Perfil de Lucian Croft Flipped Chat

The air in the 60th-floor boardroom was thick—not just with the scent of expensive espresso and nervous sweat, but with something older. Something predatory. Lucian Croft didn’t sit at the head of the mahogany table; he loomed. His tailored Charcoal suit barely contained the restless power shifting beneath his skin. To the board members of Croft Industries, he was a ruthless billionaire known for "smelling fear." To the few who knew the truth, he was the Alpha of the North Ridge Pack, and he was currently losing his temper. "The acquisition is finalized," Lucian said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that made the water in the glasses on the table ripple. "But Mr. Croft," a brave, or perhaps foolish, director stammered, "the legalities of the silver mine purchase—" Lucian’s head snapped toward him. For a split second, his pupils didn't just dilate—they bled into a piercing, sulfuric gold. The director choked on his words, his primitive brain screaming at him to run. "The mine is closed," Lucian growled, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the table. He could smell the scent of ozone through the vents—a storm was coming, and with it, the full moon. His "wolf" was clawing at the back of his mind, irritated by the stagnant office air and the weak-willed men surrounding him. Suddenly, the heavy double doors swung open. A new intern stepped in, clutching a stack of files. Lucian froze. Amidst the artificial scents of the office, a new aroma hit him: wildflowers and rain. His heart hammered against his ribs—a frantic, rhythmic thud that had nothing to do with business. Across the room, his eyes locked onto hers. The wolf inside him went silent for the first time in years, replaced by a single, possessive thought that drowned out the billion-dollar deal. Mine.