The Lycan Kingpin's Captive: A Baby For The Beast novel Chapter 103

Calista

The morning light streams through my bedroom window, bouncing off the array of designer bags and shoes that populate my sanctuary. I’m scrolling through my social media feed, double-tapping on photos that barely hold my interest, when there’s a knock on my door. It’s probably one of my existing bodyguards, reminding me of some mundane errand I have to run today.

Instead, the door creaks open and my father steps in. His aura fills the room like a cloud of stern disapproval. “Calista, we need to talk,” he says, the weight of his authority in each syllable.

I roll my eyes. “I’m busy, Daddy.”

He strides across the room, ignoring the clutter, and sits on the edge of my bed. “This is important, Calista. More important than whatever party you’re planning to attend tonight.”

“Highly unlikely,” I quip, but he’s not laughing.

“I’ve arranged for a new bodyguard to join your team,” he says, not a hint of humour in his eyes.

I snort. “Another one? I already have two. What’s wrong with Nikos and Yianni?” I ask, putting my phone down. “I already have the two of them tailing me everywhere I go, ruining my life. What’s he going to do, carry my bags? I don’t need another one!” My voice rises, the pitch nearing frustration.

He leans back in his leather chair, fingers steepled. “This is different. The threats against you have escalated, and I can’t risk your safety. This man is one of the best assassins in the world.”

I laugh, a burst of incredulity. “An assassin? Seriously? Daddy, I go to clubs, not war zones. I don’t need a killer stalking me!”

“I’ve never been more serious,” he says, then he gets up and sits on his haunches in front of me. “Calista, you need to take this seriously. The threats are real and specific. Whoever is behind them knows details about you, your schedule, your life. I’m not taking chances.”

I study my father’s face, recognisingrecognising the iron-clad resolve that has made him one of the most feared Alphas in Greece.

“Fine,” I sigh, flicking my long, dark hair over my shoulder. “But if this new guy screws up my plans, he’s out.”

“Good. He’ll be here soon. I want you to meet him.”

I roll my eyes, imagining some elderly, gruff man who smells like mothballs and stale cigars. I reluctantly get up, choosing to humour my father this one time. “Let’s get this over with,” I say, strutting out of the room.

We walk to his office, the tension heavy between us. Ugh, my father’s office smells like cigars and old books—so archaic. I sit on the plush leather chair opposite his oak desk, legs crossed, tapping my manicured nails impatiently on the armrest.

“I can’t believe you hired someone who kills for a living,” I scoff, crossing my arms. “Assassins don’t protect, Daddy! They kill. How messed up is that?”