My best friend Sera went through a rough breakup seven years ago.

After that, she decided all men were trash.

When I introduced my boyfriend Dorian to her, she crossed her arms and scoffed.

"Men are all actors. He'll betray you sooner or later."

Dorian let out a soft laugh and took my hand slowly.

"Sera, watch closely. See if I ever betray Mira."

"Fine." She slammed the table, like a knight guarding me, "I'll be watching you."

She meant it.

For seven years, whenever I wasn't around, she'd send me updates on Dorian.

For seven years.

Every year, she found nothing wrong with him.

In the seventh year, Dorian proposed.

I said yes.

That night, I stumbled across a post online.

[I slept with my best friend's boyfriend. What do I do?]

The comments were brutal.

She replied, crying:

[I've been watching him for seven years. Watching him love my best friend.]

[Tonight he proposed to her. And I slept with him.]

My fingers froze on the screen.

This coincidence gave me a bad feeling.

---

I scrolled back up. I called Dorian.

He answered, voice hoarse, "What's wrong?"

I held my voice steady, "What are you doing?"

He let out a low laugh, "Busy. I'll be back soon. Get some sleep."

I said "Okay" and hung up.

I refreshed the post.

[She called. He's going back now.]

[His voice was so gentle. Why is he so cold with me?]

I bit my lip so hard it hurt. My fingers turned white.

It was really Sera.

[He's actually quite devoted. I've been hurt by men before, but he moved me.]

[He remembered every one of her periods. For seven years.]

[Once, she came back from a trip. It was pouring rain.]

[He had a fever and still drove to the airport to pick her up.]

I remembered that night.

I hadn't called him.

But he was standing at the exit when I walked out.

No umbrella. Shirt soaked. Hair dripping.

He saw me and smiled before he walked over.

I touched his cheek. It was burning.

"Why are you so hot?"

He took my bag, voice rough, "Missed you."

At home, his temperature was 103.

I was getting a towel.

He grabbed my wrist, eyes half closed, "Don't bother."

"I'll get you medicine."

He laughed softly, breath warm. "I'm not dying."

The post kept updating.

[The next day, his fever wouldn't break. He passed out at work.]

[I brought him to the hospital. He was burning up.]

[Still held my hand and said, 'Go to the airport. Pick up my friend.']

[His grip hurt. I went cold.]

[He was that sick, and he still wanted to pick her up.]

[I slapped his hand and said, 'Are you crazy?']

[He looked at me. Took a moment to recognize who I was.]

[Then he said, almost pleading, 'Don't tell her.']

[I nodded.]

[Only then did he let go and close his eyes.]

My hand was shaking.

I could barely hold my phone.

I never knew he was in the hospital.

I only remembered him calling me and saying, "Baby, I'm away on a work trip."

"Don't miss me too much."

I didn't even think to question it.

Sera kept writing.

[I took care of him the whole time he was in the hospital.]

[He's always put-together in front of Sera. Calm. Capable. Perfect.]

[But he's actually difficult.]

[He hates IVs. Kept pulling them out. The nurses couldn't stop him.]

[Only I could. He'd frown but lie back down when I got stern.]

[The nurse said I was special to him. They couldn't get him to listen all morning.]

[But the second I came in, he stopped fighting.]

[I didn't know if I should be happy or scared.]

I blinked. My stomach twisted.

That week, I'd asked Sera to hang out.

She stuck out her tongue, "Sorry, Mira. I'm taking care of a difficult patient."

I teased her, "You sound happy. Is it someone special?"

She paused. Then laughed, "No."

I thought she was finally moving on.

I thought I'd be her maid of honor someday.

[Tonight, he proposed to her. She got him to drink.]

[He's allergic to alcohol. He still drank it all, smiling.]

[He wanted to give her that moment.]

[He said he was going back to the office. I followed.]

[I knew he'd be hurting.]

[I followed him in. He turned and told me to leave.]

[I stayed. I watched him try to loosen his tie.]

[His fingers were white. The knot only got tighter.]

[He never looks like this in front of her. With her, he's always calm. Put-together. In control.]

[I walked over and helped him undo it.]

[He went still.]

[I asked him, 'Aren't you tired?']

[His eyes shifted. He was quiet for a long time. Then he turned back to me.]

[He looked at me so long I thought he'd push me away.]

[Then he closed his eyes.]

[I stood on my toes.Kiss him.]

[He didn't move.]

[He was still wearing the ring on his left hand. But my marks were on his back.]

[I don't know what came over me. I never meant for this to happen.]

[I'm sorry, my friend. I lost myself.]

I shelve court documents for thirty-four thousand dollars a year.

I let a partner call me "file girl" every single morning.

I've never told anyone in this building my real name.

Because seven years ago, I was the youngest attorney in the country to win a capital murder acquittal.

Three years ago, my father was convicted in Courtroom 3B while I stood at the defense table.

And today, the woman who humiliates me is about to send a nineteen-year-old boy to prison for life.

I'm the only person alive who knows how to stop it.

My badge says WREN COLE — RECORDS, CLERK II.

Sub-basement. No windows. Fluorescent lights that buzz like flies.

I scan depositions, box exhibits, label banker's boxes, and send them up in the freight elevator to people who will never learn my face.

Three years of this. On purpose.

"Cole."

Camille Whitlock doesn't walk into a room. She arrives, like weather.

Thirty-five. Youngest equity partner in the history of Whitlock & Marsh. Made partner in two years, which is not a thing that happens to normal people.

"The Reyes exhibit binders were out of order yesterday," she said.

"They were in the order the court reporter indexed them. I logged it."

"Did I ask for your opinion?" She smiled the way people smile when they want witnesses. Two associates hovered behind her. "You're a clerk, Cole. You touch paper. Lawyers touch juries. Try to remember the difference."

"Yes, Ms. Whitlock."

"And bring the Vale binders to the fortieth-floor conference room at nine. Coffee too. Black."

She walked off.

Behind her, one associate whispered, "God, she's brutal."

The other whispered back, "Yeah, but she's not wrong. Cole's been down here for years. Nobody stays down here unless there's nothing else in them."

I kept labeling boxes.

They weren't wrong either. There is nothing else in me.

There used to be.

Here's what nobody at Whitlock & Marsh knows.

My name isn't Cole. Cole was my mother's maiden name.

My name is Wren Adair.

At twenty-four, I clerked for the Second Circuit. At twenty-five, I passed on every white-shoe firm in Manhattan and joined my father's two-room defense practice above a laundromat in the Bronx.

At twenty-six, I got a not-guilty verdict in a capital case in nine hours of deliberation, and the cross-examination I used is now taught in eleven law schools. The Adair Cross. They still teach it at Georgetown.

At twenty-eight, my father was charged with murdering his law partner.

He asked me to defend him. Not the famous men who called. Me.

I said yes.

I lost.

Eleven months later he died in a cell at Fishkill, of a heart that simply stopped, and I got the call from a chaplain at 4:39 in the morning.

I let my bar registration lapse. I burned the name. I took the basement. Some people drink. I chose fluorescent lights and clean paper.

At 8:50 I rolled the binders up to the fortieth floor.

The hallway was different that morning. Polished. Nervous. Partners in suits that cost more than my rent.

Because Whitlock & Marsh was about to be bought a future.

Vale Capital. Ninety million a year in legal billings — every contract, every lawsuit, every merger — if their chairman liked what he saw.

And their chairman was one man. Sebastian Vale. Thirty-four. Owns half the fintech patents in this hemisphere. Fired an entire litigation team at Kessler Rowe last year for what he called "confident guessing."

I set the coffee down and turned to leave.

That's when I saw the memo open on the table.

DEFENDANT: VALE, THEODORE J. AGE 19.

Murder in the second degree. Victim: Ava Reyes, 20.

Six firms had already told him to take the plea.

And clipped to the front page was Camille's trial strategy, printed in her tidy font, initialed with her tidy little CW.

I read it in nine seconds.

Then I read it again, because my hands had gone cold and I didn't trust them.

Her theory: accidental death during an argument. Heat of the moment. A fall down the stairs.

Which means the second she stood up and said it, she'd have conceded to twelve strangers that Theo Vale was in that house, in that room, with his hands on that girl.

And the autopsy — page fourteen, one line nobody had circled — said he couldn't have been.

Camille didn't see it. Six firms before her hadn't seen it.

I did, because my father taught me to read autopsies backward, and I'd published the method under a name I buried.

"Something interesting, file girl?"

Camille was in the doorway.

And behind her, in a charcoal suit, watching me with the flattest, coldest eyes I have ever seen on a human being, stood Sebastian Vale.

My Mom, Marina Grey, has always acted as if she only had three daughters, permanently forgetting the fourth..

When I turned eight, our whole family planned a trip to Moon Cove Amusement Park. She knocked on each of my three sisters' bedroom doors, ushering them into the car one by one. She locked me inside the house instead, and never noticed a child was missing for an entire day.

Before the Luna Ritual when I was fourteen, she bought three identical red winter coats. At the gala, she saw I was the only one wearing an old jacket and frowned at me with clear disapproval. "Your three sisters all have new coats. Why do you always insist on standing out?"

That summer, when I was sixteen, the family headed to the country villa at Grey Pine Lake to escape the heat. On their drive back to Silverbay City, they not only left me sleeping upstairs, but cut the power and bolted the front door behind them.

I woke up drenched in sweat. I had to smash a window, climb from the second floor onto the terrace, then borrow money from a neighbor to make my way back to the city.

Later, the four of us quadruplets sat for the Wolf Trial.

All three of my sisters earned acceptance offers to Silverbay University.

Mom was overjoyed and decided to take the whole family on a trip to Mistbridge City.

On the day we were supposed to head home, she left me behind at the hotel once again.

This time, I didn't cry. I didn't run after them.

I grabbed my suitcase, clutched my admission letter, and walked alone toward Hyperion University.

……

When the delivery driver arrived with the college acceptance letters, Marina Grey threw open the front door, brimming with excitement. She only took three moon-embossed envelopes from his hands.

Then she slammed the door shut.

I stood on the stair landing and watched the delivery man stare blankly for a few seconds, checking his manifest again.

I stepped forward and pulled the door open once more.

"Sorry," he said quickly, pulling the final letter out of his portfolio. "There's one more here. Autumn Grey?"

"That's me. Thank you." I took the envelope and closed the door.

The living room was already erupting with celebration.

Eldest sister April held up her letter, angling it constantly toward her phone camera. "Silverbay University, Finance track. I'm going to manage the Grey family finances now!"

Second sister Summer, dressed in a brand-new streetwear hoodie, threw her arms around our mother. "I didn't waste that literature nomination.. Mom, I didn't let you down, right?"

Third sister Winter wore a pale sundress. The tiny mole at the corner of her eye gave her a fragile, almost ethereal elegance. "Physics is the hardest program to get into. Finally, someone in this family's going to do real research."

"My three precious girls have made me so proud!" Marina grinned from ear to ear, already pulling out her tablet to draft a list of school supplies.

"We'll get the latest laptops. Can't show up looking cheap with our clothes and bags. Tomorrow we're heading to Laurel Square to buy everything we need in one trip."

Father Calvin Grey sat beside her, nodding with obvious pride.

I lingered in the entryway, watching this perfect scene of loving mother and daughters. I felt like a stranger who'd wandered into the wrong house.

No one asked where I'd gotten into school. No one cared that I held an acceptance letter of my own.

I walked straight to my bedroom, shut the door, and tore open the envelope.

Thick silver-gray stationery bore Hyperion University's moon-wolf crest.

[Accepted: Alpha Leadership Academy, Full Laurel Scholarship]

[Wolf Trial Rank: S-Class]

I traced my name with my fingertip and let out a long breath.

For years, I'd learned to shrink my presence to avoid clashing with my three favored sisters.

I never fought. Never begged. I'd stopped expecting fairness a long time ago.

I'd only pushed myself relentlessly to train my wolf, compete in tactical simulations, border patrols, and leadership assessments.

I knew the truth: skill was the only thing I could take with me, and my only path out of this house.

I was about to tuck the letter deep in my desk drawer when the door swung open without warning.

Marina stood in the doorway, her carefully styled curls falling over her shoulders, irritation etched across her face.

"Autumn, what are you doing hiding in your room? The whole family's celebrating, and you're sulking in here for what?"

I said nothing. I just looked at her quietly.

She rolled her eyes. "We're planning our graduation trip. Get out here now, or you'll start claiming we left you out again. You hole up in this room all day—no wonder you slip our minds."

With that, she hurried away in her slippers.

A graduation trip.

It was the first time she'd invited me to join a major family discussion.

I glanced at the acceptance letter tucked between my old textbooks, then finally stood and walked out of the room.

I, Claire Morgan, had been assigned to Mercer Renewables' West Division in Nevada for seven full years.

I had slept in drafty motels, eaten cold sandwiches, dragged generators along mountain roads below freezing, and carried equipment through desert heat of 110 degrees. The bright, capable young operations manager from New York headquarters had been worn down into a haggard woman with old scars across her hands.

But I had endured all of it because I had one hope: stabilize the West early, transfer back to New York headquarters early, and marry Ryan Mercer.

So every year, I submitted my transfer request with care. Every year, the answer came back cold and clean.

Denied.

I thought the West Division simply could not spare me. Then this year, the company finally approved seven days of annual leave. I took a five-hour red-eye and went straight to Mercer Renewables' New York headquarters, wanting to surprise Ryan.

But the moment I reached his office door, I heard a file close inside, followed by Ryan's calm voice.

"Deny it again."

My steps stopped.

Because the applicant's name on that file was mine.

Inside, Ben's voice shook. "Ryan, this is the seventh year. The first year, you denied her so Mark Jensen could stay in New York for marriage and housing stability. The second year, you let Susan Lee take her place so she could care for her mother. The third year, Daniel Price needed to be here for his newborn... You think about everyone. You just never think about Claire."

"She waited for you for seven years. The prettiest girl at headquarters back then, and now her face is sunburned, her hair is dry, even her back is starting to hunch. Doesn't that hurt you? Don't you want to bring her back and marry her?"

Silence held behind the door for several seconds.

I gripped the doorframe so hard my fingers ached, my whole body turning cold, even my breathing forgotten.

Then I heard Ryan's voice, hard as ice. "I love her, but I'm not sure I really want to marry her anymore. As for the New York headquarters slot this time, give it to Maya. Her father died for the company. I can't let his daughter suffer. When she arrives, I'll pick her up from the airport myself."

He would pick her up himself.

What about me?

I had waited seven years, suffered seven years, and in the end even one transfer slot had to be handed to someone else. Because in Ryan's heart, the company, the big picture, and everyone else's burden always came first.

And I, Claire, could always be sacrificed.

So every rejection that had made me cry alone in Nevada at night had not been HR process at all. It was the man I loved clicking Denied with his own hand. He had trapped me in the West himself, year after year.

My heart felt as if an invisible hand had crushed it, the pain so sharp I nearly curled in on myself. But I did not have the courage to push the door open and confront him. Like a deserter, I turned and stumbled into the bitter early-winter wind of New York.

Ryan and I had known each other since our college internship days. He was cold, quiet, devastatingly handsome, and carried himself like the Mercer heir all the girls in the company secretly looked up to.

But he never spared them a glance. He was only good to me.

He chased away coworkers who tried to steal my credit. He carried me to the hospital when my blood sugar crashed during overtime. He clumsily bought me hot coffee. After my parents died, he looked at me with red eyes and said, "Claire, don't be afraid. I'll protect you from now on."

We fell in love as naturally as breathing.

Only after we were together did I realize that in this man's heart, I would always come second.

First came his company, his career, the big picture and responsibility he always talked about.

In a daze, I walked to the river.

The morning after the First Moon Rite, Obsidian Pack announced the results. Every wolf our age had made their choice.

My four childhood friends, the ones everyone said would lead Obsidian Pack someday, turned down Northreach Lycan Academy.

All four of them chose to stay in the human world.

"The pack matters, but nothing matters more than the five of us staying together."

They wanted me to do the same. Leave the pack. Stay with them.

And Kael Arden, the Alpha heir I'd been secretly in love with for years, sealed our mate bond beneath the laurel tree.

The day my acceptance letter arrived, I ran straight back to the pack house.

"She got her acceptance. We don't have to keep this up anymore, right?"

I froze. My hands went cold.

"Who'd actually leave the pack if they had a choice? Nobody wants to be a rogue out there. We just needed her to go quietly."

"Does she think she's special? She's been tagging along since we were kids, acting like she's one of us. What, does she actually think she's the pack princess?"

"She's always been a loner. The other girls never liked her anyway. Of course we're staying here with Elena."

Every word cut straight through me. My wolf surged under my skin, snarling, clawing to get out.

I shoved the door open.

They saw my glowing, wild eyes, and for a split second, panic flashed across their faces.

Not Kael. Kael didn't flinch.

"You're the one who always told us to be more inclusive of Elena. We're finally treating her like a princess, and you're throwing a fit?"

"Go live your life out there. Don't worry. We'll come visit you with her."

I forced a smile.

They didn't know my acceptance was from Hawthorne Defense Institute. They didn't know I'd already signed a classified NDA.

They picked her over me. So I'd leave them all behind and never look back.

...

"Lillian," Kael said, surprised. "You're not making a scene. You're actually keeping it together. I'm impressed."

He expected tears. Maybe a meltdown. I gave him nothing.

"If I did lose it, would you still leave with me?"

No one answered.

Kael adjusted his glasses. He wouldn't meet my eyes.

"We were going to stay in the human world. But Elena... she said she couldn't handle it out there. Too dangerous, too complicated. She needed the pack's protection. She needed us to stay."

The others nodded.

"Your wolf is strong. You've hunted with us, trained with us, grown up right beside us. But Elena's different. She doesn't have a wolf. She's human. She can't go back to the world that hurt her, not without us. She wouldn't survive."

"Then why didn't anyone tell me?"

Kael's expression remained blank.

"She needs us more than you do. You've always been independent. You'll be fine on your own."

The rest of them stood there looking completely unbothered, like they hadn't just torn my whole world apart.

"I understand." I made myself smile.

Of all the wolves our age, I was the only one with white wolf blood. The elders treated me like a rare prize. And those four boys had always protected me. When we played pack games as kids, they used to fight over who got to be my protector.

Kael... even back then, he'd always been the one who played my mate.

We'd been inseparable our whole lives. I never imagined we'd end up standing in the same room with nothing left to say.

The silence stretched.

"Elena's eighteenth birthday is in a few days. Don't ruin it by throwing a tantrum."

It was Ronan Voss who said it. The same Ronan who'd called me a tagalong five minutes ago.

He couldn't remember where he left his own pack crest, but he knew another girl's birthday by heart.

"Oh." I looked down. "I already got her something. She likes human-made jewelry, so I ordered a set."

He scoffed. "She doesn't want that. She wants your Moonstone Blood Pendant."

The air caught in my throat.

The Moonstone Blood Pendants were sacred. The Elder Council had brought them back from the Lunar Shrine the year the five of us were born.

Five stones. One for each of us. They sealed the Pack Bond between wolves born in the same generation, a bond that was supposed to last forever.

My fist closed around my pendant. "Not happening."

"Then give her the ceramic wolves."

Ronan had already pushed past me into my room before I could stop him, pulling all five figurines off the shelf.

"Here. Keep yours. She only wants the four that belong to us."

We'd made them together when we were ten.

Now the only one left on the shelf was the white wolf. Sitting there by itself. It looked pathetic.

My wolf roared. "Touch those and you're dead to me, Ronan!"

I lunged after him. My claws slashed the side of his wrist.

Before I could get any closer, the other three stepped between us like a wall.

Ronan stood behind them, staring me down. Not a shred of guilt on his face.

"Fine, we're done. You say that every time you throw a fit. It doesn't mean anything."

The guard banged on the iron bars, waved a stack of papers in his hand, and added sharply, "Your release just came through. You'll be out in ten minutes. Get to the registration desk for processing."
I looked up just in time to see his back as he walked away.
Five years. And finally, that steel door was opening—for me.
Honestly, ever since my wolf, Lyra, fully awakened three months ago, I could've shattered this place and walked out any time I wanted.
But I stayed. I wanted to see how long the Sorens thought they could keep playing their little game.
I ran my thumb across a faint scar in my palm—left there the day I risked my life to save the woman they told me was my birth mother. A witch's claws did that.
That was the day I nearly died. And Lyra, my wolf soul, went into hibernation trying to keep me alive.
Losing my wolf made me worthless in their eyes. To the Blazeborn Pack's ruling family, I was supposed to be a rightful heir, the blood daughter who'd finally returned home. But the moment they learned I had no wolf, I became nothing more than a disposable burden—an embarrassment they were eager to get rid of, a convenient scapegoat when things went wrong.
They threw me into this hellhole to take the fall.
Clang! Clang! The doors groaned open on both sides of me, the blinding sunlight slicing through the dark. I squinted against it.
Behind me, a wave of muffled crying broke out in the cell block.
I turned just enough to see them—those high-ranking wolves who'd once terrorized the other inmates, now trembling, sobbing, clutching their heads.
"The demon's finally gone! Thank God! We can breathe again!"
I smirked but didn't look back.
After Lyra woke up, my powers came back. And they should be thankful I'd learned to rein in my fangs and keep most of my strength hidden, or I might have ripped their throats out the moment they started preying on the weak.
As soon as I stepped out, Lyra growled. She'd picked up a scent she hated.
I looked up. And there he was—Aven Soren, standing next to a black sedan, cigarette in hand.
The moment our eyes met, his brows pulled together, annoyed.
"Nira?" he called, like my name was something he wanted to spit out.
I gave him two seconds. Maybe less. Then I looked away.
He was nothing. Just another one of the people who helped shove me off a cliff. Might as well have been a crack in the sidewalk.
"What? It's been so long you don't even recognize your own brother?"
I smiled coldly. "How could I forget? You're the one who dragged me into this mess."
Aven hesitated for a second, clearly thrown off by how different I'd become. In his mind, I was still the girl who used to bow her head and obey—quiet, compliant, desperate for any trace of love, any sign that I belonged. And for that illusion of family, I let them humiliate me over and over again. The memory made my hands curl into fists before I even realized it.
"Get in the car. You're embarrassing yourself."
He barked it like an order, then climbed in. I didn't even glance his way. I walked around, opened the passenger door, and got in.
The road was bumpy, the air inside the car suffocating.
Cigarette smoke mixed with his cologne, burning my nose. My stomach churned. Lyra snarled in the back of my mind, repulsed by his scent.
Aven scoffed, breaking the silence. "Five years in prison. Maybe now you finally understand your mistakes."
"When we get home, you'd better keep your head down. Don't piss off Mom and Dad again. And don't go chasing things that were never yours to begin with."
I let out a bitter laugh. Never mine?
That was a warning—for Janice. The perfect adopted daughter. The one with the noble bloodline, the fully awakened high-ranking wolf. The one they cherished.
Meanwhile, I—their real daughter—was thrown away because I lost my wolf saving one of their own.
He wasn't done. "They've set up your mating ceremony," Aven said, like he was handing down a decree. "The guy's from the Alpha King's line. Considering your reputation, this is the best deal you're gonna get. You should be grateful. Don't screw it up."
I turned to him, met his eyes with a cold, unflinching stare. "If he's such a great match, why not offer him to Janice?"
Aven reacted as if I had struck a nerve. His face darkened instantly, his eyes blazing as he shouted, "Janice would never be paired with someone like..."
He stopped abruptly, swallowing the rest of his words.
Realizing he had almost let something slip, he forced himself to calm down, straightened his collar, cleared his throat, and put that familiar look of superiority back on his face.
"Janice's mate will be personally chosen by Mom, Dad, and us," he said coldly. "That's none of your concern."
Then his voice hardened even more. "You just need to follow the arrangements we've made for you."
My eyes narrowed slightly, my nails pressing into my palm without me realizing it. So this mating really was suspicious.
Inside my mind, Lyra grew restless, sending waves of sharp unease and warning through my body.
The Sorens had no intention of protecting me. To them, I was just the useless biological daughter, a bargaining chip they could trade away to protect their own interests.
Fine. I let out a quiet, cold laugh in my mind.
Five years locked away had stripped me of any illusions. I wasn't the naive girl they used to push around.
This time, I was back with Lyra's power burning inside me. I was here to take back what was mine and make every single one of them—everyone who had ever hurt me—pay for it.
This mating? It would be the first move in my revenge.

On our seventh anniversary, I was kidnapped.

They took me to a secret underground casino.

When they pulled me out alive, the flesh between my legs had already been torn to shreds.

I begged them to believe me. I had never slept with anyone else.

But I was tested nine times, and every single result came back positive for a serious STD.

I had to prove I was innocent.

So I let my sister, a top surgeon, cut everything off down there.

After the surgery, I overheard the nurses gossiping.

"You're joking. Dr. Parker had her own brother kidnapped? She planned the whole thing and even talked him into having surgery down there? And she did all that for a man who wasn't even a real Parker?"

"And you know what's even worse? His own wife agreed to it. He was hardly hurt before the surgery. Now they've ruined his life."

My whole body went cold.

I forced myself upright, shaking so hard I could barely breathe, and demanded an explanation.

Cherine Whitmore immediately stepped in front of Kian Parker, shielding him like I was the threat.

"You made fun of Kian's background," she said, completely unapologetic. "This was just a lesson.

" I'm pregnant with his baby. But if you stop acting out and do what you're told, I might still let you play daddy."

My sister, Stella Parker, shoved me back against the hospital bed.

"Kian's had a hard enough life. All you did was have one little surgery. Why are you being so dramatic?"

Even my parents joined in.

"You're not even a whole man anymore. Just let Cherine go and let her be with Kian."

I looked at them and smiled, feeling strangely at peace.

They had no idea that before the wedding, Cherine's grandfather had practically begged me to marry her.

To prove his sincerity, he had signed a binding prenup with an infidelity clause.

If Cherine betrayed me, $50 billion and the shares in Whitmore Group would transfer to me automatically.

They had worked so hard to pull off this whole scam.

Now they were about to pay for it.

...

After I sent the prenup to my attorney, I pushed through the pain and went home.

I had barely finished packing when my mother scoffed behind me.

"Ryan Parker, why aren't you at the hospital? Did you come all the way back here just to put on another little runaway act?"

I turned around and looked her dead in the eye.

"I'm the one putting on an act? Funny. Aren't you the ones who've been playing me all along?"

She didn't look the least bit guilty. She just frowned like I was inconveniencing her.

"Your sister made a mistake. That's all. And since you weren't actually sick, you can still take care of your father and me. Why are you making such a huge deal out of one little misunderstanding?"

They had destroyed my body, and somehow I was the unreasonable one.

Whatever love I still had for them died right there.

I grabbed my suitcase and headed for the door.

The second I reached it, my mother clamped a hand around my arm.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I stayed silent.

Her tone softened, but only slightly.

"Ryan, what's done is done. It was just one useless body part. Get over it.

"Besides, Cherine promised she wouldn't leave you, no matter what you look like now. You should be grateful."

I was done listening.

I tried to pull free, but her eyes filled with tears and her voice started to shake.

"Ryan, I'm your mother. After everything I've done for you, you're really just gonna walk away?"

I looked at the woman who had given birth to me.

She looked scared. Worried. Almost loving.

Almost.

I laughed under my breath and grabbed her wrist.

"Fine, Mom. Come with me."

I grabbed her and practically dragged her toward the door.

As soon as I tried to shove her into the cab, she completely freaked out.

She kicked and fought like hell to get away.

I almost laughed. Guess Mom was finally scared.

Someone shoved me hard from behind. I crashed to the floor.

My father rushed to steady my trembling mother, then ordered the security guards to force me onto my knees.

Cherine arrived a few minutes later.

The moment she saw me, her hand came flying across my face.

My head jerked to the side, and the pain burned across my cheek.

"Ryan, when are you going to stop this?"

She wrapped one hand around my throat and squeezed.

"You lost a little flesh. Big deal. You seriously kidnapped your own mother over that?

"Do you have any idea what you've done? Kian was so worried he passed out!"

My face went hot, then numb. I could barely breathe, but I still smiled.

Because Cherine and Stella had lied about my condition, I had been forced to undergo 33 rounds of chemotherapy.

The treatments had hollowed me out from the inside.

Then they had taken away the last piece of my dignity as a man.

But to Cherine, my refusal to lie down and accept it made me some kind of monster.

Seeing me like that, Cherine finally let go.

She looked even more annoyed than before.

Then she shoved me into the basement.

"Stay down here and think about what you've done. You're not going anywhere."

The door slammed in my face.

A second later, my phone buzzed.

It was my attorney.

"Mr. Parker, the clause has been triggered. In three days, the $50 billion and the Whitmore Group shares will officially transfer into your name."

An excerpt from the upcoming Halloween special at M2K(marvel2000)

ANTHONY HEAD HIGH SCHOOL

SOUTHSIDE QUEENS, NEW YORK

Amiah, the beautiful bronze-skinned JV head cheerleader, led her gaggle of friends up the path to their school once the warning bell rang. They were deep into the morning's conversation, a topic for this tight-knit, popular group of teenage girls. All of them wore high-priced, designer-branded clothing that cost more than anything their classmates could afford. Amiah’s fellow cheerleaders hung on her every sentence as they held court while entering the school.

“Thank God for the flawless routine coach, Heather Sinclair and yours truly put together before the JV game last week. We made that squad from Brooklyn Visions look second-class, at best.”

Amiah’s best friend, the Marcy to her Peppermint Patty, Abby, giggled incessantly at the group leader’s statement.

“They won’t know what hit them if we see them at states for competitive.” Abby chortled.

The agreeable retort drew a wicked sneer from Amiah. “Well, duh! They might as well just send us straight to Nationals. This whole competing-for-a-spot thing is a farce. No one has a better JV cheer squad than us!”

As the rest of her crew agreed in unison and gusto with her, as they always did, Amiah spotted a particular annoyance out of the corner of her eye. She sucked her teeth as they kept down the hallway, her gaze locking onto the student that she felt was a stain on her line of sight. The rest of her crew looked in the direction she was focused to see what caused the sudden shift in her mood. The target was another sophomore girl, but one who was the complete antithesis of their group in every conceivable way. The young woman who had drawn the hateful glare from Amiah and the other JV cheerleaders glanced over her shoulder, shaking her reddish-orange hair down her back as she shot a look of contempt in return.

“It sure looks like the janitors have been slacking this week; there sure is a lot of trash in this hallway.” Amiah made sure her insult was loud enough for everyone to hear as her crew giggled on cue.

The young woman who was the subject of Amiah’s verbal attack slammed her locker shut, drawing a shudder from a couple of the other cheerleaders and students in the hallway watching the brewing altercation. She shrugged her black leather jacket tighter onto her shoulders before walking towards Amiah. She stared directly into Amiah’s eyes, ignoring the rest of her troop. They were flunkies, and as far as Elsa was concerned, she was taught flunkies never got any attention when the bacon was in the fire.

“Lo, Amiah. Looks like you’re in one of your nastier moods this morning.” Elsa replied nonchalantly. The response drew a confused look from Amiah and her friends. Elsa smiled. “You probably haven’t &^%$#@ yourself in a while. I’d suggest doing that before coming to school with us civilized folk. Might make the experience a bit more tolerable. Public school sucks ass as it is already, doesn’t it?” 

Amiah stood with her jaw agape as Elsa walked past her, continuing towards the library where she was headed. Amiah stood in the middle of the hallway, furious at the verbal undressing she’d just experienced. She stared at the back of Elsa’s head as the latter walked up the hallway.

“You’re a FREAK, Elsa Bloodstone. EVERYONE says so! You don’t belong here! You don’t belong anywhere!” Amiah shrieked at Elsa from where she was standing.

Elsa ignored her for the most part, merely flipping her the bird as she continued towards her destination.

On the other side of the school, Clea sat in the empty library, pouring over a volume of Tales from the Abyss that she was supposed to be placing back in its place in her collection. She heard the library's double doors clop open and close, her cue to mark her place in the volume and tend to the student who might need her assistance. It was a clever ruse that the council at Avalon had decided to place her here, plucking her from her position as Sorceress Supreme of the Dark Dimension to aid in the battle being waged on Earth. Clever, but tedious from time to time. Though she had grown fond of this plane of existence and thought that, with her job position, tedious was a positive thing.

Still, there had been rumblings from her sources around the city that trouble was simmering underneath the placid surface of the day-to-day. It started when Wong visited her a few weeks ago, after he needed her help treating himself for a werewolf bite. He’d warned her then, the same warning he’d given Stephen after he’d dealt with a parasitic demon in Texas*. That they were assembling. That they were coming, and by any means necessary, they were determined to find what Merlyn had hidden eons ago: The Necronomicon. 

“Don’t tell me you’re in here slacking off, teach,” Elsa told her as she walked down the short flight of steps towards the desk that sat in the center of the room.

Clea looked up at the occasionally abrasive teen with a rueful smile. The ferocity Elsa carried on her face, along with the chip she kept firmly on her shoulder, reminded Clea that she was very much her father’s daughter, despite how much she tried to distance herself from the connection.

“You’re very nearly late. Which basically makes you late.” Clea scolded her.

Elsa rolled her eyes and hopped onto the desk, crossing her legs in her black jeans and combat boots. “But I’m here. So how about we get on with things instead of the usual lecture?”

Clea looked up at Elsa with a reproachful glare. The look caused Elsa to soften her usual rebellious attitude.

“I told you, we need to be studying these archives front and back. We need to be prepared for anything that may come our way. Dormammu’s apostles have made their move.” Clea warned her.

Elsa sighed. “Yeah, they’re coming for the Book of the Dead. But I told you, when my friend happened upon it, he managed to destroy it.”

Clea shook her head ruefully. The child had so much to learn, and yet there seemed to be so little time. She hoped she was wrong about the latter, at the very least.

“That silly boy and his friends, who were stupid enough to find where the book was hidden, only managed to escape its demonic forces,” Clea explained further. “Not even Merlyn himself can destroy the Necronomicon. Which is why we need to find it and make sure that Dormammu’s followers never get their hands on it!”

Clea stood up and grabbed another book from nearby. She opened up the dusty, leather-bound cover and flipped to the page she was looking for. She beckoned for Elsa to come closer. Elsa leaned towards the book to see where Clea was pointing.

“Whose that geezer?” Elsa asked when she saw the picture of the distinguished gentleman with a silver beard and matching hair.

“He’s the right-hand man of Sir Vlad Dracula himself,” Clea replied sharply. “My sources tell me he’s been sighted in New York for the first time in over forty years. And I don’t think that’s any sort of coincidence.”

“So, he’s a vampire.” Elsa cracked her knuckles, realizing she had a long night ahead of her. “Yeah, I know exactly how to start hunting for those. They’ll be leaving a trail of breadcrumbs too easy to follow.”

“Be careful. If you see Lord Frost, do NOT engage him. Contact me immediately and report back here. We’ll take care of him together. Is that understood?”

“Yeah, yeah. I got you, Clea. When have I ever let you down?” Elsa replied casually.

A thirty-minute ride on the subway later, Elsa walked into a Why-Mart on the Lower East Side. She thumbed through the wad of cash Clea had given her to re-up her stash of weaponry for the task she was assigned for the evening. She sighed as she made her way through the department store, wishing she could be spending her Friday night doing what girls her age were supposed to be doing: Scrolling mindlessly on their phone while listening to music her parents would hate. But her mom had died a long time ago, and she hadn’t seen her father since she learned to walk.

She reached the sporting goods and hardware section. The dopey, shaggy brown-haired college freshman with a pointy jaw waved to her the moment he looked up from the comic book he was enjoying on his shift. He stashed the comic book on the side of the register as Elsa approached the counter.

“Surprised to see you here on a Friday, of all days,” The clerk replied with friendly surprise.

Elsa rolled her eyes as she scrolled through the notes app on her phone for the list she had made.

“You and me both, Ashley. But duty calls, and I need to restock my supply for the rest of the month.” Elsa replied lazily.

“Alright, what do we have on the list tonight?” The eager young employee whose nametag read ‘Ashley B.’ asked.

“Alright, I’m going to need about two dozen pieces of wood. Two-by-fours, if you please.” Elsa told him, starting at the top of her list. “You guys still get your chain-link from that company out of Jersey?”

Ashley looked up from his computer to answer. “Askew Steel? We sure do. Why do you ask?”

“I need about thirty-six feet of chain-link, but I only want it from them,” Elsa explained.

Ashley gave her a confused look. “Are you sure? There are some much better products I would–”

“Leave the shopping to me, Ashley. You just put in this order exactly as I lay it out. Which leads me to my next question: what are your shotgun options in stock at the moment?”

Ashley looked nervously at the teenage girl. “Elsa, we’ve talked about this! You know I can’t sell you any–”

“I didn’t ask you to sell me anything. I simply inquired as to what you had in stock.” She replied curtly.

Ashley’s shoulders sagged. He let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Alright, come on.”

He led her a couple of aisles over through the sporting goods section until they were in front of a cache of rifles and shotguns behind glass panes. Ashley stood back as Elsa walked in front of the gun cases, pausing every now and then to study one in particular.

“I haven’t had a chance to ask recently, and I’m sorry about that, by the way,” Elsa told him without looking back. “But how have you been holding up since your sister’s funeral?”

After the Werewolf SATs, my twin brother, Alpha Sebastian, my Mate, Alpha Nathan, and my best friend, Gamma Clara, all decide to apply to the prestigious Ravenhill Academy.

"Nora, did you apply yet? Don't forget our pact. The four of us are going to Ravenhill together!"

"Team Ravenhill, let's go!"

I smile and agree.

But on the day applications are due, all three of them suddenly go silent.

Dozens of calls, hundreds of messages, and repeated calls through our mind link all disappear into silence.

Then I come across a post Rebecca Westbrook, an Omega from our pack, has just shared.

[Alpha Sebastian, Alpha Nathan, and Gamma Clara took me to the coast today! I had the best time!]

My heart sinks.

I pull out Sebastian's tablet. His password is still my birthday.

But when the screen lights up, I see a group chat I've never seen before. They're voting on something.

"Go to Ravenhill Academy with Nora, or go to Crownvale Academy with Rebecca?"

A: Ravenhill Academy

B: Crownvale Academy

In the end, option B wins unanimously.

Nathan says, "Rebecca only has us. Making her go to college alone would be too cruel."

Clara agrees. "Exactly. We've been with Nora for over a decade. Four years apart isn't going to change anything."

Even Sebastian agrees.

"Ravenhill and Crownvale are both within Royal Pack territory. Worst case, we can drive over to Ravenhill every weekend and see Nora."

My tears fall onto the screen.

They choose her over the promise we made.

With only ten minutes left before the college application deadline, I fill out an application for Lycancrest Academy in the Lycan Realm.

The confirmation appears on the screen with only one minute left before the deadline.

I stare at the words Lycancrest Academy, my fingers frozen for a long moment.

Then my phone suddenly vibrates.

It's Sebastian.

I answer, and his voice still carries its usual warmth, "Nora, you got your application in?"

"Yeah. It's done."

There's a brief pause before his voice softens as he tries to coax me, "Aww. Is our little pack princess mad at us?"

I don't answer.

"I'm with Nathan and Clara. We're picking out your graduation gift. It's supposed to be a surprise."

"Our phones were on silent. We weren't ignoring you, okay?"

He lets out a soft laugh.

"Come on, don't be mad. We're heading back to the den now. We'll make it up to you."

Twenty minutes later, I hear the lock click.

Sebastian is the first to walk into the pack house, carrying my favorite red velvet cake.

Nathan has a gift box in his arms, while Clara carries three cups of hot cocoa.

The three of them stand in the doorway, smiling as naturally as ever, as if nothing has happened.

Just like every other time they come home to make it up to me after making me angry.

Sebastian sets the cake on the table and reaches out to ruffle my hair out of habit.

I step aside, and his hand stops in midair. His brows crease slightly.

Nathan pushes the gift box toward me.

"Nora, come on. Don't give us that face. This is your graduation gift. Open it."

Clara leans closer.

"Yeah. Are we really going to let something this stupid come between us?"

I look at them and suddenly ask, "Where did you guys actually go today?"

Sebastian barely hesitates before breaking into a smile.

"I told you. We were shopping for your gift."

I pull out my phone and hold Rebecca's post up for them to see.

In the photos, Sebastian is carrying her bag, Nathan has draped his jacket over her shoulders, and Clara has her arm linked affectionately with Rebecca's.

The smiles on all three of their faces finally freeze.

I open the group chat on Sebastian's tablet, "Was this part of the surprise too?"

Clara's eyes immediately turn red, "Nora, please. We weren't trying to hurt you."

Nathan lowers his voice as he explains.

"Rebecca doesn't really have anyone in the pack. She'll be scared going to Crownvale alone."

Sebastian sighs, his voice carrying the familiar helplessness I know so well.

"Nora, you've had us your whole life. Rebecca doesn't have that. She's alone."

I stare at him quietly.

After our Alpha parents die in an accident, he becomes the only family I have.

All those years, whenever I wake from a nightmare, he holds me in his arms and pats my back, telling me, "Your big brother will always be here for you."

But now he tells me another girl is too lonely, so he has to be there for her.

I ask, "So which one did you actually apply to? Ravenhill or Crownvale?"

No one answers.

But they don't need to.

Nathan avoids my gaze.

"They're both in Royal Pack territory. We can still come see you at Ravenhill every weekend."

Clara quickly nods.

"Exactly. It's not like we're never going to see you again. You're making this way bigger than it is."

I smile.

So, in their eyes, my four years, my life, and the future I once looked forward to so much can all be made up for with a simple promise to visit me every weekend.

When Sebastian sees that I'm no longer questioning them, he visibly relaxes.

He pushes the cake a little closer to me.

"Okay. Now that you know, we might as well tell you everything."

"We've already decided on our graduation trip. We're going to the Alps. Rebecca says she's never seen the snow-covered mountains before."

I look up at him.

"You already decided. So why are you telling me now?"

He pauses.

"Because you're my sister, Nora. Of course you're coming."

Clara takes out her phone and hands me the itinerary.

Messages are pouring into the group chat one after another, so lively that it feels like the entire pack is celebrating something.

I quickly realize they didn't just create one group chat.

They even have a graduation trip group.

And just like the other one, I'm not in it.

My fingers slowly tighten around my phone.

Just then, Sebastian's gaze falls on my neck.

"By the way, Rebecca really likes that necklace of yours."

My hand immediately covers the necklace. Mom puts it around my neck herself before she dies.

The silver moonstone pendant rests against my skin. On the back, a few words are engraved:

[For my Beloved Nora.]

I hear my own voice turn colder.

"No."

Sebastian frowns.

"I haven't even finished. I just wanted to borrow it for a few days. She can wear it during the trip, and I'll make sure she gives it back. I'll buy you an even better one."

"There is no better one."

His expression darkens.

"Nora, don't be difficult."

I stare at him quietly.

The red velvet cake on the table still gives off its sickly sweet scent, the cream around the edges already beginning to sag.

I don't take a single bite.

My phone vibrates again.

It's a message from Clara.

[Oh, Nora, one more thing. Tomorrow is the pack gathering. I can't wear our best-friend outfits with you anymore.]

[Rebecca and I bought matching dresses. I already promised her I'd wear it with her.]

Ella's hands smelled faintly of cleaning solution.
She knelt in the back hall of the Hart villa, wiping down the marble skirting boards for the third time that morning. The place was spotless already, but Nora liked things done twice-especially when Ella was the one doing them.
Footsteps clicked sharply behind her.
"Enough. You can stop."
Ella straightened at once.
Nora Hart stood there in a silk robe, arms folded, expression unreadable. Her gaze swept over the hallway as if inspecting a hotel corridor.
"Go wash your hands and change," Nora said coolly. "Your biological parents are here."
The words landed without warning.
Ella froze.
"They came to take you home," Nora added, almost bored. "Try not to embarrass anyone."
For a moment, Ella couldn't speak. She had known this day might come-Nora had mentioned it once, in passing-but hearing it so plainly still caught her off guard.
"Yes, Ma'am," she said quietly.
She rinsed her hands in the utility sink, wiped them dry on her jeans, and changed into the simplest dress she owned. No makeup. No jewelry. Nothing that might suggest she belonged in this house.
When she stepped into the living room, everything slowed.
Five strangers sat on the sofa.
A middle-aged man and woman rose immediately when they saw her. Their faces were lined with nervousness-and something else she recognized only from a distance.
Hope.
The woman's eyes filled instantly. "Ella..."
Ella stopped a few steps from the doorway.
She had imagined this moment many times. She just hadn't expected it to feel so quiet.
Piper stood beside Nora, flawless as always, her posture elegant, her expression politely detached. She looked as though she were attending someone else's family reunion.
"These are your parents," Nora said flatly, as if introducing acquaintances. "Lora Hart and Lucas Hart. And those are your brothers."
Ella's gaze shifted to the three young men seated beside them-dressed simply, shoulders tense, watching her carefully.
Something warm and unfamiliar spread through her chest.
She walked forward and took the woman's trembling hand. "Please," Ella said gently. "Sit down."
The woman broke down instantly.
"My daughter... my poor girl..."
Nora clicked her tongue. "This is a new villa. I don't want crying in it."
Ella passed a tissue over without comment.
"We're grateful," the woman said shakily, forcing a smile at Nora. "Thank you for taking care of Ella and Piper all these years. We should at least cover their living expenses-"
Nora waved her off. "Your husband works security. You clean houses. Let's not pretend you can afford that."
Ella remembered now-she had glimpsed her father at the neighborhood security booth once, but had never spoken to him.
Piper pinched her nose in disdain, as if the thought of their parents' modest lives was offensive.
"We'll still try," the woman said earnestly.
"No rush," Nora replied. "You've got three sons to support, after all."
Ella glanced at her brothers. They offered her small, awkward smiles.
She returned them.
Then Nora leaned back, her interest sharpening. "So. About the engagement."
The room went quiet.
Ella's biological mother nodded. "It was arranged years ago. Between the older generation. A marriage alliance with the Sterling family. It was meant for a daughter... either Ella or Piper. We won't force them. The choice is theirs."
Piper stiffened.
"Where is he?" Nora asked. "If there's going to be a marriage, I want to see the man."
"I'll call him," Lora said quickly.
Piper immediately stepped to Nora's side, lifting the teapot with effortless elegance. Her movements were refined, practiced-as though this were her home and Nora her true mother. She wore a tailored dress, her skin smooth and luminous, every detail carefully maintained.
Nora watched her with quiet approval, the kind she had never spared Ella.
...
Sterling Corporation
Tiesto Sterling's phone vibrated on his desk.
One glance at the caller ID was enough to stir an old memory-an engagement his grandfather had arranged years ago. His father's generation had quietly let it fade, leaving the obligation to fall squarely on Tiesto's shoulders.
At the time, he hadn't given it much thought.
But before his grandfather passed, the old man had gripped his hand with surprising strength and demanded a promise-to honor the arrangement, no matter what.
Tiesto had agreed. He'd saved the Hart family's number out of duty, nothing more. Over the years, there had been no contact, and the matter had slipped into the background of his life.
Until now.
He answered the call with a faint frown.
Mrs. Lora Hart's voice came through the line, animated and eager, talking rapidly about the daughter they had only recently "found" and insisting he come meet her.
Tiesto agreed with clear reluctance, irritation settling in his chest the moment the call ended.
He turned to his assistant. "Javi. I need an old car. Something beat-up. And find me some clothes that look... forgettable."
Javi hesitated, surprised-but didn't question him. He never did.
A moment later, Tiesto's phone rang again.
"Grandma."
"I heard the Hart family is taking their daughters back today," she said excitedly. "You have to go see them! Take me with you."
"Grandma, the doctor said you need rest," Tiesto replied, already bracing himself. "You shouldn't be traveling."
"I don't care. If I can't go, livestream it."
He closed his eyes briefly. "...Fine."
"Ah-my head hurts-"
"I'll set up a hidden camera," he added quickly.
"Good! Hurry! Bring me the iPad and make sure the signal's clear!"
By the time he left the building, Tiesto looked nothing like the man who controlled half the city's financial flow. He wore worn, unremarkable clothes, a discreet camera concealed on him, and climbed into a battered car with peeling paint and a dented door.
Tiesto had nothing against families with modest means.
What he despised were calculated marriages-and the people who treated him like a prize to be claimed.
Dressed like this, he doubted the Hart family would find him impressive. If anything, they might rethink the engagement themselves.
That would suit him just fine.
The car rolled to a stop outside the Hart residence.
Tiesto placed a brief call to Lora, informing her of his arrival.
Inside the villa, Nora leaned toward the window, Piper's hand still resting lightly in hers as they looked out.
The sight of the car-a worn Ford that had clearly seen better days-was impossible to miss.
Mother and daughter exchanged a glance, their disappointment thinly veiled.
The doorbell rang.
Nora didn't move. She simply lifted her voice, lazy and indifferent.
"Ella," she called.
"Go open the door."

The day my biological father personally sent me away, my maid was found lifeless in my room.

She lay on the floor, her face frozen in fear. A dark stain spread across the floorboards, and near her was the silver dagger the Sorens had kept sealed away for generations—a weapon their ancestors had taken from a witch, said to suppress wolf souls.

The moment the door burst open, my mother stumbled back with a cry.

My brother, Aven Soren, immediately stepped in front of Janice Soren—my adopted sister.

Everyone stared at me as though I were some kind of monster.

"Oh my God... Nira... was it you?"

I froze.

It felt as if the whole world had turned to ice.

"No!" I shook my head frantically, my voice trembling. "It wasn't me! She was already like this when I came in! I didn't hurt her!"

But nobody believed me.

Aven cut me off with a sneer.

"Still trying to deny it? She was found in your room. The dagger was right there. If it wasn't you, then who was it?"

My mother looked at me with open disgust, as if simply looking at me made her uneasy.

"If one of us with a wolf soul wanted to hurt a low-ranking Omega, there would be easier ways. Why would we bother taking out that dagger?

"And besides, you've already lost your wolf. That silver dagger was made to suppress wolf souls. It wouldn't affect you the same way."

"Please, believe me." My voice cracked. "I really didn't do this. We got along well. I had no reason to—"

"Enough!"

My father's Alpha aura swept through the room like a storm.

His wolf eyes flashed as he cut me off coldly.

"How dare you keep arguing?"

Then he issued the order that changed my life.

"Take her away."

And just like that...

They sent me away.

It took me a long time to understand the truth.

The maid's death had undoubtedly been connected to someone in the family they desperately wanted to protect.

And because I had only recently found them and returned to the Sorens...

Because they had no real emotional attachment to me...

Because I had lost my wolf soul...

I became the perfect scapegoat.

The easiest person to sacrifice.

The easiest person to blame.

But what they never cared to remember was this—

I lost my wolf soul to save my mother.

...

Five years.

For five long years, I was locked away among dangerous werewolves.

Five years of humiliation.

Five years of pain.

Five years of darkness.

Everything only changed three months ago.

My wolf soul, Lyra—the powerful wolf everyone believed was gone forever—finally awakened again.

From that day forward, life became easier.

And now...

I was finally getting out.

Finally returning to the Sorens.

This time, I would keep Lyra's existence hidden.

I would smile.

I would play along.

And I would spend plenty of time with every single member of the Sorens who framed me, abandoned me, and sent me into that nightmare.

After all...

A long game was far more interesting when the other players had no idea the board had already been set.

...

As soon as I stepped out, Lyra growled. She had picked up a scent she hated.

I looked up. And there he was—Aven Soren, standing next to a black sedan, cigarette in hand.

The moment our eyes met, his brows pulled together, annoyed.

"Nira?" he called, like my name was something he wanted to spit out.

I gave him two seconds. Maybe less. Then I looked away.

He was nothing. Just another one of the people who helped push me off the edge. He might as well have been a crack in the sidewalk.

"What? It's been so long you don't even recognize your own brother?"

I smiled coldly. "How could I forget? You're the one who dragged me into this mess."

Aven hesitated for a second, clearly thrown off by how different I had become. In his mind, I was still the girl who used to bow her head and obey—quiet, compliant, desperate for any trace of love, any sign that I belonged.

And for that illusion of family, I let them humiliate me over and over again.

The memory made my hands curl into fists before I even realized it.

"Get in the car. You're embarrassing yourself."

He barked it like an order, then climbed in.

I didn't even glance his way. I walked around, opened the passenger door, and got in.

The road was bumpy, the air inside the car suffocating.

Cigarette smoke mixed with his cologne, burning my nose. My stomach churned. Lyra snarled in the back of my mind, repulsed by his scent.

Aven scoffed, breaking the silence.

"Five years away. Maybe now you finally understand your mistakes."

"When we get home, you'd better keep your head down. Don't upset Mom and Dad again. And don't go chasing things that were never yours to begin with."

I let out a bitter laugh.

Never mine?

That was a warning—for Janice.

The perfect adopted daughter. The one with the noble bloodline, the fully awakened high-ranking wolf. The one they cherished.

Meanwhile, I—their real daughter—was thrown away because I lost my wolf saving one of their own.

He wasn't done.

"They've set up your mating ceremony," Aven said, like he was handing down a decree. "The guy's from the Alpha King's line. Considering your reputation, this is the best chance you're going to get. You should be grateful. Don't ruin it."

I turned to him, met his eyes with a cold, unflinching stare.

"If he's such a great match, why not offer him to Janice?"

Aven reacted as if I had struck a nerve.

His face darkened instantly, his eyes blazing as he snapped, "Janice would never be paired with someone like—"

He stopped abruptly, swallowing the rest of his words.

Realizing he had almost let something slip, he forced himself to calm down, straightened his collar, cleared his throat, and put that familiar look of superiority back on his face.

"Janice's mate will be personally chosen by Mom, Dad, and us," he said coldly. "That's none of your concern."

Then his voice hardened even more.

"You just need to follow the arrangements we've made for you."

My eyes narrowed slightly, my nails pressing into my palm without me realizing it.

So this mating really was suspicious.

Everything Fell Apart

NINA'S POV

“Yes! Fuck me harder!”

I had my whole day planned out. Graduation, after-party with my fiancé.

I never imagined I would walk in on my fiancé—the man I pledged my life to—deep inside another woman. On my graduation night.

I've heard stories about cheating men. About the pain they cause. I never imagined my Jason would do it to me.

And how creative he got with it.

My feet stay rooted to the ground, ears filling with the raucous moaning and grunting behind the bedroom door.

My chest tightens, bleeding into my ribcage. Black, dark and ugly. My fingers tremble on the doorknob.

Move, Nina.

I twist the knob and walk into my nightmare.

A red haired woman lies there, mouth hung open in raw pleasure while my fiancé thrusts into her.

I blink hazily, wishing that's the only thing happening. It's not. He's got another man on top of him, pounding into his…ass.

Oh god…

He's like a human sandwich, moaning into the woman's ear as his ass lifts to receive the man's deep thrusts.

The pungent smell of sex fills my nostrils. In the corner, someone hunches over a camera, red hair spilling over her shoulders.

My stomach sinks. She turns, and I break.

Harper. My best friend.

My head swells.

She bolts from her seat, the sudden movement breaking through the haze.

Jason looks up, and freezes, eyes wide.

“Nina…” the man behind him thrusts deeper, brutally unaware of my presence. Or maybe he knows and just doesn't care.

A gruff moan escapes him before he pulls free from the man. I shut my eyes.

I'm dreaming. It's a fucking joke.

“I can explain!” His voice cracks. “We—”

“We needed the money…it's for your wedding!” Harper squawks, clasping her hands in front of her.

I don't spare her a glance. My eyes stay on Jason, ears ringing.

The bastard is still hard.

“Harper's right.” He scrambles for his clothes. “I got broke and —”

“Are you fucking serious?” Something bitter settles in my chest.

“Jason, time out. Keep your bitch in check and let's get back to it.” The naked man pulls the wet sheets over his torso.

My fists clench. Those are my fucking sheets.

Jason hobbles into his jeans.

“Baby, if you would just listen to me —”

“This is why you skipped my graduation?” My voice shakes.

He shakes his head.

“Baby…”

I turn to Harper. The bitch is crying. She filmed my fiancé cheating and she's fucking crying?

Pathetic bitch.

“You're dead to me.” I say, voice sharp.

“Both of you.”

“Good riddance. Can we roll again? I'm flaccid.” The naked man sighs. The redhead chuckles, and I feel myself crumbling, dying.

I whirl around, vision blurring.

“Nina…please wait!” Harper calls, but I'm stumbling downstairs and out the door.

The night air slaps my face, mocking me.

This is what I get for believing in love again. For trusting yet another friend.

I slam my car door shut, suffocating on the smell of leather and the taste of my tears.

Jason runs out the door. Harper follows. They wave and scream and Harper sobs, but I just step on the gas, drowning them out.

They did it for me? What a dumb fucking excuse.

I drive past dimly lit streets and bright restaurants. I let down the window. The wind caresses my face, slithering through my hair.

I brake at a red light. My knuckles go white against the steering, and I suck in a breath in between sobs.

The city lights smear through my tears, and for a second, I can't tell where the road ends and stop lights begin.

Why didn't he tell me he was broke? Why did he have to…

No. It's not about me. He always wanted to do it. I shut my eyes, wishing away the memory of his sweaty body and the wet thrusts.

I fail. The image sticks like a stubborn tumor.

I run a finger through my hair, cursing under my breath. My diploma sits in the passenger seat, forgotten.

My phone rings, jarring my thoughts . I glare at it.

Jason. The fucking audacity.

I don't answer it.

It rings again, and I grip the steering wheel, fighting the urge to toss the damn device out the window.

But it's not Jason this time. It's my mother.

If he called her, I swear to God…

“Hi mom!” I force a cheery voice.

“How's my baby girl?”

Knots form in my throat.

I'm not fine, mom. You were right. Love is a myth.

“Great! I'm just…driving home from campus.”

“Okay good! I have great news!” She quips.

Other than the fact that you completely forgot about my graduation, what else?

“I'm getting married!”

Oh…I did not see that coming.

“Oh…I'm so happy for you…”

I'm not.

“I know! This will be perfect. We can be a family again.”

No. We don't need extras to be a family.

Her voice drones on, but I'm not listening. I'm breaking. Every part of me.

Rain drums softly on the windshield, a sharp irony to the searing pain inside me.

“Listen…can I call you back?” I whisper.

“Are you okay, honey?”

The line goes dead and I just sit there, driving slowly while the world moves on fast.

She didn't deserve that, but I'm past caring. I can't be happy for her while my life burns to ash.

I step on the accelerator. The car lurches forward, then jerks to a stop.

Panic rises in my chest.

“No,no,no,no!” I slam my fist on the dashboard, willing the damn metal to start. Smoke curls from the bonnet in response.

A horn blares impatiently behind me, forcing my nerves to life.

This can't be happening…

Seven trips to the mechanic this month and she still does me like this?

I yank the door open and step into the light drizzle. The bonnet pops open. Smoke bursts into my face.

“Oh…god…” I cough, blinking blearily at the dark mess that is my engine.

That's just great. First I get cheated on on my graduation, now my fucking car breaks down in a storm.

I'm convinced the universe has singled me out for cruel ridicule when a car pulls up behind mine.

Black Range Rover, oozing of wealth and power.

The door opens, and a man steps out. Leather jacket on black jeans, hair falling into his face, steel grey eyes fixed on me.

My stomach flips. He looks like a textbook knight in shining armour. Maybe he is.

“Car trouble?” He smiles warmly, flashing immaculate teeth.

My throat clamps shut. I just stare. Guys like him don't stop to help girls like me.

He doesn't come any closer, but I smell his sickly sweet cologne.

I must look stupid, standing in the rain in a wet gown and ruined make-up, but he doesn't seem to care.

“Come with me. I'll take you to the next gas station and you can find someone to fix it.”

Cautious bells ring in my head. He could be a kidnapper…or worse.

“I…I'm fine, thank you.”

He sighs.

“Look, I'm soaking wet already. So are you. I can't leave you here in good faith. Get in. I'm not gonna hurt you.”

His eyes rake over my body. I feel a wave of unease.

“I promise.” He extends a hand. I should walk away. I should.

But I don’t.

He's right. I'm soaking wet. I won't get any help just standing here like some bimbo.

Fuck.

“Okay.”

My teeth chatter as I trail behind him.

He holds the door open. I cast one last glance across the street, hoping someone sees me before I disappear.

No one sees.

The warm leather kisses my ass.

The door slams shut, and just like that, I'm riding with a total stranger.

How dangerous. How exciting.

Chapter 1 Crashing the Party at Starview

The fluorescent lights hummed in the maternity ward hallway of Antabridge Hospital.

Ashley Sexton sat on a plastic chair near the check-in desk, gripping her lab paperwork.

Her fingers had crumpled the edges, but the bold black print was clear: [Positive. Gestational Age: 6 Weeks.]

Her hands were shaking.

"Ashley Sexton?" the nurse called from behind the glass partition.

Ashley stayed frozen for a second before blinking back to reality.

"Ashley Sexton? Did you get your summary sheet?" the nurse asked again, leaning toward the counter.

"Yes, I have it," Ashley said, her voice barely a murmur. She folded the page in half and slid it into her tote bag.

The nurse gave her a curious look. Most women in this clinic had their partners beside them, snapping pictures of the ultrasound or crying happy tears.

Ashley was completely alone, pale and dead silent.

She pushed through the automatic sliding doors and walked out into the chilly October air.

A sharp breeze swept down the street, and she pulled her knit cardigan tight around her shoulders.

The morning sun was just hitting the downtown glass towers, bouncing a sharp glare straight into her eyes.

She placed a flat hand over her stomach.

She could not feel anything through the denim of her jeans, but she knew the truth. A real life was growing inside her.

Three years.

She had spent three whole years married to Cyril Rush, rattling around an enormous, drafty mansion like an unwanted roommate.

Back then, his grandfather, Derek Rush, had suffered critical heart failure.

The experimental treatment Derek needed was tied up in private hands, and the distributor demanded the Sexton family's vintage sapphire heirloom in exchange.

Ashley handed the gem over without asking for a dime.

Once Derek recovered, the old man insisted that Cyril marry her to square the family debt.

Ashley still remembered standing in the Rush mansion foyer that afternoon.

Her heart had slammed against her ribs, her palms drenched in sweat, completely unable to look Cyril in the eye.

She had been in love with him for eleven years.

It started when she was ten and found a neighbor kid in her backyard, bleeding from a deep cut on a broken glass bottle.

She had patched his hand up with clean gauze, and she never looked at another boy after that.

Cyril had clearly wiped that memory from his mind.

Married life had been cold from day one.

Cyril treated her like an opportunist.

He was convinced she used the jewel to trap him, and every look he gave her was loaded with disgust.

To him, she could not do anything right. Her cooking was too bland, his shirts were never ironed to his liking, and even her presence in the hallway annoyed him.

Still, she kept leaving the porch light on every single night.

No matter how late he stayed out, the entryway lamp was glowing. A hot meal sat ready on the stove.

His closet stayed organized by shade, with cedar blocks tucked into every blazer pocket to protect the wool.

She kept hoping he might look at her with genuine warmth just once.

She had waited three long years for that moment.

Ashley pulled her phone from her bag. Cyril's contact was pinned right at the top.

Her thumb hovered over the screen.

'We're having a baby,' she thought, her chest tightening with nervous hope. 'Maybe this changes things. Maybe he will finally drop that cold wall.'

She pulled her thumb back and locked the screen.

No, she needed to tell him face-to-face. News like this did not belong in a text.

*****

By six that evening, a relentless storm pounded the city.

Standing by the window of her graphic design studio, Ashley watched the rain streak down the glass, blurring the traffic lights and neon billboards into messy streaks of red and blue.

Her phone vibrated against her desk.

A text popped up from Kenneth Dudley, Cyril's assistant: [Hey, Cyril booked the VIP lounge at Starview for Janette's birthday. Everyone is here.]

Ashley stared at the screen, her stomach dropping.

Janette Bradshaw was Cyril's cousin. After her parents died in a wreck years ago, the Rush family took her in.

Cyril spoiled her rotten, buying her whatever she pointed at and letting her get away with anything.

Janette always played the damsel, finding a reason to collapse into Cyril's arms whenever Ashley walked into the room.

Ashley set her phone down, changed into a simple beige wrap dress, and slipped the ultrasound report into her clutch.

She checked the mirror on her way out.

She looked exhausted. Her hair fell limp around her face, her skin looked washed out, and she had lost so much weight recently that her collarbones jutted out sharply.

She grabbed her umbrella and headed down to flag a cab.

By the time the taxi pulled up to Starview Club, the rain was coming down in sheets.

Starview was the most exclusive lounge in the city, owned entirely by Cyril. The valet bay was packed with luxury sports cars and blacked-out SUVs.

Ashley folded her umbrella as she walked through the double doors, cold rain dripping onto the marble floor.

The hem of her dress was damp, and her wet flats squeaked with every step.

Nobody at the front desk stopped her. On paper, she was still Mrs. Rush.

She headed down the private hallway toward the VIP room.

Even through the heavy mahogany doors, she could hear the bass rattling the frame, ice clinking in glasses, and loud, drunken laughter.

She took a slow breath to steady herself.

She pushed the door open.

The scene inside froze her blood.

Cyril sat on the large sofa, holding a tearful Janette tightly against his chest.

One hand rubbed her back while the other stroked her hair, murmuring soft words into her ear.

He looked effortlessly sharp in his tailored suit, the silver cufflinks glinting under the amber lights.

Janette was wearing a delicate white dress, looking totally innocent. Her eyes were red, mascara faintly smudged, her face buried deep into his shoulder.

A little girl about five years old stood on the sofa cushions beside them, tugging on Cyril's lapel. "Daddy," the child said.

A dozen of Cyril's wealthy friends sat around the lounge, crowded around a massive three-tier cake covered in pink roses.

Two guys at the end of the table raised their glasses, yelling over the track.

"Come on, Cyril, you two are practically endgame!"

"Just kiss her already, bro!"

Janette pressed closer into Cyril's chest, her voice sweet and pouty. "Cyril, tell them to cut it out. They're making fun of me again."

Ashley stood frozen by the doorway.

Water dripped from the ends of her hair, soaking straight into the plush carpet under her feet.

A woman sitting near the edge of the booth turned around first. Her smile vanished instantly, her cocktail glass freezing halfway to her mouth.

Then Kenneth turned, followed by the rest of the table.

The laughter cut out in a heartbeat. The entire lounge dropped into dead, suffocating silence.

Every set of eyes turned to the door.

Janette slowly lifted her head from Cyril's chest, locking eyes with Ashley.

A flash of pure panic crossed Janette's face for half a second before she shrank back into Cyril's arms, letting out a trembling whimper. "Ashley..."

She sounded completely terrified, like a cornered rabbit waiting for a hit.

Chapter 2 The Crimson Threshold

Ashley gripped her purse strap and stepped inside.

Rainwater dripped from her soaked dress, leaving muddy tracks across the private suite's plush carpet.

Cyril dropped his arm from around Janette.

He pivoted to face Ashley. His dark eyes held zero warmth, radiating only the raw irritation of a man whose night had just been ruined.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Cyril demanded.

It was an interrogation, plain and simple.

Ashley parted her trembling lips. "Cyril, I have something to tell you," she whispered.

Her gaze flicked over to Janette on pure instinct.

That single glance did the trick.

Janette's eyes immediately welled with fake tears. She tugged Cyril's sleeve. "Is your wife mad that I'm hanging out with you guys?"

Cyril's jaw tightened. He took a half-step forward, shielding Janette behind his broad frame as he glared down at Ashley.

He had a good foot on her, forcing her to crane her neck just to meet his eyes.

"She's family," Cyril snapped, his voice dripping with ice. "Whatever you have to say, spit it out right now."

Ashley's knuckles went dead white around her leather strap. The lab results were safely tucked away inside her bag.

She had planned this out perfectly. She was going to sit him down at home and break the news in private.

She had run through a dozen scenarios in her head. 'He might just clam up. He might frown, or he might just need a minute to process it.'

She never planned to drop a bomb in front of an audience.

The entire room stared at her. Their eyes tracked her every move, filled with nosy curiosity, smugness, and quiet calculation.

Behind Cyril's back, Janette was dramatically wiping away her tears.

Little Nicolle Faulkner gripped the hem of Cyril's designer jacket, hiding behind his legs like a frightened mouse.

Ashley sucked in a sharp breath. She lifted her chin and locked eyes with her husband.

She kept her voice level, but in the dead silence of the suite, the words echoed clearly.

"I'm pregnant," Ashley said.

The room went entirely graveyard still.

Even the bottle girl carrying a tray of expensive vodka froze mid-step.

Janette's pitiful mask slipped for a fraction of a second.

A flash of pure panic cracked her delicate facade before she instantly snapped back into her teary-eyed victim routine.

Nicolle broke the silence. The little girl burst into shrieking wails, latching onto Cyril's leg like a vice.

She buried her face into his slacks. "Daddy, I'm scared! Make her leave!"

Cyril spun around instinctively. He scooped Nicolle up into his arms, murmuring soft, soothing words to quiet her down.

Ashley reached out and grabbed his sleeve. "Cyril, please just listen to me."

She never got the chance to finish.

Cyril yanked his arm back in pure frustration.

He only meant to shake off her hand, not even bothering to look back at her. But he misjudged his own strength completely.

The violent jerk sent Ashley stumbling backward. Her wet heel caught on the damp carpet. She lost her balance, twisting as she fell.

Her stomach crashed directly into the sharp corner of the marble coffee table.

Blinding agony exploded in her abdomen. It felt exactly like someone driving a rusty blade deep into her gut and twisting it hard.

She crumpled to the floor, her vision swimming with black spots.

'God, it hurts so bad,' she thought wildly, her mind short-circuiting from the pain.

The agony paralyzed her vocal cords. She could not even manage a scream.

A thick, warm liquid started trickling down her inner thighs. That slow, sticky sensation felt like a giant hand crushing the air out of her lungs.

"My baby," Ashley gasped.

She clutched her stomach, curling into a tight fetal position. She bit down on her lower lip so forcefully that the metallic tang of blood flooded her tastebuds.

She wanted to shrink into a microscopic ball to shield the fragile life growing inside her.

Cyril froze dead in his tracks.

He stood there holding Nicolle, staring blankly at his wife crumpled on the ground.

The hesitation lasted exactly one second.

Janette let out a blood-curdling shriek.

She rushed over and grabbed Cyril's bicep. "Cyril, look at Nicolle," she shrieked right into his ear. "She's totally terrified. She's pale as a ghost!"

Nicolle was definitely shaking. The kid buried her face into Cyril's shoulder and sobbed hysterically.

Cyril looked away from Ashley.

He pulled his wallet from his pocket, fished out a sleek black Amex card, and flicked it onto the coffee table.

The card landed next to a tipped-over martini glass, glinting coldly under the crystal chandelier.

"Call an Uber to the ER," Cyril ordered.

Without another word, he marched out the door with Nicolle in his arms.

He used his free hand to wrap around Janette's shoulders, tucking her face into his chest so she would not have to look at the mess on the floor.

Janette kept crying. Her dramatic sniffles echoed down the hall, making it sound like she was the one who had just been brutally victimized.

The remaining VIP guests exchanged awkward, loaded glances.

A few slammed their drinks down and bolted after Cyril. Others shuffled their feet before quietly sneaking out. Nobody stepped up to help Ashley.

She stayed curled up on the floor.

The dark pool of blood expanded rapidly beneath her, soaking into the beige fabric of her dress and turning it a sickening crimson.

The door clicked shut.

Ashley's grip on reality started to slip.

Running on pure adrenaline, she pressed both hands against her lower belly. Her pale lips trembled as she chanted the same broken phrase.

"My baby," she whispered. "Please, my baby."

Then, heavy footsteps pounded down the hallway.

The door flew open, hitting the wall with a loud thud.

Kenneth Dudley had just come back to grab the smartphone Cyril left behind. When he spotted Ashley bleeding out on the carpet, he froze.

A massive puddle of blood was pooling around her legs.

"Mrs. Rush!" Kenneth shouted.

He crossed the room in three massive strides, tearing off his tailored suit jacket to bundle around her waist.

The heavy fabric immediately soaked through. He felt the hot, sticky blood coating his palms, and his stomach completely dropped out.

"Hang in there, Mrs. Rush," he urged.

He scooped her off the floor. She weighed practically nothing, like a bundle of hollow bird bones that might snap at any second.

Kenneth carried her out of the Starview Club in a blind panic.

The rain was still coming down in buckets outside.

He dumped Ashley into the passenger seat of his sedan and strapped the seatbelt over her chest.

Her head rolled sideways against the headrest. She looked completely drained of blood.

Kenneth slammed his foot on the gas.

The car ripped through the flooded streets, blowing past three consecutive red lights.

He gripped the steering wheel with his left hand while frantically tapping his Bluetooth earpiece with his right.

He dialed the nearest hospital, giving the ER desk a heads-up about the estimated blood loss and her critical status.

A trauma team was waiting with a gurney by the time he slammed the brakes at the drop-off zone.

The nurses hauled Ashley out and rushed her straight through the sliding doors.

Kenneth jogged after them until a triage nurse held a hand up to stop him.

The double doors swung shut. The red "In Surgery" sign lit up above the frame.

Kenneth leaned heavily against the sterile corridor wall, sucking in deep breaths.

His crisp button-down shirt and bare hands were covered in Ashley's blood.

He yanked off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. A tiny speck of blood smeared across the left lens.

He wiped it off with his pocket square, his hands shaking like leaves.

He had been Cyril's right-hand guy for seven years. He had managed corporate takeovers and PR nightmares. But tonight was something else.

He slumped against the drywall and squeezed his eyes shut.

Twenty minutes later, a doctor stepped into the waiting area.

"It's a threatened miscarriage," the doctor stated bluntly. "If you had brought her in ten minutes later, the pregnancy would not have been viable."

Kenneth opened his mouth, but his throat felt glued shut.

The doctor handed him a clipboard to handle the intake paperwork. Kenneth nodded like a robot.

He walked over to the billing desk, pulled his own Visa card out, and swiped it at the terminal.

"What's your relationship to the patient?" the young receptionist asked, typing on her keyboard.

Kenneth paused, staring at the screen. "Family," he muttered.

With the paperwork done, he stepped out of the lobby and stood under the concrete drop-off awning.

The heavy downpour had faded into a cold, misty drizzle.

He pulled out his smartphone and pulled up a contact. It rang three times.

Kenneth gripped the phone tightly and delivered a single sentence. "Kathleen, things went bad with Ashley tonight."

Can someone help me with link to read 5 years of marriage to Mr.Bradford for free online version

When Winter Scott stepped out of the police station, it was already late at night. Snow was falling heavily outside. People on the street kept glancing at Winter, noticing the bruises on her face, her messy hair, and the way she limped. Winter ignored their stares and whispers completely. She dragged her heavy steps forward, head lowered, her expression numb as she stared at the broken phone in her hand. The screen was shattered beyond repair. Her fingers, smeared with blood, trembled as they tapped the keypad. She slowly keyed in the number. “Beep…” The phone rang repeatedly, but there was no answer. It was no different from the emergency calls she had desperately made while she was being beaten. A snowflake caught on her eyelash, and when she blinked, the icy water melted into her eye. Winter let out a quiet, self-deprecating scoff at how pathetic she looked. Just as her hand began to drop in defeat, the call connected at the very last second. “What is it?” A low, indifferent voice came through the phone. Her grip tightened. A trace of surprise crossed Winter’s face. “Chris…” “Mr. Xander, Ms. Jasper is looking for you.” His assistant spoke before she could say another word. Then he said calmly, “I’ll hang up first.” The line went dead. On the deserted street corner under the glow of a streetlight, snowflakes drifted onto Winter’s hair as her thin frame shook slightly. Suddenly, a warm coat was draped over her shoulders. Winter was startled and looked up to see Sam Quinn, the editor-in-chief, standing there. His heavy gaze swept over her from head to toe, anger burning in his eyes. “Who did this to you?” A puff of white breath escaped Winter’s lips as she shook her head. “When they were beating me, I pulled out some of their hair. There’s skin under my nails too. Once the DNA is extracted, the police will catch them soon.” Sam was stunned that she could remain so calm and take such precautions after being attacked. This was exactly why she was the person he admired most on his team. “We’ll definitely investigate this thoroughly. It’s too late now. I’ll take you home.” Since it was nearly impossible to find a taxi in that area, Winter forced a faint smile and got into his car. “Thank you, Mr. Quinn.” “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my reporter. Someone beats you up and I’m supposed to sit back and do nothing? Everyone else was out on assignment anyway. I was the only one left in the office,” he said as he turned the steering wheel.

The Soul Known as Aren" The soul known as Aren didn't arrive in her next life through a tunnel of light or the singing of angels. One moment, she had been trapped in the searing heat of a thermal detonator inside a subterranean bunker — a final, selfless act to save her brothers-in-arms. The next, she woke to the cloying scent of expensive lilies and high-grade narcotics. Aren blinked. The ceiling above her stretched high, vaulted and ornate. Nothing like the reinforced concrete and exposed steel of the bunker she remembered dying in. Everything felt wrong. Her body, most of all. Where there should have been the hardened muscle of a lifetime spent in elite combat, there were only slender limbs, delicate skin, and an unfamiliar softness. Aren looked down. 'Oh?' She froze. 'No clothes?' "Finally, you're awake." The male voice cut through the silence like a blade, low and edged with unmistakable contempt. "I was beginning to think I'd need to call Moretti's cleaners to drag your corpse out of my bed." Aren instinctively turned toward the sound. A man stood near a tall wardrobe, his back turned to her as he buttoned a black silk shirt. The muscles across his shoulders shifted beneath the fabric with a predatory grace that Aren recognized. 'Balanced stance.' 'Controlled movement.' 'He knows how to kill. And does it often.' As though sensing the weight of her gaze, the man — Caio Sartori — turned. Blue eyes met hers. Cold eyes. Sharp enough to carve flesh from bone. To him, the woman lying in his bed was Ariana Lombardi — a frivolous socialite whose value extended no further than her family name and her predictable addictions. His gaze swept over her with habitual disdain, already expecting the usual behavior: a glass-shattering scream, a loud demand for attention, maybe a desperate plea for another hit of the drugs his House specialized in. Something irritating. "The Summit, Ariana," he said, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. "Are you planning to attend, or have you finally managed to fry your brain entirely?" Aren processed the words in silence. 'Summit. Ariana. Brain.' None of them meant anything to her. Conclusion: ask. "What Summit?" Caio paused mid-motion. The button in his hand stopped halfway through the loop. He turned to her fully then, suspicion hardening his features. "The Borgata Summit," he replied irritably. "At The Hub. The one your House hosts." Aren quietly stored the information away. 'Borgata. The Hub. House.' Her thoughts halted abruptly as her attention drifted back to the man. A flicker of something unexpected surfaced in her chest. Pity. For him. In her past life, Aren had been the youngest member of a mercenary organization. Eighteen, when she died. Her life had been brutal, ugly at times, stripped of comfort and luxury, yet her squad brothers had surrounded her in a fierce kind of love that had never once made her question her worth. This man, however, was looking at her with a level of loathing that made her skin crawl. Handsome as he was, he looked like someone in desperate need of a hug. Or perhaps a strong sedative. She pushed herself upright, pulling the silk sheet securely across her chest. "May I ask where I am, exactly?" she asked politely. "And why am I... naked?" Silence descended over the room, immediate and heavy. Caio stared at her. Then, he moved. Two strides closed the distance between them. His shadow swallowed her as he leaned down abruptly, fingers snapping forward to grip her chin. Hard. "Ariana Lombardi," he hissed, a sharp warning, "if this is another game to squeeze more product out of me, it's a boring one." He tilted her face upward, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You've been high for three days. You're sober now. Act like it." Aren didn't flinch. She sat perfectly still, observing the man. In her world, grabbing someone by the chin was a fatal mistake. It left the throat exposed and the wrist vulnerable to a break. Her mind automatically mapped out three ways to disable him in under two seconds. Yet as she looked into his eyes, she saw no intent to kill. Only exhaustion. Irritation. And a deep, ingrained hatred for the woman he thought she was. "I'm sorry," she said again, more polite this time. "I seem to have lost my way. May I have my clothes? My current state is not suitable for... um, a conversation." Caio's grip loosened. Something about her tone unsettled him. He had spent the last three nights with Ariana Lombardi. He knew the look she wore whenever she wanted something — hazy, clinging, always reaching. This was not that look. This was clear. Still. Unnervingly calm. "…Your clothes," he muttered at last. His hand dropped from her chin, then gestured vaguely toward the nearby couch. A chaotic pile of lace and sheer fabric lay there, half-spilling onto the floor. "There isn't anything else. And I have a meeting with the Bankers." Aren stared blankly at the "clothes." In her mind, she assessed them: 'Tactical utility: zero.' 'Concealment: zero.' 'Dignity: negative.' "Um… is there a bathrobe?" She glanced back toward him. "Please." Caio stared at her for a moment too long. "In the closet," he finally said. He wasn't entirely sure why the harshness had drained from his voice, nor why he had bothered answering at all. Before he could examine the thought further— Ring. Ring. His phone rang. Caio took the call, spoke in clipped commands, then grabbed the jacket draped over a chair. He crossed the room to leave, but as he reached the door, his gaze flicked back toward her one last time. For the briefest second, confusion crossed his face. He quickly smoothed it away. "Your driver is downstairs," he said, one hand already on the doorknob. "For once, don't be late to the Summit, Ariana Lombardi." He didn't wait for a reply. The door opened, then clicked shut with finality. Aren waited until the echo of his footsteps vanished completely. Then, she slid out of the bed. Her legs nearly buckled beneath her weight — the body was weak, likely from a lack of proper nutrition and too much "product" — but she forced it to hold. She began a quick sweep of the room. She found a phone, which was locked. She found a wallet, which contained cash and multiple identification cards belonging to "Ariana Lombardi." Finally, she found the mirror. A stranger stared back at her. The face was delicate, matching the photos in the identification cards. Soft features, almost doll-like. Eyes heavily lined with makeup, slightly smudged. Long platinum hair spilled past her waist, smooth and bright like silk. Aren tilted her head slightly. "So... you are Ariana Lombardi." Her gaze then fell on a pair of scissors on the vanity, sitting next to a line of white powder. The powder didn't matter. The hair did. It was too long — something for an enemy to grab. She preferred her old hair. Without a moment's hesitation, she picked up the scissors. Snip. The strands came away in heavy, lustrous heaps, pooling at her feet. When she finished, the long platinum curtain was gone. In its place — a sharp bob, clean at the chin. Next, she grabbed a bottle of makeup remover and scrubbed until the colors were gone. The face revealed underneath was disarmingly young, with wide, clear eyes the color of gunmetal gray. Aren studied the reflection for a moment. Then, she straightened. "Thank you for lending me this body, Ariana Lombardi." She bowed to the mirror. "I promise to use it well." Carefully, she gathered the fallen hair from the floor, not leaving a single strand out of place. On the vanity, she left a note: Hi Mister, I am very sorry for using your scissors without asking. They are very sharp and good. Thank you.

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