Alpha's Private Plaything (Elsa and Drake Stone) novel Chapter 118

Elsa

Wilson finally broke away from his conversation circle and made his

way toward me. I straightened my posture but kept my eyes on my

tablet, projecting casual professionalism while my stomach knotted

with tension. Get your shit together, Elsa. This is just another

negotiation.

“So you’re the famous Elsa Hale,” Wilson said, coming to stand beside

1. me. His voice carried the confident drawl of old money. “Drake

Stone’s… what exactly? I hear you handle all his personal affairs.”

The insinuation in his tone made my skin crawl. I lifted my gaze,

meeting his eyes with a neutral expression while rage bubbled

beneath the surface. “I’m just a senior assistant at Stone Industries,

Mr. Wilson. My job includes cross–enterprise negotiation.”

He gave me a slow once–over, his nostrils flaring slightly–trying to

catch my scent, to place me in the pack hierarchy. “For ten years, I’m told. That’s quite a long time for someone in your… position.”

My pulse quickened. How did he know how long I’d been with Drake?

I kept my face carefully blank, taking a subtle step backward. “Stone

Industries values employee loyalty.”

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Wilson chuckled, the sound devoid of humor. “I’m sure they do.” His

eyes dropped to the silver moon pendant at my throat–the mark of

my contract with Drake–before he leaned closer. “Tell your boss I

don’t appreciate being ambushed by his Omega lapdog.”

He walked away before I could respond, leaving me with clenched

fists and burning cheeks. Lapdog.

“Fuck you too,” I muttered under my breath, my nails digging

crescents into my palms. Ten years of this shit–being dismissed,

objectified, treated like property–and it still stung like a fresh

wound.

I watched Wilson head toward the exit, his broad shoulders tense

with annoyance. This was my chance–away from the crowd, where no

one could overhear our conversation.

I followed him at a measured pace, grabbing a bottle of mineral water

from a passing server. In the quiet hallway outside the ballroom,

Wilson was standing by a large window, angrily tapping at his phone.

“Mr. Wilson,” I said, approaching him with the bottle extended.

“Please, take a moment to cool down.”

He glanced at the water, then at me, his expression hardening. “Is this another one of your tricks, Ms. Hale? First a fake journalist, now what

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-poisoned water?”

I sighed, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip myself before offering it

again. “No tricks. Just water and a business proposition that benefits

us both.”

Wilson reluctantly accepted the bottle but didn’t drink. “Why would

Drake send an assistant to handle something this important? Is he

not taking our partnership seriously?”

I touched the silver moon pendant at my neck, a habit I’d developed

over the years when nervous. “This is Mr. Stone’s arrangement. We

need you to sign the supplementary agreement regarding mineral

extraction.”

“And why should I? The terms are heavily weighted in Stone

Industries‘ favor.”

“Because the alternative is worse,” I said, my voice steady. “I have the

authority to negotiate on behalf of Stone Industries.”

Wilson scoffed. “Call him. Let me speak to Drake directly.”

I pulled out my phone, grateful that Drake was in a dinner meeting

and wouldn’t answer. I pretended to dial, holding the phone to my ear

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