Alpha Derrick's POV
A soft whimper, followed by a faint snore, pulled my attention away from the file in my hands. I glanced down, my brow furrowing at the sight of Nathan asleep at my feet, his head resting against the leg of my chair.
His position was pitiful—curled up like a stray dog, as if even in sleep, he feared being scolded or kicked aside.
I exhaled sharply, my irritation mounting. This was unacceptable. I opened my mouth to yell at him, but the words caught in my throat. His face, slack with exhaustion, was pale, the faint bruise on his neck from his earlier cut still visible.
My jaw tightened. Why was I suddenly going soft?
A knock on the door snapped me out of my thoughts. Before I could respond, the door creaked open, and Timothy stepped in. His eyes immediately landed on Nathan, narrowing in confusion.
"Alpha Derrick," he began, his tone cautious. "I didn't mean to intrude, but I needed to discuss—"
