; I Became Alpha, They Regretted It

2: 2

02

The next morning I got up and went downstairs.

My mother, who had received my resignation letter, had for once slept in and was still eating breakfast in the living room.

Beside her sat a second bowl of lobster and seafood congee, untouched.

"You're up. Eat first."

I caught the gardenia scent on her, felt the warmth of the bowl against my hands.

It was the first time I had ever stood this close to her.

Something in my chest stirred despite itself.

But the next second, she set down her chopsticks with that graceful ease and spoke flatly.

"I got your resignation letter. Denied."

"If you're throwing a little tantrum just because Zoe sat next to us last night, then you really aren't the lead wolf your father and I hoped for."

Then she casually picked up a piece of pickled radish coated in chili sauce, dropped it into my bowl, and went on.

"You know very well why the company keeps things at arm's length. Without real strength, how would you ever take over one day?"

"Your father and I have gone to great lengths to hide your true identity all this time, precisely so those old fossils would accept it willingly and choose you as the heir."

"Don't disappoint us."

I stared at the food in the bowl and didn't move.

Sometimes I really do admire my mother. When she lies, there isn't a single crack in it.

Seeing me like that, she frowned.

"Evangeline, I've said everything I need to say. Do you really have to make a scene like this?"

I set the spoon down and calmly reminded her that I was allergic to seafood.

And the only person in this house who couldn't live without chili was Zoe.

Pickled radish. I don't like it.

At that, my mother went still for a moment.

A flicker of guilt crossed her eyes, and she started to tell a servant to remake it.

But there was no time for that. The project I'd been running needed only one last signature to close.

I stood to leave.

My mother reached out to stop me, saying the recent field assignments had worn me out, and granted me a day off.

But laziness is what losers do.

That was what they'd called it two weeks ago, when I was burning at a hundred and four and asked for half a day off. Wolf-pack culture, they said.

When she saw I'd sensed something was wrong and meant to go anyway,

my mother stopped pretending. The false concern peeled away.

She pulled out a tablet and shoved it in front of me.

"There's no point going. Zoe already signed the contract for you."

On the livestream of the client meeting, my eyes dropped to the photo Zoe had sent.

The signature line, once left for the lead, already had her name on it.

The client was a Chinese-American, generous with his terms but famously impossible to work with.

I was the one who'd camped outside the consulate again and again, made over a hundred calls, just to land a single appointment.

"That was my work. Why should it go to Zoe!"

My mother looked straight past my grief and fury and took a light sip of water.

"Zoe's still one short of a passing KPI this month."

"But I pulled seven or eight all-nighters for this project. I drank until my gut perforated—"

"That's your problem. Wolf-pack culture: stay on guard at every moment, or you get culled."

My mother cut me off, impatient.

She didn't spare a glance for the red rimming my eyes, and set about arranging Zoe's celebration dinner.

Thirty million dollars. Nearly two hundred million in turnover.

At the banquet, my mother, my father, and the other shareholders were all grinning ear to ear.

Glasses clinked, and every word was praise for Zoe.

"Joseph, you've really raised a fine daughter!"

"Thanks to this money, we'll clean up on next quarter's bids too."

"Ha, and when it comes to forecasting the market then, Miss Henson will have to share plenty of her advice."

Then someone spotted me in the corner, as if it had jogged a memory.

Laughing, they mentioned catching me in a private room downing hard liquor, throwing up between grabbing at deals.

And when they asked why my name wasn't on the contract, the room fell silent for a beat.

My mother's face went cold.

"Closing it is skill. Failing to hold on to it is your own fault."