Allison's POV
The moment I stepped through the grand entrance of Storm Manor, conversation stilled mid-sentence.
Eyes widened. Time hiccupped.
The household staff froze like deer caught in headlights.
Mrs. Whitmore, the head housekeeper, who'd been arranging fresh flowers in the foyer, nearly dropped her crystal vase.
Her eyes locked onto me, pupils dilating like I was a ghost risen from the family crypt.
Her fingers tightened around the stem, knuckles pale, like the roses might save her.
The young wolf dusting the antique grandfather clock actually did drop his cloth, scrambling to retrieve it with flushed cheeks.
He muttered an apology to no one in particular, refusing to meet my eyes.
I didn't waste time on pleasantries.
"I need to see Alpha Victor. Now."
