u/NanniatheNeko

Sondra

I tug down the hem of my one-piece, zippered housekeeping uniform dress. The Pepto Bismol pink number comes to my upper thighs and fits like a glove, hugging my curves, showing off my cleavage. Clearly, the owners of the Bellissimo Hotel and Casino want their maids to look as hot as their cocktail girls.

I went with it. I’m wearing a pair of platform-heeled wrap-arounds comfortable enough to clean rooms in, but sexy enough to show off the muscles in my legs, and I pulled my shoulder-length blonde hair into two fluffy pigtails.

When in Vegas, right?

My feminist friends from grad school would have a fit with this.

I push the not-so-little housekeeping cart down the hallway of the grand hotel portion of the casino. I spent all morning cleaning people’s messes. And let me tell you, the messes in Vegas are big. Drug paraphernalia. Semen. Condoms. Blood. And this is an expensive, high-class place. I’ve only worked here two weeks and I’ve already seen all that and more.

I work fast. Some of the maids recommend taking your time so you don’t get overloaded, but I still hope to impress someone at the Bellissimo into giving me a better job. Hence dressing like the casino version of the French maid fantasy.

Dolling myself up was probably prompted by what my cousin Corey dubs, The Voice of Wrong. I have the opposite of a sixth sense or voice of reason, especially when it comes to the male half of the population.

Why else would I be broke and on the rebound from the two-timing party boy I left in Reno? I’m a smart woman. I have a master’s degree. I had a decent adjunct faculty position and a bright future.

But when I realized all my suspicions about Tanner cheating on me were true, I packed the Subaru I shared with him and left for Vegas to stay with Corey, who promised to get me a job dealing cards with her here.

But there aren’t any dealer jobs available at the moment—only housekeeping. So now I’m at the bottom of the totem pole, broke, single, and without a set of wheels because my car got totaled in a hit and run the day I arrived.

Not that I plan to stay here long-term. I’m just testing the waters in Vegas. If I like it, I’ll apply for adjunct college teaching jobs. I’ve even considered substitute teaching high school once I have the wheels to get around.

If I’m able to land a dealer job, though, I’ll take it because the money would be three times what I’d make in the public school system. Which is a tragedy to be discussed on another day.

I head back into the main supply area which doubles as my boss’ office and load up my cart in the housekeeping cave, stacking towels and soap boxes in neat rows.

“Oh for God’s sake.” Marissa, my supervisor, shoves her phone in the pocket of her housekeeping dress. A hot forty-two-year-old, she fills hers out in all the right places, making it look like a dress she chose to wear, rather than a uniform. “I have four people out sick today. Now I have to go do the bosses’ suites myself,” she groans.

I perk up. I know—that’s The Voice of Wrong. I have a morbid fascination with everything mafioso. Like, I’ve watched every episode of The Sopranos and have memorized the script from The Godfather.

“You mean the Tacones’ rooms? I’ll do them.” It’s stupid, but I want a glimpse of them. What do real mafia men look like? Al Pacino? James Gandolfini? Or are they just ordinary guys? Maybe I’ve already passed them while pushing my cart around.

“I wish, but you can’t. It’s a special security clearance thing. And believe me—you don’t want to. They are super paranoid and picky as hell. You can’t look at the wrong thing without getting ripped a new one. They definitely wouldn’t want to see anyone new up there. I’d probably lose my job over it, as a matter of fact.”

I should be daunted, but this news only adds to the mystique I created in my mind around these men. “Well, I’m willing and available, if you want me to. I already finished my hallway. Or I could go with you and help? Make it go faster?”

I see my suggestion worming through her objections. Interest flits over her face, followed by more consternation.

I adopt a hopeful-helpful expression.

“Well, maybe that would be all right...I’d be supervising you, after all.”

Yes! I’m dying of curiosity to see the mafia bosses up close. Foolish, I know, but I can’t help it. I want to text Corey to tell her the news, but there isn’t time. Corey knows all about my fascination, since I already pumped her for information.

Marissa loads a few other things on my cart and we head off together for the special bank of elevators—the only ones that go all the way to the top of the building and require a keycard to access.

“So, these guys are really touchy. Most times they’re not in their rooms, and then all you have to worry about is staying away from their office desks,” Marissa explains once we left the last public floor and it was just the two of us in the elevator. “Don’t open any drawers—don’t do anything that appears nosy. I’m serious—these guys are scary.”

The doors swish open and I push the cart out, following her around the bend to the first door. The sound of loud, male voices comes from the room.

Marissa winces. “Always knock,” she whispers before lifting her knuckles to rap on the door.

They clearly don’t hear her, because the loud talking continues.

She knocks again and the talking stops.

“Yeah?” a deep masculine voice calls out.

“Housekeeping.”

We wait as silence greets her call. After a moment the door swings open to reveal a middle-aged guy with slightly graying hair. “Yeah, we were just leaving.” He pulls on what must be a thousand dollar suit jacket. A slight gut thickens his middle, but otherwise he’s extremely good-looking. Behind him stand three other men, all dressed in equally nice suits, none wearing their jackets.

They ignore us as they push past, resuming their conversation in the hallway. “So I tell him…” The door closes behind them.

“Whew,” Marissa breathes. “It’s way easier if they’re not here.” She glances up at the corners of the rooms. “Of course there are cameras everywhere, so it’s not like we aren’t being watched.” She points to a tiny red light shining from a little device mounted at the juncture of the wall and ceiling. I’ve already noticed them all over the casino. “But it’s less nerve-wracking if we’re not tiptoeing around them.”

She jerks her head down the hall. “You take the bathroom and bedrooms, I’ll do the kitchen, office and living area.”

“Got it.” I grab the supplies I need off the cart and head in the direction she indicated.

The bedroom’s well-appointed in a nondescript way. I pull the sheets and bedspread up to make the bed. The sheets were probably 3,000 thread count, if there is such a thing. That may be an exaggeration but, really, they are amazing.

Just for kicks, I rub one against my cheek.

It’s so smooth and soft. I can’t imagine what it would be like to lie in that bed. I wonder which of the guys slept in here. I make the bed with hospital corners, the way Marissa trained me to, dust and vacuum, then move on to the second bedroom and then the bathroom. When I finish, I find Marissa vacuuming in the living room.

She switches it off and winds up the cord. “All done? Me too. Let’s go to the next one.”

I push out the cart and she taps on the door of the suite down the hall. No answer.

She keys us in. “It is way faster having you help,” she says gratefully.

I flash her a smile. “I think it’s more fun to work as a team, too.”

She smiles back. “Yeah, somehow I don’t think they would go for it as a regular thing, but it’s nice for a change.”

“Same routine?”

"Ma'am, it happened! She... she just gave birth!"
Mrs. Gable's voice was laced with suppressed fury as she delivered the news to Jasmine.
Jasmine, however, remained eerily composed. "A boy or a girl?"
"A boy! The Matriarch and Mrs. Vance are absolutely ecstatic, raving about how beautiful he is. Even Mr. Vance is so thrilled..."
Mrs. Gable caught herself and abruptly silenced her tongue.
She cast a look of profound pity at the woman sitting motionless by the floor-to-ceiling window, then sighed and walked away.
Jasmine felt her heart sink, despite herself.
The entire Vance family had been on high alert these past few days, camping out at the hospital for Felicity's delivery.
Including her own husband.
In fact, he hadn't left Felicity's side for a single second.
He was infinitely more devoted to his widowed sister-in-law than he had ever been to his own wife.
The door clicked, and Silas Vance suddenly walked in.
He looked to be in an exceptionally good mood, devoid of the icy aloofness he usually displayed toward Jasmine.
"Felicity just had the baby—eight pounds, six ounces. He's such a little chunk, absolutely precious."
Those were the first words out of Silas's mouth the moment he stepped inside.
The excitement in his tone was impossible to ignore.
"The little guy was quite stubborn during the birth; he put Felicity through quite a lot of pain. We initially suggested a C-section, but she insisted on a natural birth. We had to respect her wishes.
"Still, Grandma and Mom were in tears just watching her suffer like that."
The "Felicity" Silas spoke of so tenderly was Felicity Sterling.
The pampered princess of the Sterling Group, who had married into the Vance family three years ago, on the same day as Jasmine.
Jasmine had married the eldest son, Silas.
While Felicity had married the younger brother, Julian.
It was a double wedding that had sent shockwaves through the elite circles of Rivercrest.
But the happiness was short-lived.
Julian, a man obsessed with high-speed thrills, was involved in a horrific collision with a semi-truck during a street race. He didn't survive.
Jasmine remembered it vividly.
On their wedding day, Julian had made a point of vowing to give up racing for Felicity's sake.
Why he had suddenly decided to race that night remained a mystery.
And just like that, the Sterling princess became a widow.
The Vances felt an immense debt of guilt toward her and had even encouraged her to remarry.
But Felicity steadfastly refused, choosing to stay with her late husband's family.
This display of loyalty only endeared her more to the Vances, who began to dote on her to an absurd degree.
How far did that devotion go?
They went as far as finding a "special way" for her to conceive a Vance heir.
Since Julian was gone, the "source" for that way was naturally his identical twin brother.
Jasmine kept her eyes lowered, staring at her slender fingertips with an expressionless face. "Congratulations."
Silas's smile slowly faded. "What kind of attitude is that?"
"The attitude of someone offering congratulations," Jasmine replied.
Silas stepped closer, looming over her with an intimidating presence.
"What do you mean, congratulate 'me'? Jasmine! On a day like this, can you stop with the sarcasm?"
Jasmine looked up, her gaze cold.
"She gave birth to a child that's half your credit. Shouldn't I congratulate you?"
Silas's displeasure was now palpable.
"Felicity went through hell to have this child because she loved Julian! He's gone, and she needed a reason to keep living, a piece of him to hold onto. Is that a crime?"
Jasmine let out a nearly imperceptible sigh.
"And did you ever ask for my consent?"
When she first heard Felicity was pregnant, Jasmine assumed it was Julian's posthumous child.
Even when Felicity's pregnancy tantrums became unbearable, Jasmine treated her with nothing but respect.
It wasn't until the timeline of the pregnancy became suspiciously clear that Silas finally confessed the truth.
Silas had told her, "The child Felicity is carrying is the result of artificial insemination. They used the sperm I had frozen years ago. The whole family agreed on this. I hope you can understand."
The entire family had kept her in the dark about something this monumental.
They waited until the damage was done before even thinking about telling me.
And all she got was a dismissive "I hope you can understand"?
Silas sat on the opposite sofa, lit a cigarette, and watched the flame of his gold lighter flicker.
Silas was undeniably handsome, with sharp, aristocratic features and gold-rimmed glasses that gave him that sophisticated, intellectual elite senior vibe.
It was exactly that charm that had drawn Jasmine to him in the beginning.
Looking back, she realized her brain must have been malfunctioning at the time.
Silas took a drag and exhaled slowly, his brow furrowed slightly.
"Felicity practically begged me, and since the elders were all for it, I decided to go through with it.
"I didn't tell you beforehand because I was afraid you'd disagree and cause a scene.
"You have to realize that Julian's death nearly destroyed Felicity. She was bordering on clinical depression and couldn't handle any more stress.
"She just wanted a child. With that anchor, she can finally move past the pain. For me, it was nothing more than a simple favor."
A small favor?
This was the first time Jasmine had heard someone use the phrase "small favor" so shamelessly.
How convenient!
His reasoning was as polished as it was plausible.
She remained silent for a long time.
It wasn't because she had nothing to say.
It was because she had so much to say that she didn't want to say any of it.
She was afraid that if she started poking holes in his sordid excuses, she might actually lose her mind.
Silas looked at her delicate face—perfectly features clouded by a faint, lingering sorrow—and felt a strange pang of discomfort.
Just as he was about to speak, his phone rang.
It was Felicity.
Silas answered, his voice dropping into a sickeningly tender register.
"Yeah, I'm home."
"I grabbed a bite on the road."
"I'll shower and change before heading back. I can't have little Leo seeing me looking like a mess."
"Right. You get some rest. I'll be there in a bit."
After hanging up, Silas added casually.
"Grandma picked the name. Leo Vance. We thought about using Julian's middle name, but it felt a bit much, so we went with Leo."
Jasmine stood up. "You should get going then. Your sister-in-law and your son are waiting."
The words stung, and Silas flared up instantly. "Jasmine, can you stop being so petty!
"Using mine is better than using a stranger's, isn't it? At least he's a Vance through and through."
Jasmine tilted her head, a mocking half-smile on her lips. "I'm just curious, how exactly did you 'donate'?"
A flash of unease crossed Silas's face, but he quickly regained his composure.
"How else? I told you, I had sperm frozen at the bank years ago. You knew about that."
Jasmine did know.
Silas had frozen his sperm long before she ever married into the family.
Silas used a tone of reprimand, sounding utterly innocent.
"Jasmine, how could you even doubt me?"
Jasmine lightly brushed a stray hair from her forehead, her smile unreadable. "I was just asking. Why the sudden panic?"
Silas sighed. "Nothing is going on between Felicity and me. It's not like I cheated.
"Besides, Grandma and Mom have been miserable since Julian died. Having Leo will help them heal from the pain of outliving their son. Isn't that a good thing? We've been married for three years, and if you had only..."
Jasmine had been married to Silas for three years, and her womb had remained empty.
Her mother-in-law, Victoria Vance, often sneered behind her back, calling her a "barren hen" who couldn't lay a single egg, treating her with nothing but cold disdain.
Jasmine had even secretly gone to the hospital for a check-up.
Fortunately, she had no fertility issues.
The "barren hen" talk was just an excuse.
The real reason was that the Thorne family, misled by poor advice, had lost two major investment gambles and was now drowning in debt.
Their glory days were over; they were on a steep decline.
"You should visit Felicity at the hospital tomorrow. Don't let her get in her head and think you're avoiding her out of spite. You know how sensitive she is."
With that parting shot, Silas left.
Jasmine returned to her room and pulled a photograph from her drawer.
An anonymous source had mailed it to her a month ago.
In the photo, a man and a woman were caught in an intimate moment in front of a five-star hotel.
The couple was none other than Silas Vance and Felicity Sterling.
So, this was how Silas donated his sperm. Directly.

"W-why?"

Crimson blood seeped through her fingers. Nina Jacobs clutched her stabbed abdomen, staring in disbelief at the boyfriend who had once shared life and death with her.

She had just survived a battle, her Superpower and stamina completely drained. At this moment, she had no strength to fight back.

"Nina Jacobs, we've helped you far too much,

The position of base leader should have been mine."

A flicker of conflict crossed Liam Grant's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by cold indifference.

"Renee, save me."

Nina Jacobs reached out to her friend, Renee Strong.

Renee Strong was an Advanced Healer. If she used her Superpower to treat the wound, it would heal in no time.

But Renee Strong walked over to Liam Grant instead.

"Liam, should I save her or not?"

Liam Grant wrapped his arm around Renee Strong's waist as she looked at Nina Jacobs with a mocking gaze.

"We've put up with her for long enough. It's time to end this."

Liam Grant replied.

"So you two really are together."

Nina Jacobs looked at the other four people in the room.

It was the fifth year of the apocalypse.

She had always considered them her companions.

But as her gaze swept over them, not a single person was willing to help her.

"Nina Jacobs, if we hadn't been with you through thick and thin, you would've died long ago,

I was just having a little fun with a few women, and you dared to break my legs?!"

"It's all thanks to Strong's kindness that my legs were healed,

and to think I actually used to like you."

As if savoring his successful revenge, Ivan Lawson caressed Nina Jacobs's face, then viciously shoved her away.

"Nina Jacobs, my daughter didn't have to die back then,

Why did you stop me from saving her? Just because she was a burden with no Superpower?

You're the one who killed the only family I had left!"

Shannon Renner sobbed as she hurled her accusation.

"Sorry, Nina Jacobs, but the base doesn't need you anymore,

What the base needs now is a qualified manager."

Simon Abbott adjusted his glasses, as if trying to hide his own guilt.

"Wyatt Jacobs, you think so too?"

Nina Jacobs looked at Wyatt Jacobs, who stood last. They were cousins, and although they had argued along the way, she had always treated him like her own younger brother.

"Whether you live or die doesn't matter to me anymore,

I'm the strongest Gold Element Superpower User in the base now,

With you dead, Brother Liam will give me the best resources."

Wyatt Jacobs looked down on the weakened Nina Jacobs.

To him, Nina Jacobs was no longer useful.

"Is that so?

Fine. Just fine."

Nina Jacobs started to laugh.

"Did you know, you've been a target for a long time?

Someone tried to buy your life multiple times before, and Liam always refused. But you just went too far!"

Renee Strong had expected Nina Jacobs to be terrified, but instead, her laughter grew louder and louder.

As she laughed, blood continued to gush from her wound, as if eager to escape.

"I'm laughing because... you still don't know me at all."

Nina Jacobs called up the system interface that only she could see.

"What do you mean?"

Liam Grant suddenly had a bad feeling, but he dismissed it as impossible.

Nina Jacobs was cautious, but she couldn't possibly be *that* cautious.

To avoid unwanted attention, they had specifically chosen this spot in the wilderness, far from the base, to deal with Nina Jacobs.

[Host, do you wish to destroy this Level 6 safe house?

If destroyed, the safe house will initiate self-destruct mode in ten seconds.]

At that moment, the system's cold, mechanical voice sounded unusually warm.

"Destroy it."

Nina Jacobs was glad she had never told anyone about the system.

Because they had no idea that this dilapidated house they had chosen as a temporary location was, in fact, her safe house.

As the mechanical countdown began, a flash of excitement lit up Nina Jacobs's eyes.

'If I'm going to die, then we'll all die together.'

'No one is getting away.'

...

Pain. So much pain.

「In dorm room 701 at Dawn University.」

Renee Strong struggled against the intense pain.

With a pained scream, Renee Strong finally regained consciousness.

She would never forget that excruciating pain.

'But... wasn't I dead?'

'I died with Liam Grant and the others in that mysterious explosion.'

She clearly remembered seeing her own limbs blown off, and the crazed laughter on Nina Jacobs's face.

'Damn it, what the hell did Nina Jacobs do?!'

The phone beside her caught her attention.

"I actually... came back?!"

Renee Strong stared at the time on her phone in disbelief.

October 30, 2212.

'Three days before the apocalypse?!'

'Right, Nina Jacobs!'

Renee Strong's head snapped toward the opposite side of the dorm room.

A violent shiver ran down her spine.

From the top bunk opposite hers, Nina Jacobs happened to look up at her at that exact moment.

"Nina Jacobs, what are you doing?"

'Could she have been reborn, too?'

Renee Strong asked, her voice cautious and probing.

"You're awake?

I'm just watching a variety show."

Nina Jacobs took off her headphones, acting as if she had just noticed Renee was awake.

"Yeah, I'm... awake."

Renee Strong remembered now. The cataclysm had struck suddenly during their senior year, right around graduation season.

At this time, their other roommates had all gone to a job fair to look for work.

But since she and Nina Jacobs had already secured jobs, they had stayed behind in the dorm.

The laptop was facing away from Renee Strong, and Nina Jacobs had already put her headphones back on, no longer looking at her.

Just like always.

Renee Strong let out a sigh of relief.

'As I thought, she wasn't reborn.'

"Nina Jacobs, without us,

let's see how long you can survive this time."

Renee Strong stormed out of dorm room 701.

The moment the dorm room door closed, Nina Jacobs took off her silent headphones.

"Strip from the waist down and lie back." The man's voice was deep and commanding.

Natasha Whittier's heart gave a violent jolt in her chest.

She had no idea when or how she had developed this shameful, unspeakable condition.

Whenever the urge hit, she just wanted to be fucked.

It did not matter if she was at the office or out in public. This constant, dripping arousal was completely ruining her life.

Pushed to the breaking point, she finally bit the bullet and booked an appointment at this high-end private clinic.

She picked it strictly for the ironclad privacy, even though the bill was insanely high.

But she had specifically asked for the head of gynecology, a woman in her late forties.

'Why is the person examining me a tall, strapping male doctor?' she wondered.

"Do I really have to take them off?" Natasha asked. She was a total wreck, her voice barely a whisper.

The thought of exposing herself to a strange man, even a doctor, was unbearably awkward.

Jared Rundell kept a deadpan expression. "How am I supposed to check you out if you stay dressed?"

"But I just..." Natasha flushed a deep crimson, shifting uncomfortably.

A surgical mask covered half his face, but his piercing eyes were intense and impossible to read.

A sudden, filthy fantasy hijacked her brain. She pictured him slamming her down onto the exam table and fucking her brains out right then and there.

Natasha quickly shook her head, trying to snap out of it. 'Jesus Christ! What is wrong with me? Why am I thinking about his cock?'

She took a deep breath to steady her racing pulse. 'He is just a doctor. He probably looks at dozens of wet pussies every single day. This is literally just his nine-to-five.'

Forcing herself to believe those excuses, she swallowed her pride, peeled off her pants and underwear, and lay back on the crinkly paper of the exam bed.

"So, what exactly is bothering you?" Jared asked casually while prepping his sterilized tools.

Natasha's cheeks burned like fire all over again. "My... my pussy..."

Seeing that she couldn't bring herself to say the actual word, Jared offered a blunt suggestion. "Rough sex? Got a tear down there?"

When young, hot women came into his GYN clinic, that was usually the culprit.

To his surprise, Natasha shook her head, her cheeks still blazing. "No. I don't even have a sex life."

Jared froze. He turned to give her a shocked, lingering look.

Natasha was a total knockout. She had flawless skin and delicate features, a perfect mix of pure innocence and raw sex appeal.

She was the kind of stunner a guy jerked off to after just one glance.

'A ten like her should have dudes lining up to date her. How the hell was she not getting laid?' he wondered.

"I just... I feel really... weird... down there," she stammered, squirming under his heavy, dark stare.

Jared's fingers gripped the swab a little tighter. He kept his cool on the outside, locking his eyes dead on hers. "Weird how?"

Natasha went completely mute. She squeezed her eyes shut. 'How the hell do I even explain this?'

"It's... well, it's just..." She bit down hard on her full lower lip, desperate to say it but completely stuck.

Watching the deep cherry flush spread across her beautiful face, Jared swallowed hard.

A heavy surge of heat pooled directly in his groin.

He shoved the dirty thought aside and forced a professional tone. "Any idea what triggered it?"

Natasha fumbled her words, utterly humiliated. "Well, it's... I..."

She looked away, her heart pounding. 'How can I tell him I'm just insanely horny and aching for a hard cock?'

She had been married to her husband Percy Grosso for over a year, but he hadn't touched her once.

As her physical urges grew stronger and more demanding, Percy had actually started avoiding her.

He was terrified of her initiating anything sexual.

Left with no other options, Natasha had been forced to take care of her own needs.

But clearly, getting herself off wasn't cutting it anymore.

She needed the real thing. She needed it hard and deep.

Jared carefully watched her reactions. "Are you married?"

Natasha nodded on instinct.

For some inexplicable reason, a sharp wave of disappointment washed over him.

Jared's eyes darkened a shade. "Just lie back and relax. Let me take a look."

Natasha obediently leaned back. Her slender hands balled into tight fists by her sides.

Her face felt like it was on fire.

Jared stared intently at her, his voice dropping to a husky, intimate register. "Don't move."

Natasha was already drowning in shame. 'Factoring in my hyper-sensitive, constantly aroused state, how could I possibly stay perfectly still while he intimately examines me?'

"Is there any way I can get a female doctor?" she asked, thoroughly mortified.

The look in Jared's eyes grew even more intense. "Are you dissatisfied with my care?"

"No, that's not it at all," Natasha hurriedly tried to explain.

Before she could finish, he cut her off with a cold, hard rejection. "You booked my time today. If you don't want to be treated, you can leave."

Natasha suppressed a frustrated sigh. 'This guy is so aggressive and intense. I am definitely filing a complaint about his bedside manner later,' she promised herself.

But her condition really couldn't wait any longer. She would just have to trust his medical expertise this one time.

"I didn't mean anything by it," she pleaded softly. "Please, Doctor. You have to fix me."

This was Jared's first time covering a shift at the clinic.

He never expected a patient quite like this.

Her specific condition was sensitive enough, but the fact that she was drop-dead gorgeous made the situation a living hell.

Having her spread out on his examination table felt like a direct assault on his self-control.

"Save the chatter," he barked. His voice came out thick and gravelly as his Adam's apple bobbed heavily.

He snapped on a pair of sleek latex gloves, picked up a sterile medical swab, and slowly parted her slick folds.

Natasha squeezed her eyes shut, her cheeks burning with absolute humiliation. 'Even my own husband has never seen me spread open like this.'

Now she was baring her most intimate, dripping wet core for a complete stranger.

Telling herself he was just a medical professional did nothing to ease the mental hurdle.

"Ah!" A needy, wet moan slipped past her lips the second he touched her.

The sound was incredibly sweet and drenched in pure lust.

A hard jolt of electricity shot straight to Jared's groin.

His entire body pulled taut, and he slightly withdrew his fingers. "Did I hurt you?"

Natasha looked up at him, her beautiful eyes clouded with a glassy, desperate haze.

She parted her flushed lips but could not find the right words.

Her brain knew she needed to hold back, but her body was completely starved.

The pathetic, delicate way she looked up at him while leaking onto his table was enough to drive any man wild.

"I'll be gentler," Jared said, his voice rough as he cleared his throat.

"I will go gentler then." Jared cleared his throat roughly and forced his gaze away from her flushed face, focusing entirely on probing her sensitive flesh.

When the intrusive exam finally ended, the withdrawal left Natasha feeling painfully hollow. Her clit throbbed, completely unsatisfied.

"Doctor, is it really bad?" she asked, a noticeable tremble wrecking her voice.

Jared ruthlessly reined in his raging erection and slowly peeled off the slick latex gloves. "You are dealing with severe pelvic congestion and a hormonal imbalance.

"It is a direct result of chronic sexual deprivation."

Natasha lowered her gaze, a flash of humiliation burning her pretty face. 'Deprived? Try nonexistent.'

It was not just a lack of sex; she was practically a virgin.

Percy was a severe germaphobe. From their very first date to their wedding night, he rarely ever touched her.

But the extreme deprivation only fueled her dirty cravings.

It felt like every cell in her body was screaming out, absolutely desperate to be grabbed, fucked, and filled.

"I am prescribing some anti-inflammatory medication to help regulate your hormones." Jared sat down at his computer to type up the script. "But my professional advice is to go home and get laid.

"Have your husband fuck you on a regular basis, and your symptoms will clear right up."

Natasha's face was already burning crimson. She slid her panties back on and climbed off the examination table.

Taking the prescription slip from his hands, she murmured, "Thank you, Doctor."

The exact moment she slipped out of the clinic, a female doctor in a white coat barged in through the back door.

"Jared, did you seriously examine my patient behind my back?" Sharon Rundell snapped, furiously scolding her younger brother.

Jared leaned back, completely unfazed. "Need I remind you I was always top of our class in med school, while you were forever stuck in second place?

"Me giving your patients free pelvic exams is a blessing for them. Besides, I own this entire hospital now."

"You arrogant bastard!" Sharon glared at him.

He was totally twisting the logic to suit his ego. Still, she had to admit it was wildly out of character.

Jared was notoriously a ruthless germaphobe who kept women at an icy distance. The fact that he willingly touched a female patient's intimate areas today was bizarre.

"Since my help is clearly unappreciated, I will take my leave." Jared shoved one hand deep into his pocket, his dark, predatory gaze still locked onto the hallway where Natasha had just disappeared.

"Where do you think you are going? I dragged you here today to meet the new cardiologist, Dr. Wayland." Sarah hurriedly stopped him, desperately trying to play matchmaker. "She is young, stunning, and absolutely brilliant.

"She is the hottest catch in the hospital, and most importantly, she is single."

"Maybe some other time." Jared brushed her off without a shred of interest and strolled right out the door.

SERAPHINA'S POV

"Seraphina!"

I jolted awake in bed, hearing my name from the urgency in my mother's voice on the phone. Her voice trembled through the phone, sharp and brittle.

"Mom?" My throat was raw. She hadn't reached out in ten years—not unless it was the worst kind of news.

"Your father—" Her breath hitched, then broke. "He's been attacked."

My stomach clenched. Ice-cold fear gripped me.

"What?!"

"Oh, Sera, he's barely clinging to life!" my mother sobbed brokenly.

I immediately threw the covers off me and jumped out of bed.

"Send me the hospital address," I said in a shaky voice. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

I tried not to make too much noise as I rushed down the stairs so I wouldn't wake my son, Daniel. The light underneath my husband, Kieran's, office told me he was still up. As Alpha of the pack, he always had too much to handle.

And if I were honest with myself—too much resentment toward me.

A decade-old mistake had bound us together. A mistake he'd never forgiven.

So, I didn't plan to bother him.

By the time I slid into the driver's seat, tears streaked down my face.

My father had always been invincible. Unshakable. The giant of my heart, even if he'd never wanted me as his daughter.

Even if he'd hated me. But I never imagined he could be taken from me like this—

I slammed my foot on the accelerator.

When I reached the hospital, my mother and brother sat like shadows outside the operating room. My chest tightened. Would the giant really fall?

I hesitated. I couldn't bring myself to step closer. Not when their disgust had exiled me long ago. After that night ten years ago, they'd erased me. To the world, they had only one daughter now—Celeste.

Should I even be here?

It had been ten years since we last spoke. Even after Daniel was born, all communication with the family had gone through Kieran. My father had made it clear—he never wanted to see my face again.

Would he really want to see me now?

What if he didn't? What if his resentment hadn't faded?

I hesitated, my pulse pounding in my ears—until the sharp swish of the operating room doors cut through my thoughts. The doctor walked out, pulling gloves off his fingers.

"Doctor!" I rushed forward before I could stop myself, my voice shaking. "How is my father?"

The grim expression on his face said it all. "I'm sorry. We did all we could... but his injuries were far too severe."

I pressed a hand to my mouth, choking back the sob clawing up my throat.

"Is he... gone?" Ethan, my brother, barely glanced at me before addressing the doctor, his voice rough.

"Not yet." The man shook his head slowly. "But he won't last the night. He's been asking for his daughter."

I took an instinctive step forward—then froze.

His daughter.

It couldn't be me. After ten years of indifference and resentment, the daughter my dying father wanted to see would never be me.

Ethan's laugh was ice. "Ten years, and our family is still paying for your mistakes!"

I turned to face him, tears streaking my cheeks. A decade since I'd last stood this close—since he'd looked at me. Time had sharpened him into a true Alpha: broader shoulders, harder jaw, a dominance that rolled off him in waves.

But the hatred in his eyes?

That hadn't changed.

My heart gave a vicious twist, like claws raking flesh.

"Because of you," he snarled at me, "Celeste moved away. Because of you, she can't be here. Because of you, Dad will die with his last wish unfulfilled."

"Yes, it's all my fault." My laugh was bitter, weighted with decades of pain. "After all these years, I'm still the first one blamed. No one cares about the truth—or how I feel!"

Tears burst forth, my outburst freezing Ethan for a heartbeat. But just as quickly, his voice turned razor-sharp:

"Your feelings? You stole your sister's fiancé and dare to talk about feelings?"

My nails dug deep into my palms, reopening that ugly old scar.

Ten years ago, at the Blood Moon Hunt, I'd just turned twenty—the age when every werewolf finds their mate. After a lifetime of being overlooked, I'd been desperate for that bond.

As a child, I'd foolishly dreamed it might be Kieran. But then he fell for Celeste—perfect, radiant Celeste, the darling of the entire Frostbane Pack—and I learned my place soon enough.

What was I? The Alpha's defective daughter, the one who couldn't even shift. Nothing.

When even my own family and pack barely spared me a glance, how could Kieran possibly want me? I never expected to change anything. But that night, when I heard about his impending engagement to Celeste, the pain cut deeper than any claw. For the first time, I let myself drown in drink.

I expected to wake up forgotten in some dark corner. Never did I imagine I'd find myself naked in Kieran's bed.

The liquor had burned through my senses. That night remained a haze of fractured memories. Before I could piece together what happened, Celeste burst in—her shriek slicing through the air as she took in the scene.

Then came the chaos: Celeste's hysterical sobs, Kieran's guilt-ridden apologies, the pack's venomous whispers, my stammered explanations—all silenced by my father's resounding slap across my face.

"I regret ever bringing you into this world!"

The aftermath played out in muted horror. Kieran carrying Celeste's unconscious form to the infirmary. Ethan snarling at gawking packmates. My mother's muffled weeping. And Father's eyes—Gods—that look of pure revulsion. I'd always known he despised me, but never with such intensity it stole the breath from my lungs.

"I didn't..." My whisper died unheard. No one listened. No one.

Overnight, I became the pack's favorite sin to punish. Where they'd once mocked my defective shifting, now they spat "w***e" like a benediction. Even low-ranking Omegas cornered me in shadowed corridors, their hands and insults alike too bold. Females crossed themselves when I passed, hissing "husband-thief" like a curse.

The weight of it crushed me. When Celeste's admirers left death threats carved into my door, I gathered what little I owned and fled under a new moon. I intended to vanish forever... until the morning sickness began. Until the physician announced my pregnancy to the entire Blood Council.

That was the only reason Kieran married me. He was an honorable man, an Alpha who would never desert his heir.

Yet it tore my family apart.

My parents and brother hated me for breaking Celeste's heart. Kieran's pack, NightFang, loathed me because I was not the Luna they wanted. And Celeste was so enraged, she moved abroad.

"You ruined everything!" Ethan's accusing voice cut through my thoughts. The venom in his glare cut deep. Undiluted after a decade.

Blood may have made us siblings, but Ethan had never once treated me as his sister. Celeste was the only sister he cherished. He loathed me for driving her away.

But was it truly all my fault? I may be weak and ordinary, but never so vile as to deliberately seduce my sister's lover. Yet they never cared. They just needed someone to blame.

"See this?" My hands trembled, but my voice hardened like winter frost. "My voice was never heard. My existence never mattered. So tell me, Mom—" I turned to face her, throat constricted. "If you never wanted me, why didn't you just smother me in my cradle? Why pretend I still mattered enough to call me here?"

"How dare you speak to Mom like that?!" Ethan roared, his canines lengthening. "Marrying Kieran didn't magically make you Luna material. That title was always meant for Celeste!"

"I never asked for any of this!" I snarled back, bitterness filling my tone. "I was ready to disappear. You could have let Celeste and Kieran have their perfect mating ceremony and pretended I never existed!"

Ethan's lips curled mockingly. "Don't play the martyr," he sneered. "You knew damn well Kieran would never abandon his pup—"

"Ethan!" Mother's command carried the faintest echo of her former Luna authority, though her scent now held only exhaustion and grief. "Enough. We will not waste your father's final moments on this old blood feud."

She couldn't even look at me as she said, "Go see your father." Her gaze darted away like the sight of me pained her. Ethan shot me one last venomous glare before slumping into a chair.

Steeling myself, I pushed open the door.

The fear nearly choked me—fear of seeing that familiar disappointment in his eyes one last time. But when I saw him lying there, the man I'd spent my life both fearing and longing to please...

Gone was the towering figure of my nightmares. The father who'd once seemed invincible now lay motionless, his chest swathed in bandages, his face ashen. The eyes that had always burned with contempt when they looked at me... now held nothing at all.

Tears streamed down my face. Why did this hurt so much?

This man—this giant who'd hated me from the moment I presented as a wolfless. Who'd looked at Celeste with pride and me with shame.

The memory of our last meeting still clawed at my heart.

There had been no wedding for Kieran and me. No celebration. Only my father's iron grip forcing my hand to scrawl my name on the marriage paper.

"Now you've gotten what you wanted," he'd snarled, his Alpha power choking the air between us. "From this day forward, you are no daughter of mine."

I'd never wept so violently—never begged so desperately. But all I earned was the frozen line of his back and his final, venomous curse:

"Your birth was a mistake, Seraphina. Dare to show your face again, and I swear you'll never know another moment of happiness."

He kept his promise.

His curse had poisoned every moment of my life, while my "honorable" husband turned our marriage into a gilded cage with his endless silence and contempt.

I should have hated them all—this family, this fate.

But when my father's fingers twitched weakly on the sheets, my traitorous heart lurched. Before I could think, I was at his side, clutching his ice-cold hand.

"Dad?" My voice trembled with something dangerously close to hope.

His pale lips parted slightly, as if struggling to form words.

But before he could speak—

BEEEP—!

The heart monitor screamed. The line on the screen flattened.

"NO!" The cry tore from my throat. He couldn't leave—not like this. Not before I saw forgiveness in his eyes. Not before we could unravel the knots binding our hearts.

The door burst open. Ethan and Mother shoved me aside, sending me crashing to the floor.

"He's gone..." Mother collapsed against Ethan, her body wracked with violent sobs. "My mate... my Alpha...!"

Ethan's grief choked him silently—until his gaze locked onto me. His wolf was on the surface, teeth bared. I didn't doubt for a second he'd rip my throat out. Until Mother caught his arm.

"You viper," he hissed. "Whatever scrap of happiness you've clung to—I'll rip it from you."

A hollow laugh echoed through my mind. Why were they all so obsessed with stealing my happiness? Something I'd never had.

The doctor entered, murmuring to my mother, "Luna, we must prepare Alpha Edward's remains."

I numbly walked into the hall, my soul scraped raw, tears falling unchecked. As the pack's elite arrived, none acknowledged me—just as it had always been.

But their indifference barely influenced me now. I stood numb before the chamber holding Father's body, still unable to grasp the truth that he would never open his eyes to us again—

Until Kieran's voice cut through the silence.

"My deepest condolences, Margaret." He took my mother's hands, every inch the dutiful son-in-law. "Rest assured, I'll assist Ethan with every arrangement."

Moonlight from the windows gilded his broad shoulders, the silver streaks at his temples only heightening the aura of a prime Alpha in his prime. Not a hair out of place despite the midnight summons.

The deadliest Alpha of the NightFang Pack. Just his presence was enough to control the air.

"Your presence comforts me, Kieran," Mother wept, clutching his arm.

When he embraced her, those piercing dark eyes found mine over her shoulder—then flicked away as if spotting a stain on the wall.

"What exactly happened?" he asked as he turned to Ethan. "How could Edward get attacked?"

Ethan's jaw clenched. "Routine border patrol. But the bastard rogues came in numbers we've never seen—armed with silver weapons." His throat worked as he fought for control. "It was an ambush. Father never stood a chance."

My mother's renewed sobs filled the corridor. Kieran gripped Ethan's shoulder—

"The rogues will pay for this," he vowed.

I hovered at the periphery, an outsider in my own family's tragedy.

The three of them—Mother, Ethan, and Kieran—stood united in their grief, an unbreakable circle I couldn't penetrate.

"I've sent for Celeste," Ethan added suddenly. "She should be arriving soon."

"Oh, my poor girl!" Mother wept into her hands. "To miss her father's final moments..."

My gaze flickered unbidden to Kieran's face.

Our eyes locked again.

His expression remained unreadable—arctic, assessing, utterly devoid of warmth.

Ten years sharing a bed, yet he still felt galaxies away. I'd never touched his heart.

And now, with Celeste's return, a terrible truth crushed my chest like an iron weight: I was about to lose my second family.

If my wolf lived within me, she would have whined low in her throat. I didn't know if I could survive the coming storm—but one thing burned brighter than fear:

No matter what arrived, no one would take my son from me.

No one.

On the day the Dragon Clan held its bride selection ceremony, I happily placed my luminous pearl into Maya Burke's hands. She was the girl I'd grown up with.

From that day on, Maya hated me.

The reason was simple. She looked down on me. I wasn't born with overwhelming divine power, and in her eyes, that made me unworthy of her. The one she had admired since childhood was my younger brother Toby Hall, the genius of the clan.

On our wedding day, she joined forces with Toby.

They ripped out my dragon bones.

They tore away my dragon tendons.

Then they helped Toby seize the throne of the Dragon King.

When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day of the bride selection.

Under Maya's eager gaze, I walked past her and handed my pearl to the Human Princess standing beside her.

"From this day forward, she will be my Dragon Princess," I said to the Human Princess.

And that wasn't all.

This time, I was going to stay close to the Human Princess, the future War Goddess.

...

The moment I opened my eyes, I heard my father urging Toby and me to hand over the pearls in our hands.

As always, Toby acted humbly and politely.

He raised an eyebrow and said, "Owen, you should choose first. You're the eldest. It wouldn't be right for me to go before you."

No wonder everyone in the Dragon Clan praised him nonstop.

The guy hid his true colors frighteningly well.

Toby never participated in discussions about the throne.

Whenever people claimed his talent surpassed mine by miles and that he should be the next Dragon King, he would simply smile and say nothing.

To outsiders, he seemed calm and indifferent to the throne.

What they didn't know was that ambition had already consumed him.

He had been waiting for this chance for years.

He was willing to kill his father and brother.

He was a ruthless bastard with no loyalty and no conscience.

When Toby saw me heading toward Maya, he looked at me knowingly and said, "Owen, Maya is your childhood sweetheart. You've probably already decided she'll be your Dragon Princess, haven't you?"

The memory of that horrific night flashed through my mind: the pain of my bones being ripped apart. The agony of my tendons being torn from my body.

I sneered inwardly. Ignoring Maya's confident expression, I walked right past her and stopped in front of the Human Princess Isabelle Burton beside her.

"I'm actually interested in the Human Princess." I said, " She's every bit as beautiful as the rumors said."

The Dragon Clan was notorious for its desires. Everyone knew that.

What shocked them wasn't my attraction to a beautiful woman. It was the fact that I had only ever cared about Maya. Yet today, I had suddenly changed my mind.

Then, Maya's eyes were dull and lifeless. Her hand remained suspended in the air.

I placed the pearl into Isabelle's palm. Then I turned and announced loudly, "From today onward, she is my Dragon Princess."

Looking at the delicate Isabelle, my father frowned immediately and couldn't hide his doubts.

"Owen, are you sure? She's only human. How could she possibly be worthy of you?"

The Human Kingdom had only sent Isabelle here to fill a spot.

No one expected me to actually choose her. Even Toby's expression became unreadable.

"Father, I've made my decision," I answered.

Tears immediately welled up in Maya's eyes. She reached for my sleeve.

I quietly stepped away.

Her eyes turned red. Disbelief was written all over her face. "Owen, are you really choosing her?"

I looked straight at her. My gaze grew colder and colder.

In a voice only she could hear, I said, "Because I want to help you and Toby get what you've always wanted."

Maya's pupils shrank. She collapsed onto the floor.

Isabelle quickly moved to help Maya up. But Maya shoved her away viciously.

The pearl flew from Isabelle's hand and smashed against the ground.

Isabelle instantly turned pale. Terrified, she wanted to make an apology.

I grabbed her arm before she could apologize.

"It's just a pearl," My voice softened. "You don't need to do that."

Ignoring the venomous glare Maya shot at us, I took Isabelle's hand.

[Welcome to the Island Survival Game.]

[Treasure chests will appear in the sea every day from 8:00 AM to 12:00 PM. Players can use fishing rods to pull up chests and get supplies.]

[Players between the ages of 16 and 55 are selected. Family members will be grouped together when possible.]

[The beginner protection period lasts for three days. If you die in the game, you die for real.]

[The game begins.]

[Today's weather: cloudy, 60 to 80 degrees Fahrenheit.] A robotic voice announced.

Jane Quinn looked around, completely confused. One moment, she was celebrating a fresh start and planning a barbecue dinner, and the next, she was standing on a deserted island.

[Please enter your username. If you do not pick one in ten seconds, your real name will be used.]

A blank line and a countdown appeared in front of her.

[Ten, nine, eight...]

Jane thought, 'What the hell is this?'

[Seven, six, five...]

Jane barely had time to think. She typed "J.Ivy" as her username.

[Scanning player information.]

A holographic data panel suddenly popped up in front of Jane.

[Player: J.Ivy]

[Gender: Female]

[Level: 1 (EXP: 0/50)]

[Constitution: 7 (above average, not bad)]

[Attack: 5 (pretty pathetic)]

[Defense: 5 (pretty weak)]

[Intelligence: 9 (super smart)]

[Speed: 6 (barely faster than a turtle)]

[Luck: 8 (pretty lucky)]

[Magic attributes: Ice Magic: 8; Light Magic: 9]

[All base stats are capped at 10, except for level, which can go up to 100.]

[Health Points (HP): 70]

[Magic Points (MP): 90]

Jane thought, 'Player info? Am I actually in a game? And is that luck stat for real? I've always had terrible luck. The one time I won the lottery is the only exception.'

The holographic status screen came from a watch on her wrist. Besides the stats panel, there were tabs for the chatroom, trading section, and friends list. In the bottom right, a display read 100,000/100,000 for players. It looked like the games she used to play.

The chatroom was already blowing up.

BigDaddy: [Where the hell am I? I was just eating dinner.]

Pitviper: [I was on the toilet.]

MorningStar: [Didn't you hear that voice? This is a survival game.]

Sunset: [I don't want to be stuck in this hellhole. I want to go home.]

Rocky: [I want to go home, too.]

Southshore: [Looks like we can't go back.]

Sunrise: [The beginner protection only lasts three days. We must hurry up and gather supplies, or we'll be dead soon.]

Seeing the chat rolling, Jane started to feel uneasy inside, too.

[J.Ivy, your parents have been detected in the game. Would you like to teleport them into your area?]

Jane bit her lip and picked "No."

Jane was the heiress of a rich family who'd been switched with another baby at the hospital after birth.

The Quinn family, the one that adopted her, was poor. With a spoiled younger brother, Jane had to do the housework from a young age. She was constantly yelled at and even hit, and her life was miserable.

Later, the truth came out, and Jane learned that the Quinns themselves had arranged the switch. The Quinns had abused her not because they favored boys but because they'd known she wasn't their daughter.

They had switched her with Eve Goodwin, their real daughter, so Eve could lead a better life.

Jane wanted to call the police, but Elena Goodwin, Jane's real mother, couldn't let go of the girl she'd raised for twenty years.

After Eve's tearful pleas, Elena forgave the Quinns regardless of Jane's feelings, kept Eve by her side, and ended up being even closer to her than to Jane.

Eve was the girl Elena had raised as her own for twenty years, a perfect lady skilled in all the arts, whereas Jane, her real daughter that she'd just met, had grown up in a small town, doing farm work.

Desmond Goodwin, Jane's real father, and Elena chose Eve without hesitation. They doted on Eve, and Jane was ignored and left to survive on her own.

But Eve always pretended to be pure and innocent, but she was secretly scheming. She kept framing Jane, and the more it happened, the less Desmond and Elena liked Jane. To them, Jane was some uncouth, petty girl.

Then Eve pulled the trick again, blaming Jane for breaking Elena's favorite antique vase, worth millions. This time Jane was ready. She had bought a recorder and caught Eve on tape. When Eve went to complain, Jane pressed play for everyone to hear.

Jane expected the truth to change Desmond and Elena, but Eve started to sob and said, "I was scared because I'm not your real daughter." Desmond and Elena softened and wanted to let it go.

Jane was disappointed. She called the police.

Desmond and Elena were furious. They thought Jane was cruel and that she called the cops over something so trivial and tried to get Eve thrown in jail.

Jane did not actually want Eve jailed. She knew that unless Elena pressed charges over the vase, Eve would be perfectly fine. Jane only wanted to make a clean break from both families, and she wanted to do it in front of the police.

If she stayed, Jane had no idea how much more she would have to put up with.

With the police's help, Jane formally changed her residency and signed the papers to cut ties with Desmond and Elena.

She was about to celebrate with a barbecue when she found herself dumped into a strange game world.

A system prompt hovered in front of her, asking if she'd like to teleport her parents to her side. Jane scoffed. She had already severed the relationship. 'Let Eve, their perfect daughter, take care of them instead,' she thought.

Jane couldn't stop thinking about her luck stat. 'Even someone as unlucky as me got an 8, so Eve, who's spoiled rotten and adored by everyone, must have a perfect 10,' she thought. That really made her unhappy.

[Treasure chests are now spawning. Players, start fishing.]

Jane was dazed for a moment before she snapped out of it. She had no time to get sentimental. She didn't even know where she was.

That robotic voice sounded legit. They were here to survive, and if she died here, she'd be dead for real.

The voice said the beginner protection lasted three days. What came after that could be lethal. All she knew was, right now, she had to grab as many resources as she could before the protection ended.

Jane had checked her gear. She only had a ten-slot inventory, a fishing rod, and a shabby thatched hut that would be useless in a heavy storm. If she wanted to survive, she had to build a proper shelter.

Jane walked to the shore, baited her hook, and cast her line into the sea. She waited quietly for a long time until she finally felt a tug.

Her eyes lit up. She reeled it in fast. It was heavy, but since she'd been doing farm work and had grown strong muscles, she pulled it up easily.

What she hauled in was a knee-high wooden crate. She didn't open it yet, only tossed it into her inventory to check later. Right now, she wanted to fish up as many crates as she could.

The late-autumn dusk was blood-red, casting the rose garden beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Lucero Residence in the same crimson glow.

Wearing an apron, Celia Ross stood at the kitchen counter, flour dusting her fingertips beside the now-finished cake for her third wedding anniversary.

It was frosted in pale lavender and edged with fresh rose petals she had picked one by one that morning while they were still damp with dew.

Her phone buzzed, and she wiped her hands clean before checking it.

The message was from her husband, Beckham Lucero's assistant. [Mr. Lucero has an international meeting tonight. You don't need to wait for him for dinner.]

The message was brief and businesslike, with a cold distance in every word.

Celia lowered her eyes and gently set the phone back on the counter. Over the past three years, she had received so many messages like that she had long since stopped counting.

The first few times, it had hurt. Then came the disappointment. Now, all that was left was a kind of numb peace.

"Mrs. Lucero, what should we do with the food?" Cory Wheeler, the Lucero family's housekeeper, asked from the kitchen doorway, his tone hesitant.

The table was covered with dishes, every one of them made to Beckham's liking, from ginger salmon lettuce wraps to white lasagna and tomato basil chicken breast.

She had put care into every last dish, just as she had into every day of the past three years.

"Let's wait a little longer," Celia said softly. "Maybe the meeting will wrap up early."

Cory looked at her slender figure from behind and sighed to himself. She was always like this, quiet and gentle, giving her all to things no one seemed to appreciate.

When the antique clock on the wall struck seven, Celia untied her apron and headed into the living room.

A business news segment was playing on TV. Celia had just picked up the remote to switch it off when she froze as the screen cut to the VIP exit at the international airport.

"It's seven o'clock. Just moments ago, ballerina Laylah Stein arrived at the international airport after five years away.

"More surprisingly, she was seen holding hands with a little boy who appeared to be about three years old," the reporter said on the broadcast.

As the camera zoomed in, Laylah stepped out in a white dress, sunglasses on and her long hair falling over her shoulders. Even after a long flight, she still looked flawless.

She was holding tightly to the hand of a little boy in a tiny suit. His features were so delicate and pretty that he almost looked unreal.

A reporter thrust a microphone toward Laylah. "Ms. Stein, who is this child?"

Laylah immediately crouched down and drew the boy closer in a protective gesture. "Sorry," she said, her tone stiff. "That's a private matter. I can't comment on it."

That guarded response only stirred the crowd up further, with more reporters pressing in.

"Who is the child's father? Did you get married overseas quietly?"

"Now that you're back, are you planning to stay?"

"There have long been rumors about you and Beckham Lucero, the CEO of Lucero Group. Were the two of you involved?"

As a tall figure appeared on the screen and pushed through the crowd toward Laylah, Celia's hand tightened until her nails bit into her palm.

It was Beckham. He was wearing the dark gray suit she had pressed for him that morning and carrying a huge bouquet of white roses.

She remembered him once saying that white roses were too plain for his taste, that he didn't care for them. And now he was carrying them straight to Laylah.

"Beckham..." Laylah looked up at him, clearly caught off guard.

Beckham handed her the flowers, then bent to pick up the little boy. The ease of it made it look as though he'd done it countless times before.

"Mr. Lucero, what is your relationship with Ms. Stein?"

"Is this your child?"

The camera flashes went off in a frenzy, one blinding burst after another, as reporters fired questions at them from all sides.

Beckham swept an icy gaze over the crowd. But when his eyes fell on Laylah, something in his expression softened, a side of him few had ever seen.

Then Beckham turned to the cameras and said evenly, "Laylah is the most important person in my life. Beyond that, I have nothing else to say."

He paused, then added, and even through the screen, the words hit Celia hard. "As for certain business marriages, they're nothing more than arrangements where both sides get what they want. Not worth talking about."

*****

The broadcast rolled on, and new trending topics were already popping up one after another: [Laylah Stein Returns with Young Son], [Beckham Lucero Meets Laylah at the Airport], and [Lucero Group CEO Suspected of Secret Family].

Celia watched in silence, her face blank. Only the slight tremor in her lashes betrayed her as she got up and walked into the dining room.

The dishes had long since gone cold, and the sauces had turned thick and dull.

She picked up one plate and dumped it into the trash, then another, and another, until only the anniversary cake was left.

The pale lavender frosting was still pristine, but the rose petals had already wilted.

Celia reached out and brushed the cold, silky icing with her fingertips. Then she brought her hand down and crushed the top of the cake in one hard press.

"Mrs. Lucero," Cory called from behind her.

"Clean it up," Celia said without turning around. Her voice was calm enough to make Cory uneasy. "I'm skipping dinner tonight."

With that, she walked out into the garden.

Night had fallen, and the roses were blooming under the moonlight.

The garden had been a wedding gift from Beckham's grandfather, Tyshawn Lucero, a century-old rose garden brought over from Ashford Ridge.

For three years, Celia had tended every rosebush herself, sparing no effort in caring for them.

Her fingers brushed a deep red rose, its petals soft as velvet. Then her hand closed around it without warning.

Sharp thorns pierced her skin. Blood welled up at once, slid down her pale fingers, and sank into the soil.

It hurt a little, but compared to the hollow weight in her chest, that sharp sting made her feel almost clearheaded.

Her phone buzzed again with a message from Beckham. [Not coming home tonight.]

Celia stared at the words for a long moment. Then, with her bleeding finger, she slowly typed a reply. [Okay.]

She hit send, then turned and walked back into the house, her spine as straight as ever.

Cory stood in the foyer, looking as though he wanted to say something but held himself back.

"Cory," Celia said, stopping without looking back, "starting tomorrow, don't prepare dinner for Beckham anymore."

"What about you, Mrs. Lucero?" Cory asked.

"I'll make sure I eat," Celia said.

She climbed the curved staircase, her footsteps echoing through the quiet house. When she reached the bedroom, she didn't switch on the lights. Instead, she walked straight to the window.

Outside, the city lights shimmered like scattered stars.

She stood at the top of the beautiful prison she had called home, the blood on her fingertip already drying into a dark crust.

Her phone lit up again with a push alert from X: [Laylah Stein's Son Revealed, with a Striking Resemblance to Beckham Lucero.]

In the photo, Beckham was holding the boy while Laylah leaned against him. The three of them looked every bit like a happy family of three.

Celia looked at the photo and smiled faintly.

POV Floris

Some asshole in a trench coat body-checked me at Schiphol without even a "sorry," and honestly? Perfect fucking metaphor for how this whole Amsterdam adventure was shaping up.

"Sure, no worries," I muttered, wrestling my vindictive suitcase out of a tile crack while passengers flowed around me like I was human furniture. "Love getting steamrolled by strangers. Really sets the mood for international career opportunities."

The airport was chaos in corporate form—gleaming surfaces and people pretending their lives weren't falling apart.

Meanwhile, I stood there looking like a refugee from Silicon Valley's unemployment line: coat three seasons expired, boots that survived an actual flood, hair held together by spite and bobby pins.

Five feet of pure sarcasm wrapped in desperation, amber eyes that had seen too much tech industry bullshit, mouth that couldn't stay shut about it.

Yeah, that's me—Floris Middleton, MIT grad turned persona non grata, desperate enough to flee to a city where people bike in business suits like it's normal and everyone speaks better English than half of America.

Also, apparently, the only goddamn place left that would hire a blacklisted cybersecurity analyst with a history of making Very Important People very, very angry.

"Floris Middleton?" I spun around and nearly face-planted into my luggage.

Corporate Clone Barbie stood there—black trench coat, zero expressions, clipboard weaponized. Name tag: Juno, Recruiter: Lynx Solutions.

"Uh, yeah. That's me."

"You're late."

"I'm literally not though." Words popped out before I could filter them. "My phone says 10:47, flight landed on time—"

"You're late," she repeated, like she could bend spacetime through administrative bitchiness. “Follow me.”

Great. Twenty seconds in Amsterdam and already failing at existence.

The town car was stupidly expensive—leather seats worth more than my whole education. I pressed against the window, watching Amsterdam blur past in expensive grays and browns and suspicious neon that looked like legalized vice advertising itself.

"About this job placement—" I started.

"There's been a change," Juno interrupted, not looking up from her tablet. "The original position was filled this morning."

My stomach cratered. "What? But the TechFlow data analyst role—we had a signed agreement—"

"One position remains. Brighton Systems. Executive assistant."

I blinked hard. "You're trying to make me a secretary for a surveillance mogul?"

"Executive assistant," she corrected with precision suggesting she'd had this conversation before. "Excellent pay. Full benefits. Housing provided."

"I have a master's degree in cybersecurity from MIT. I designed encryption protocols that the NSA still can't crack. I am not someone's coffee-fetching, calendar-managing assistant."

Juno finally looked at me, expression warm as a tax audit. "As I know, your brother's medical debt. $84,000. Experimental treatment he needs? $5,000 monthly. No insurance coverage."

Ice water to the nervous system. I shut up.

"Brighton Systems offers comprehensive healthcare for employees' immediate family. Retroactive coverage, pre-existing conditions. No caps, no limitations."

My resolve cracked like cheap drywall. "What's the catch?"

"No catch. Sign a preliminary agreement, complete the interview process, your brother's treatment begins immediately."

She handed me a tablet. Contract loaded, cursor blinking like a digital heartbeat.

"Don't Google him," she added, almost casual.

The second Juno left me in their psychotic minimalist lobby, I whipped out my phone and Googled the shit out of Eric Brighton.

Corporate espionage allegations. Whistleblower lawsuits. Ex-employees with NDAs thicker than textbooks. One charming headline: "The Iceman Cometh: Why Eric Brighton's Employees Don't Last Six Months."

My hands shook scrolling through digital horror stories.

This was career suicide. Exactly the toxic corporate nightmare I'd spent three years escaping after the whistleblowing debacle at Nexus Tech left me unemployable, blacklisted, and emotionally destroyed.

But Jake's face flashed through my mind. My little brother, fighting leukemia like his full-time job. Who'd put himself through community college while I lived my best academic life at MIT, never asking for help.

Never asked for anything, never complained, called me crying last month because insurance denied the bone marrow transplant that could literally save his life.

When Juno returned with a finalized contract, I signed without reading a word.

Because sometimes you don't choose between good and bad options. Sometimes you choose which version of hell you can survive.

Brighton Systems occupied twelve floors of architectural intimidation in Amsterdam's financial district. The building looked like liquid obsidian—black glass and sharp angles designed to make visitors feel disposable.

The receptionist had no eyebrows and wore latex like business casual. She didn't speak, just scanned my retina with something that looked surgical.

Beep. Access granted.

The executive floor was sensory deprivation meets evil lair. No furniture, no art, no human habitation signs. Just surveillance monitors showing real-time global feeds—London traffic, Tokyo subways, maybe a drug deal in São Paulo.

Standing before it all like a digital emperor: Eric Brighton.

No shoes. Charcoal suit worth more than my car. Dark hair perfectly disheveled like he'd run hands through it once.

He didn't turn when I entered.

"Miss Middleton. You're late."

"Actually—" He turned and with that I forgot how to form words.

Photos hadn't prepared me. Museum-quality bone structure, pale skin, sharp cheekbones, mouth that had never smiled. Steel-gray eyes like arctic water.

This man looked like he ordered deaths between meals.

"I'm not late," I managed.

"Then your phone is lying." He moved closer—expensive cologne mixed with danger. "What exactly did you think you were applying for?"

"Executive assistant. Administrative support, scheduling—"

"Wrong." He circled me like a predator. "You're here because you have specific skills I require. Because you've proven you'll sacrifice everything for what you believe is right. And because your brother is dying."

My breath caught. "How—?"

"I know everything, Floris. MIT summa cum laude. Phantom Protocol encryption at twenty-four. Exposed Nexus Tech's illegal surveillance of federal judges, got yourself blacklisted from every major tech company."

He stopped in front of me. "Now you're desperate enough to work for someone like me."

"Someone like you?"

"Someone you Googled despite explicit instructions. Someone whose reputation terrifies you. Someone you believe is capable of terrible things." His smile could cut glass. "You're not wrong."

He walked to his desk. "Your real job isn't assistant work. It's a security analysis. Corporate espionage prevention. Finding holes in my system before enemies do."

"And if I refuse?"

"Your brother's treatment stops. His debt gets sold to collection agencies run by creative people. You get deported, unemployable for life."

The room shrank. "You're blackmailing me."

"I'm offering a choice. Work for me, protect my interests, your brother lives. Refuse, and you both learn what desperation feels like."

"Why me? Hundreds of security analysts don't have my baggage."

"Baggage creates loyalty. Desperate people work harder. You've proven you'll destroy your life to expose the truth." He leaned against his desk. "I respect that. I can use that."

"What happens when you're done using me?"

"Depends how useful you prove."

The monitors flickered. Hospital room. My heart stopped.

Jake. Asleep, connected to machines, but peaceful. For the first time in months he looked peaceful.

"He looks well," Eric observed. "New treatment's working. White cell count improved dramatically."

"You already started treating him?"

"Insurance authorized this morning. Funny how quickly things process when you know the right people." Relief and rage tangled in my chest. "Do we have understanding?"

I looked at Jake's face, then back at the man holding our lives. "What's my first assignment?"

His smile was winter. "Get on your knees."

I froze. "Excuse me?"

"Rule one: everyone starts at the bottom. Everyone learns humility first." He gestured to the floor. "Kneel."

"I'm not— This isn't—"

"Your brother's next treatment is Friday. Would be unfortunate if there were authorization complications."

My legs turned to water. This was insane, degrading, exactly the power-trip bullshit I'd sworn I'd never tolerate again. Every feminist instinct I had was screaming at me to walk out, to tell this psychopath exactly where he could shove his job offer.

But Jake's face was on that screen, peaceful for the first time in months. And sometimes survival means swallowing your pride along with everything else you thought you knew about yourself.

I sank to my knees on cold marble.

“Good girl,” Eric said softly. “Now we can begin. You will do whatever I say. Because I’m the only one keeping your brother alive.”

Christine's POV

The sweat is running from my face as I assist Professor Stevens with a long, tiring operation. It is a very delicate operation, and I want it to be a success.

Professor Stevens is one of the best plastic surgeons in New York. However, like other plastic surgeons, he does not help people become perfect like Hollywood celebrities. He uses his skills to perform reconstructive operations on people who need it, as the little girl lying on the operating table. She had severe damage to her face and other parts of her body when she was in a fire, and he is operating on her to make her beautiful again.

I have always admired this doctor, and he is the reason why I became a doctor myself.

"Dr Waltz, can you take over from me?" He asks.

I nod and take over from him. I know exactly what to do. I have learned from the best. Professor Stevens is the best that you can get. Although he's my father’s silent partner, he gives his free time to help these patients who cannot afford plastic surgery and who need it to live a normal life again.

I take over and I work carefully, but fast because time is of the essence. Professor Stevens only trusts me to help him. I have been working with him for the last two years.

"Great job! You do have magical hands, Dr Waltz," Professor Stevens says as we walk out of the operating theatre.

Professor Stevens is not an easy man to please. I'm a little stunned that he complimented me. However, he does not look happy. I wondered what I did wrong this time. He is a perfectionist and does not tolerate any mistakes.

"Thank you, Professor," I say.

"I am happy to have you at this hospital, Doctor Waltz. Being a doctor is your passion, and you are giving yourself to people who need you. I don’t understand why you don’t want to join our hospital. You can earn so much more than you earn here. However, I know you love working with these patients. I am glad I can assist you. I do not mind giving my service for free. However, I think you are neglecting your husband. Where has your husband been the last few nights? Have you been home?" Professor Stevens asks.

Professor Stevens is about ten years older than me. I look at him, and although he is still in his scrubs, he is a handsome man. Tall, dark, handsome with deep blue eyes.

My husband does not know much about me. My father and he never met. Mike and I got married quickly and did not have a big wedding. Mike never showed interest in meeting my father.

"He has been working late, and I understand that he is a surgeon. Professor Stevens, I do not want people to think my father is favouring me when I work at his hospital. I love working here, and yes, I can get better pay if I go to a more prestigious hospital, but these people need me," I say.

I know I sound irritated, but I have been wondering why my husband has been working late every night for the last few weeks.

"I think you are wasting your talent. You can help so many more people. I am your father's partner. We would love to have you there. Our hospital is better equipped, and if you become our department head, you can convince your father to open a program like this, where we help people who need these surgeries. I am sick and tired of people who want to become more beautiful, and I refuse to operate on them. They are already perfect, while these people need our help to have a normal life. You have to take better care of your husband as well. Let me tell you one thing: Emma is back in town. She is my niece, and I know exactly where she is at night. However, if you want to keep yourself blind, I am not going to help you. Just be on the lookout for your husband and his family. They are not worthy of your time. I don't believe they will ever accept you because they do not know who your father is. If you want to keep your husband, why don't you tell him the truth?" Professor Stevens says. Professor Stevens is wealthy and a billionaire. Mark thinks I am from an ordinary family.

"Excuse me, I'm going to wash up. I need to go home," I say. I walk away.

My heart is heavy inside of me. My in-laws have been blaming me for not having a child yet, but it is not my fault. They also blame me for working at this hospital and look down on me. They think I am not a good enough surgeon to work at a prestigious hospital. I do not want them to know who my family is before they can accept me for who I am. I want them to accept me as a doctor and a good surgeon.

If Emma is back, I know that I am in trouble because she is my husband's ex-girlfriend. My family always compares me to her because Emma has been working overseas in one of the most prestigious hospitals there. But I know that she is not a good doctor because she does not show any emotions to her patients. The only reason she became a doctor is to make money. She never had the passion to become a doctor.

However, Emma had two things I always wanted: the respect of my in-laws and my husband's heart.

So that is why he was working so late every night.

I do not know what I will do about it because there is nothing I can do about it. If he wants to be with her, I cannot stop him. I can only pray that he realises that he loves me more than he loves her.

I have worked long and hard and begged my father for seven years to give my husband a chance. He is on the verge of becoming the head of the surgical department at my father's hospital. I arranged everything for him. However, he does not know who I am. I don't want him to know until later. I don't want him to think that I have arranged everything for him. I want him to feel like he has accomplished it all by himself. I just hope that he does not repay my kindness by sleeping with his ex-girlfriend behind my back.

Bella's POV:

The phone's vibration shattered the silence at 4:47 AM.

I jolted awake, my hand instinctively reaching across the king-sized bed before my eyes fully opened. The cold sheets greeted my fingers. Empty. Again. Three days now since Ethan had last slept in our room.

I fumbled for my phone on the nightstand, squinting against the harsh blue light of the screen. Unknown number. The message contained a single encrypted file. I tapped it open.

The video loaded slowly, the progress bar crawling across the screen. When the image finally crystallized, my breath caught.

I sat there in the darkness, my heart pounding in my temples, in my wrists, in the hollow of my throat.

Breathe, I told myself. Just breathe.

But breathing felt like swallowing broken glass.

I grabbed the phone, shoved it into my pocket, and threw back the covers. Then I headed for the door.

The underground training facility sprawled beneath Eclipse Pack House. I headed straight for the heavy bags suspended from reinforced ceiling beams in the dim emergency lighting.

My bare feet made no sound on the rubber flooring. I didn't bother with wraps or gloves. I just positioned myself in front of the nearest bag and drove my fist into it with everything I had.

The impact sent a shock up my arm, but I welcomed the pain. I hit it again, then again, falling into a rhythm that had nothing to do with technique and everything to do with the need to break something, to hurt something the way I was hurting. Left hook. Right cross. Elbow strike. Knee. The bag swung wildly on its chain, the metal links screaming in protest.

Sweat soaked through my gray tank top, plastering it to my skin. My knuckles split open, blood smearing across the leather surface of the bag, but the wounds closed almost as quickly as they formed.

I lost track of time, lost in the violence of movement, the satisfying thud of flesh meeting resistance.

I was lining up for another kick when the overhead lights blazed to life, flooding the training room with harsh fluorescent brightness.

"Bella! I was just looking for you—"

Ethan's voice rang out from somewhere behind me. I was already committed to the strike, my body in motion, and I heard his footsteps rushing closer. He was moving fast, too fast, and when I spun into the roundhouse kick, he was suddenly right there in my trajectory, close enough that I couldn't pull back.

My shin connected with his left cheekbone with a solid crack.

Ethan staggered backward two steps, his hand flying up to his face, his black-framed glasses knocked askew. For one brief, satisfying moment, I saw shock and anger flash across his features.

"Fuck," he hissed, straightening up and adjusting his glasses with sharp, irritated movements.

I lowered my leg slowly, my expression carefully blank. "I didn't see you there."

He exhaled hard through his nose, rubbing his jaw. "Yeah, well. I got too excited, ran right into your kick." His tone was clipped, impatient, already dismissing the incident as he moved on to what he'd actually come here for.

He put his hands on my shoulders. I went rigid under his touch, every muscle in my body screaming at me to pull away, but I forced myself to stand still.

"Bella, listen," he said, his voice pitched high with barely contained joy. "Faye had the baby. A boy. He's perfect. Completely healthy."

The words hit me like individual punches, each one landing with precision in the hollow space behind my ribs.

"Mom cried when she saw him," Ethan continued, talking faster now, the words tumbling over each other in his rush to get them out. "She said it was a gift from the Moon Goddess. Grandmother couldn't even speak, she was so happy. And Faye, God, Bella, poor Faye. The labor was so hard on her, she's exhausted. She really needs rest now."

I stared at him, at this man I'd mated three years ago, this Alpha who'd stood beside me at the Moonstone Altar and promised to honor me as his Luna, his equal, his partner.

"You came back just to tell me this?" My voice came out flat, emotionless.

Ethan's hands dropped from my shoulders. His jaw tightened. "I came back because you weren't answering your phone. Mom wanted me to remind you to visit the hospital today. Faye's in the VIP maternity ward at Emberhold General. She really wants to see you."

"How thoughtful."

"Bella." His tone shifted, taking on that edge of warning I knew too well. "I know this might be difficult for you to hear, but Faye is at her most vulnerable right now. She's been worried sick that you'd resent her for this, that it would create division in the pack. The last thing she wants is for this baby to come between us."

The laugh that escaped me was sharp enough to cut. "Then maybe you shouldn't have done it in the first place."

Ethan went very still. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me." I met his eyes squarely, letting him see the ice in mine. "Go back to your son, Ethan. I'm sure he needs you more than I do."

I put extra emphasis on the word son, let it drip with all the venom I was holding back, and watched his face flush dark.

"For fuck's sake." He dragged a hand through his hair. "How many times do we have to have this conversation? It was medical assistance. Artificial insemination. They used my sperm, yes, but Faye and I never—we're not—"

"Then why couldn't you tell me from the beginning?" I interrupted, my voice deadly quiet.

He opened his mouth, closed it.

The truth was, Ethan hadn't been the only one absent from the House these past few days. The entire Grave family had been camped out at Emberhold General Hospital, waiting for Faye to give birth. Faye Porter, daughter of Duskcrown Pack's Alpha, who had married into Eclipse Pack three years ago alongside me. We'd had a double mating ceremony—I'd been bound to the older brother, Ethan, while Faye had been bound to the younger, Evan. The event had been the talk of Emberhold, two Alphas' daughters joining one of the most powerful packs in the region.

But the happiness hadn't lasted long. The night before Ethan and Evan were supposed to compete for the Alpha position, Evan had died in a sudden accident. The Grave family had been devastated, guilt-ridden. They'd urged Faye to move on, to find another mate, but she'd refused. She'd chosen to stay, to honor Evan's memory by remaining part of his family.

And the Graves had loved her for it. They'd adored this devoted, loyal girl who'd sacrificed her future out of love for their dead son. Adored her enough to find a way to give her what she wanted most—a child carrying Grave blood. With Evan gone, that left only one source for that bloodline.

Ethan's jaw tightened. "You want to know why we didn't tell you? Because we knew you'd react exactly like this. Making a scene, being unreasonable." His eyes hardened. "You're Luna of this pack, Bella. You should be celebrating that Eclipse finally has an heir. Moon Goddess knows you haven't managed to provide one in three years."

I held his gaze for a long moment, letting the silence stretch between us, letting him see something in my eyes that made his expression falter. Then I turned away, bending down to retrieve my phone from where I'd left it on the floor.

"Go back to the hospital, Ethan. I'm sure Faye is waiting for you."

I heard him take a breath, heard him start to say something else, but then his phone buzzed. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and whatever he saw there made him curse under his breath.

"I have to go," he said, already moving toward the door.

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving me alone in the too-bright training room with my bloody knuckles and my shattered illusions.

I looked down at my phone, at the lock screen showing our mating ceremony photo from three years ago. Me in the traditional silver-gray Luna gown, Ethan in Eclipse Pack's ceremonial deep blue, both of us smiling under moonlight at the Moonstone Altar.

I swiped open the phone. The screen lit up, displaying the video I'd watched earlier this morning.

Ethan's suit jacket discarded on the floor. Faye's sundress bunched around her waist. Their bodies moving together in a rhythm that told the real story behind Eclipse Pack's miracle baby. This was the truth of what they'd called "medical assistance".

Allison

Thornhill Academy’s large iron gates stand tall in front of me, black and sharp, twisting into shapes that look more like barbed wire than decoration. They loom so high I can’t see the tops without craning my neck. For a moment, I think the bars might bend and curl around me like a trap closing in. The enforcer on my left tightens his grip on my arm, as if I might make another attempt to run for it. Spoiler: I had. Twice. The first time was a dash through the scrub bush before he tackled me into the dirt. The second ended with me tripping over his damn boot and face-planting. My pride still hurts more than my ribs. The enforcer on my right… Well, he has kept a healthy distance. I don’t blame him. Yesterday, when they first found me, I’d blasted him in the face with a spell I didn’t even know I could conjure. His eyebrows still haven’t grown back properly, which is both satisfying and slightly horrifying every time I look at him. The way he keeps darting side glances at me, like I might set him on fire again, almost makes me want to smile… Almost.

The gates creak open soundlessly, like the whole place has been waiting for me. Perfect green lawns stretch out in neat squares, too flawless to be natural. Marble pathways glisten under the morning sun, not a speck of dust or cracked stone in sight. Stone towers rise in the distance, their windows catching the light and throwing shards of gold across the ground. Magic hums in the air, pressing against my skin like static before a storm. Then there are the students. Dozens, possibly hundreds, spill across the courtyard. They move in tight little groups, uniforms crisp and pressed, dark blazers with silver embroidery, ties knotted perfectly at their throats, shoes polished until they catch the light like mirrors. None of them looks like they have ever trudged through scrub land with dirt under their nails and smoke in their lungs. They all stop when they see me. It’s like watching a ripple spread across a pond, one head turning, then another, then another. Magic falters mid-air, and conversations cut off. Every eye in the pristine courtyard is locked on me. They stare like I am some wild thing that has wandered in from the forest. They aren’t exactly wrong. I tug my arm, but the enforcer’s grip only tightens. His hand is a cuff, digging into the flesh of my bicep. I straighten my shoulders and meet their stares head-on. If they want a rabid animal, fine. I’ll give them one.

I realise now how many magicals there are. Shifters with glints of fur under their skin. Fae with silver-lined eyes. Witches trailing sparks from their fingertips. A siren’s laugh gets caught on the breeze. I’ve never seen so many in one place before. Never even dreamed of it. The scrub lands I came from don’t have people like this, just broken magicals and scraps of freedom. Now that freedom is gone, shrinking behind me with every step deeper into this perfect little prison. The enforcers don’t slow. We cross the courtyard and climb the wide marble steps that gleam like bone. The doors ahead are massive, carved with sigils that pulse faintly as I approach. They open on their own, and I am shoved through into a hall that makes my chest tighten. The inside of Thornhill is worse than the outside. The air is thick with incense and magic. Chandeliers float overhead, crystal shards dripping starlight down the walls. Banners are hung in deep reds and silvers, embroidered with the crest of Thornhill, a phoenix made of fire and chains. The floors gleam so perfectly I can see my own scowling reflection in them. We march past students lining the hall, whispering behind their hands. Their eyes follow me, their expressions ranging from curiosity to disgust. I catch words like feral, unmarked, and illegal. My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache. “Move it,” the enforcer mutters, steering me toward a wide staircase. The steps seem endless, and we climb higher and higher. The walls are lined with portraits of grim-faced magicals glaring down at me like I am already guilty of something. At the top, heavy doors loom, their brass handles are shaped like coiling serpents. The enforcer knocks once, and the door swings open with a groan. I am again shoved inside.

The office is all dark wood and smoke. Tall shelves line the walls, stacked with books so old their spines look ready to crumble. A fire roars in a stone hearth, heat crawling over my skin. Behind an enormous desk sits a man who looks like he’d been carved from stone and then set on fire for good measure. His hair is the colour of ash, his eyes like molten embers that burn hotter the longer they stare at me. Fredrick Scorched. Principal of Thornhill Academy. “Sit,” he says, voice a rumble that seems to vibrate the floorboards. I stay standing. My boots planted firm, my arms crossed. His eyes narrow, but I’m not about to play the tame little stray just because a dragon shifter with a fancy chair tells me to. Scorched flicks his hand toward the enforcers. “Leave us.” The one with missing eyebrows looks like he might protest, but the other nudges him out the door before he can open his mouth. The latch clicks shut, and suddenly, the room is too quiet. Just me and the dragon. “What is your name?” he asks. I raise my chin but don’t answer. “And what sort of magical are you?” His words are clipped and precise. I stare back, unblinking. The silence stretches until it’s cracked. He tutts softly, shaking his head as if I were a misbehaving child. Then, with one deliberate finger, he presses a brass button set into the corner of his desk. “Send in Professor Hill,” he says into the intercom. I feel my pulse jump. He leans back again, those ember eyes pinning me in place. “Never mind, we’ll get those answers out of you one way or another.” A few seconds later, the door opened and in walked trouble.

Professor Hill is the kind of tall that makes you instinctively want to look up and keep looking. His frame is lean but strong, shoulders filling out the dark, tailored jacket he wears. His skin is a warm bronze tone, his jaw sharp enough to cut glass, and his dark hair falls just long enough to brush the collar of his shirt. His eyes are a startling shade of storm-grey, sharp and knowing, as if he can already see straight through me. His mouth… Full lips, curved like he’s one smirk away from my ruin. I swallow hard, my throat dry. Scorched gestures lazily toward him, smoke puffing from his nostrils as he speaks. “Professor Hill, although a master of potions and poisons, also has a rare gift. He can read minds.” My stomach drops. My mind is currently replaying about six different filthy scenarios involving storm-grey eyes and what that mouth could do...Shit.

**A special thank you to my Delta, Angela, for writing the poem that you'll see throughout this novel.

Let this be read in whispered halls,

Where shadows linger and embers call.

A tale of fire, of sky, of strife,

Of stolen eggs and secret life.

Skylar

I look at myself in the mirror as my maids put the finishing touches on my hair while adding the royal jewels to my neck, wrists, and ears. Being a princess has its privileges.

It also has its struggles.

My father, King Augustus, is returning home tonight. He’s been away for a week, so the entire kingdom will be celebrating his return. Since I am an only child and my mother died when I was very young, I was in charge of making sure that everything was ready for this evening.

My father was out hunting dragon eggs again. I hope, like the last three times he went out, that he comes home without an egg.

There are six colors of dragons – the rarest are the golden queens. They are the most powerful of all dragons. Their mates are primarily the formidable silver dragons, known for their speed, agility, and power. But there are also bronze dragons, always males, who, in rare instances, are strong enough to mate with a queen. Then there are green dragons who are also male and red and blue dragons, which are always females, and usually mate with green or bronze dragons.

I hate the practice of hunting dragon eggs. Dragon riders are rare, exceptionally rare. However, those who become dragon riders have the power and strength of the dragon in their control. Every king in every kingdom wants that kind of power, and my father is no exception.

Being a royal, I understand the safety that a dragon provides to your kingdom. What kingdom would attack yours if you had a dragon? Since no kingdom currently has a dragon or rider, the answer is none. But that doesn’t mean that I agree with hunting the nesting dragons and stealing their eggs.

The royals also have to be very careful when they steal an egg. You certainly wouldn’t want just anyone bonding with a dragon. It would mean that person would become the strongest in the land and they could very easily overtake the king, usurping his power and taking over his kingdom. So, in the past, when my father found a dragon egg, it was kept in a very hidden and well-guarded location.

I hear the trumpets outside, just as a maid comes rushing in.

“Princess Skylar, Prince Kenneth has arrived.”

“Excellent. Show him to his room. I’ll greet him shortly.”

Kenneth and I have been betrothed since we were children. It was a calculated move by our parents to solidify the alliance between our kingdoms. It’s very common for royals to have arranged marriages and I’ve always accepted that this was my path in life. Thankfully, Kenneth is a good prince and a good man. If there is anything that I could say I don’t like about him, it’s that he agrees with this horrific practice of stealing dragon eggs.

I dismiss my maids and look at myself in the mirror again.

I have a secret, a big one. Every time my father finds an egg, I do everything in my power to steal it and return it to its mother. I’ve become adept at it. It’s not easy and I can’t always find the mother. But when I’m out in the wild trying to find a nest, the dragons find me. It’s as if they can sense their missing eggs and they come for them.

At first, I was terrified. Dragons are large, powerful creatures and when their young are taken, they become very, very angry. It isn’t just the mother who hunts for her egg. Multiple dragons will search, fighting to get their baby dragon back. More than one kingdom has been scorched by an angry dragon. It’s why we have harpoons on the towers of our castle. If dragons attack, we’re ready.

But again, I don’t agree. Why shouldn’t a mother, father, or maybe a sister or brother, fight to get their baby dragon back? It’s what we, as humans, would do. Why would we expect the dragons to be any different?

This is why I secretly fight against my father, Kenneth, and all the other royals. In the past, I’ve been lucky enough to find a place that had dragons, then left the egg for them to find. I waited, making sure the egg wasn’t attacked by a sneak-snake, an animal that loves eating dragon eggs. Once the dragons find the egg they always take it back to its nest.

I’m just about to go welcome Kenneth when the trumpets announce another arrival. I hear one of my maid racing to my room.

“Princess! Your father has returned home! He’s back!”

“He’s early!” I say, rushing out of the room. I have no time to see Kenneth. I have to go greet my father.

I race down the stairs. Since my room is in the back of the castle, I have a long way to run. I rush past my father’s people so I can be there to greet him when he arrives.

As I step out of the castle, I slow my pace, not wanting to embarrass my father by looking like I haven’t been trained in how to act like a princess.

Kenneth is already standing outside, standing like the regal prince he is, waiting to greet my father. I walk up to stand beside him.

“Princess, nice of you to join us,” he says, grinning at me.

“My Prince, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to greet you properly. My father is home early. I wasn’t expecting him until later.”

“Have you not heard?” he asks me.

“Heard what?” I ask.

He turns and looks at me with excitement in his eyes.

“I understand your father found a golden egg. A queen egg, Skylar. Do you know how incredible this is?” he asks.

I smile and nod, turning away from him toward where my father and his men are coming in on horseback.

My stomach sinks. Only a queen dragon can produce a queen egg. If this is true, it means that my father has not only found a very rare egg, but it also means that the queen and potentially the entire Thunder of dragons will be raining fury down on our kingdom soon.

As the trumpets continue to blare, welcoming my father home, I watch, seeing the smug look on his face. In front of him, he’s holding something against his body.

The wind blows, just enough for the silken wrap to shift, giving me a look at the glimmering egg in front of him, the glimmering of a golden egg.

My father found a queen.

Two Weeks Before Christmas Age 17

I looked at myself in the mirror with a critical eye. I spent all summer working out before school started to change the shape of my rounded body. All my life I was known as the chubby, short, cute girl. I was chubby as a baby, chubby as a toddler, chubby all through my childhood and into my teenagehood.

When school got out after my sophomore year in high school, I vowed to work on myself all summer. I watched what I ate, cut out sugar, drank mostly water and went on walks and hikes. I even had my dad buy me some weights, so I could tone up my arms and legs. The results. I lost twenty pounds, my round body leaned out and turned into womanly curves. My thighs were toned but thick from all the squats and hiking that led into a perky round bottom, a nipped in waist and my bra cup grew to a size C. My arms were slimmer and toned. I went from a size 16 to a size 10 and I loved it. The inches melted off of me the more protein I ate. So, now I know what works for my body.

When school started back up, my peers were shocked at my transformation. My wavy, shoulder-length, auburn hair grew to just under my shoulder blades. I begged my mom for some lighter highlights before school started. My makeup was flawless and natural. My brown eyeliner made my sky blue eyes pop. I practiced hairstyles and watched makeup tutorials to perfect my look.

Boys noticed me more, some girls did too. My best friend Avery Jones beamed at me when I met up with her. She also changed her appearance over the summer. Going from the black hair goth look, back to her natural honey blonde hair, and instead of dark black makeup around her green eyes and lips, she went for a more natural look herself. Her clothes went from black and baggy, to cute sundresses and ballet flats.

I started wearing shorts and tank tops that actually fit me and didn’t hide my body. The jeans I also wore were now skin tight instead of baggy. My big t-shirts turned into crop tops and regular fitted shirts. I also started wearing two to four-inch heels.

I got my first boyfriend, Elliot Beesom. He was my first kiss, my first over the clothes grope, and I was thinking about going all the way with him on my 18th birthday. I talked to Avery about it. Avery didn’t like Elliot, they sniped at each other constantly. I secretly thought that Avery was jealous because of the time I spent with Elliot and not her. Avery told me not to do it.

The month before the Christmas dance, Avery told me she had been seeing someone. She said it was new, and she didn’t want to introduce him to me yet in case it didn’t work out. I, of course, understood, Avery was always the more cautious one in our friendship.

Elliot spent every day after school with me and our make-out sessions were becoming more and more heated. I always stopped before we went too far. I wasn't comfortable with skin touching and Elliot would be miffed with me for a little bit before he left my house. Then an hour or two after he left, he’d text me, apologizing for being a d**k.

Now here I was making sure I looked perfect for tonight’s dance. Avery was supposed to come over and get ready with me, but she changed her mind and said she’d meet me at the dance.

My dress was an ice blue fitted satin dress with intricate beading on the bodice. It was strapless with a square neckline. The skirt of the dress was long and flowed around my ankles. My hair was up in a pretty curly bun, on top of my head, I had a beaded wrap around the base of it. My makeup was a little dramatic with white eyeliner and ice blue shadow, my blue eyes looked like I was an ice queen. I even had white silver glitter in the corner of my eyelids. My lips were covered in a shimmery gloss.

My mom called out that Elliot was there to pick me up. He beamed at me when he saw me, and told me I was beautiful. Mom took a thousand pictures before we left.

When we got to school, it was themed, A Winter Wonderland. There was blue, silver, and gray coloring everywhere. Big paper-mache snowflakes and even some fake snow were being blown in the air occasionally.

I looked around for Avery but couldn’t find her. Taking out my phone from my clutch, I texted we were here, but no answer came back. I shrugged, hoping to find her soon. Elliot and I danced some slow songs and drank punch and ate cake. After a while, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. While I was there, I checked my phone but still nothing from Avery. I was getting worried. I texted Avery again but still got nothing.

When I walked out of the bathroom, I heard a noise to my left. I knew the teachers' lounge was that way, so the curious girl that I was, I went to check the noise out. As I got closer, I heard laughing and giggling and rolled my eyes. Of course, someone was getting busy at a school dance. I wondered if it were some of the chaperons. I went to the door and heard moaning. My eyes widened. The door was slightly cracked, and I pushed it open just a smidgen and looked in. I froze. There, my best friend Avery was, riding my boyfriend Elliot on one of the couches in the lounge.

“Come on, baby. We have to hurry before Samantha comes looking for me.”

“Screw her. She doesn't give you what I give you, right baby,” she said as she swiveled her hips. I wanted to puke.

Elliot groaned and buried his face in Avery’s chest. I have to admit my friends' br*asts were epic. They were really big. Avery once told me they were double D’s and on her 5’ 7 slim frame, she had a lot of guys drooling after her.

“No, she won’t even let me go down on her. She also won’t go down on me. But you do baby, your mouth is perfect, just like your perfect p*ssy,” Elliot said.

Tears flowed from my eyes at the betrayal that was unfolding right in front of me. I wasn’t even too upset that Elliot was cheating on me, it was Avery that hurt the most. My best friend who has been by my side since the 5th grade. I was about to leave and call an Uber, but then Avery asked a question I wanted to hear the answer to.

“Why won’t you break up with her, E? I am way better than her. You can’t keep your hands off of me. Acting like I hate you is getting really old.”

“I want her cherry, baby. Once she gives it to me, I’ll dump her, and then I am all yours. Now, f*ck me like you hate me.”

I didn’t want to see them anymore. I turned and ran. I ordered an Uber and ran to the street to wait for it. Two minutes later I was on my way home. Ten minutes after I got home, a text from Elliot came through.

E: Babe, where are you? I am by the DJ booth.

BFF: Hey babe, sorry just got to the dance, where are you? I see your a*shole boyfriend by the DJ booth, but you’re nowhere to be seen.

I scoffed. When my mom found me in my room crying, I told her everything.

“Oh, baby. I am so sorry. I know it must hurt the betrayal of Elliot, but the one from Avery, I know, is devastating. What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know mom. I just don’t know.”

“Why don’t you get undressed, I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”

“Thanks mom.”

An hour later and after several texts from the two traitors that I never responded to, my phone buzzed again. I sighed thinking it was one of them, but when I looked, it was a link from someone called, The Snitch.

I clicked on it and then gasped.

SCANDAL SCANDAL SCANDAL

The Christmas dance at Buford High has given this journalist some juicy gossip. Chaperone Mr. Jenkins was caught spiking the punch at the dance and flirting with several cheerleaders.

A picture of Mr. Jenkins, actually pouring a clear liquid into the punch bowl, surrounded by some football players smiling. Also, him leaning in close and what looked like whispering in several cheerleaders ears. There were 6 pictures, each one of a different cheerleader.

Drugs on the football team? That would be a yes.

Two pictures were posted. One of them had three of the footballers smoking pot, and the other two were doing lines of what looked like c*ke, in the boys' bathroom.

Teenage dirtbags doing the dirty, that’s not his girlfriend.

Right there in color, was Avery bent over on the couch arm as Elliot f*cked her from behind. Whoever took the picture didn’t even blur out her t*ts. She was probably going to be super popular after this, I thought.

Poor girl, betrayed girl

There I was standing on the sidewalk, tears streaking my cheeks. One could clearly see the devastation on my face.

I closed my eyes. Great, now I was either going to be ridiculed at school or pitied.

My phone started blowing up two minutes later. Text notifications from Avery started first, I clicked on the first one.

BFF: Samantha, don’t click any mysterious links. There’s a virus going around that will infect your phone.

BFF: Why aren't you responding to me?

BFF: Samantha, have you clicked on a link?

BFF: Samantha, it isn’t what you think, the photos are fake.

I glared at that message. Such a cliche line. The next text was from Elliot.

E: Baby, I haven’t been able to find you all night, are you okay? Did you go home? Sorry I disappeared on you. I had to use the bathroom. Got some stomach issues.

E: Baby, did you get a link to a scam site? Don’t open it.

E: Baby, it’s not what you think. Please answer me. God, you look so sad.

“No, sh*t, a*shole.”

A knock on my door had my door opening and both my parents walked in.

“Hey darlin. We got a link on our phone and opened it. It’s all over town,” my dad said.

Tears fell from my eyes and I burst into sobs.

“Listen, you only have a week until Christmas break. We’ll go to New York, yeah? Have Christmas with Uncle Sam and Aunt Clara. Your cousin Natalie would love to see you. You can stay home, school's pretty much done for the holidays. You’re done with all the semester tests, right?” My mother asked.

“Yeah, pretty sure I aced everything as usual,” I croaked out.

“That’s my girl,” my dad said with a smile. I smiled at him. He was always my biggest cheerleader.

“Then it’s settled. We're going to New York for Christmas. I’ll call my brother right away,” mom said.

They left my room after kissing my head. I picked up my phone and stared at the picture of Elliot and Avery. Merry f*cking Christmas to me. A*sholes.

I set up a quick group chat.

You can both go f*ck yourselves. I know for a fact that the picture isn’t fake and that you two have been betraying me for at least a month. Remember you nasty b*tch, you said you started seeing someone. Now I know why you didn’t want to introduce me. And you, you small d**k wonder, you wanna know why I haven’t s*cked your d**k. Because I want to choke on a big fat c*ck, you don’t measure up. And I am so glad I never gave you my cherry! I never want to see either of you again. Lose my number, don’t ever f*cking contact me ever. I will be blocking both of you. Eat a bag of d*cks you tw*t waffles!

I hit send and then blocked both of their numbers. The things I said in there, will prove I heard what they said, and that I knew the picture wasn’t faked. I wiped the tears from my face, I was done crying over those two a*shats. I plugged my phone in and got under the covers. I didn’t think I would be able to fall asleep but the next thing I knew, my mind shut off, and I was out for the count.

Prologue

Peace had finally settled over the bounty hunters and their mates. Sarah was awake from her coma, Arden was safe within the Desert Moon pack, and Margot’s pregnancy was progressing beautifully.

For Candy and Poseidon, it was a long-awaited chance to breathe and enjoy being mates, free of drama. They had recently secured a cozy little cottage of their own within the pack territory. The move was a win-win: it gave them their own space while allowing Fury and Margot to take over Poseidon’s old room and convert it into a nursery while they waited to build their dream home.

They were in the middle of unpacking when Carter and Sarah maneuvered a stroller through the wide-open front door, their newborn daughter, Carlie, fast asleep inside.

“Hey guys!” Candy greeted them warmly, keeping her voice soft so as not to wake the baby.

“How’s it going?” Carter asked, stepping around the stroller. “Do you guys need any help lifting boxes?”

Poseidon grinned, shaking his head. “Hey, man! Thanks, but I think we’ve got it covered.”

“Actually, I could use some help organizing these new kitchen appliances,” Candy called out from the kitchen.

“I can help with that,” Sarah offered with a smile. She turned to Carter, tapping the stroller’s handle. “Do you mind babysitting for a second?”

Carter chuckled, looking down at his sleeping daughter. “She’s my daughter, too, babe. It’s not babysitting when it’s your own kid.”

Sarah laughed softly, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before walking into the kitchen to help Candy find a home for her mountain of new gadgets.

“I’m just glad she’s up and walking around now,” Poseidon said softly, his eyes briefly drifting to Sarah, silently acknowledging the traumatic ordeal she had survived.

“Yeah. She’s a trooper,” Carter said, a proud but tired smile touching his lips. He watched as their mates laughed playfully in the small kitchen, completely engrossed in the puzzle of trying to fit half a dozen new appliances into the limited counter space.

Poseidon looked down at the stroller, his expression softening. “And how’s my niece doing? Sleeping through the night yet?”

“She’s perfect,” Carter murmured, looking down at the little angel. “But no, sleeping through the night isn’t happening yet. For any of us. Sarah gets up to feed her every few hours, and if she’s too exhausted, I take over.”

“Is Sarah able to breastfeed her yet?” Poseidon asked.

“Soon, but not quite yet. She’s still on pain meds, and the doctor recently started her on Prozac.”

Poseidon furrowed his brows in concern. “Antidepressants? For anxiety?”

“Yeah. The nightmares still catch up to her every so often,” Carter replied, his voice dropping to a low, heavy rumble. “And if someone moves too fast toward her or Carlie, she flinches. She’s on high alert, even though she knows logically that we're safe here.”

Carter kept his eyes anchored on Sarah. She was moving around the kitchen with a bright smile on her face, but he knew her well enough to see the exhaustion underneath. He knew that inside, she was still fighting her way through the dark.

“So, onto a brighter topic,” Carter said, deliberately shifting away from the heavy conversation. “Are you and Candy planning on any pups anytime soon?”

“Dude, definitely not yet,” Poseidon laughed, shaking his head. “We’ve barely had two seconds to ourselves. First, there was Fury’s drama, then yours, then the Blue Lake pack, and then everything that went down with Arden. Candy and I want to enjoy being together for a while before we even think about committing to kids.”

“That’s fair,” Carter nodded, completely understanding. “Take all the time you can get.”

“Hey, babe!” Candy called out from the kitchen.

“Yeah, baby?” Poseidon’s entire face lit up at the sound of her voice, his eyes instantly locking onto his mate.

Candy pointed to a massive heap of empty cardboard and Styrofoam cluttering the floor. “Can you do a trash run with these boxes?”

“I’ve got you, my love,” Poseidon said with a grin, already heading over.

“Here, let me give you a hand,” Carter offered, stepping up to help. Before leaving the house, he carefully wheeled Carlie’s stroller over toward the kitchen threshold, ensuring she was close to Sarah and Candy in case she woke up while they were outside.

Out in the garage, the men were breaking down the heavy cardboard boxes and stacking them into the recycling bins when Poseidon’s phone suddenly rang.

“Hold up,” Poseidon said, setting down the box he was mid-way through flattening. He pulled the phone from his pocket, but as he glanced at the caller ID, he froze. “What the f*ck?”

Carter looked up, sensing the sudden energy shift. “What? Who is it?”

“My mom.”

Carter paused, his eyebrows shooting up. “Why is your mom calling you?”

“I have no idea,” Poseidon muttered, staring blankly at the screen. “We haven’t spoken in over five years.”

“Are you going to answer it?” Carter asked.

Poseidon didn't move; he just stared at the flashing name. After a few more seconds, the ringing stopped, cutting off into a sudden silence. Poseidon let out a breath, thinking that was the end of it—but he was wrong. A second later, the screen lit up, and the phone began to ring again.

“Bro, just answer it,” Carter urged quietly.

With a silent groan, Poseidon finally swiped the screen and brought the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Percy, my boy!” his mother’s voice chimed brightly through the speaker.

“Mom, why are you calling me?” he asked, his voice entirely flat, stripped of any warmth or emotion.

“Now, is that any way to greet your mother?”

“Mom, if you’re just calling to waste my time, I’m hanging up,” Poseidon warned. It felt like an empty threat, but he needed to set a boundary immediately.

“Okay, okay! Don’t hang up on me.” Poseidon remained silent, letting the heavy quiet stretch over the line as he waited for his mother to explain herself.

“I was just calling to check on you,” she finally said.

“Mom, you don’t just call to check in. What do you want?”

“Percy, I know after what happened with Rae—”

“Don’t say her f*cking name!” Poseidon roared into the receiver. The explosion of rage startled Carter, who had rarely seen his friend get this worked up.

“I’m sorry, honey,” his mother apologized quickly, her voice wavering.

“Mom, why are you calling me?” Poseidon demanded again, his patience completely worn through.

“It’s about... she who shall not be named,” his mother answered evasively.

“Then we have nothing to discuss. I’m hanging up. Don’t call me again unless someone is dying.” Poseidon pulled the phone away from his ear to end the call, but his mother’s frantic screech stopped him.

“Percy! This is important!”

Poseidon let out a frustrated growl, but he didn't press the end-call button. He brought the phone back to his ear. “What is it? And stop beating around the bush.”

“She changed her mind.”

“What?”

“She changed her mind, Percy. She wants to take it back. All of it. She wants the two of you to be together.”

Poseidon let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Tell her to go f*ck herself. She chose her path—she can f*cking die on it for all I care.”

“Percy! She’s your fated mate!”

“No, mother, she was,” Poseidon snarled. “She rejected me, and she took an Alpha to be her chosen one.”

“She regrets it, sweetheart. Immensely so. Just give her a chance, hm?”

“Mom, I’m going to say this once, and only once,” Poseidon said, his voice dropping to a deadly, quiet register. “That pack and everyone in it, including you and Dad, are f*cking dead to me. I only gave you this number so you could call if anything happened to Hera, because she was only twelve when I walked away. But she’s seventeen now. She has her own phone, and she can call me herself. I never want to hear from anyone in that pack ever again unless it’s my baby sister.”

“Percy—”

“Hey, babe!” Candy’s cheerful voice cut through the heavy air, immediately catching the attention of both Poseidon and his mother.

“Yeah, baby?” Poseidon’s entire demeanor flipped instantly. The icy rage vanished from his expression, replaced by pure warmth the second he looked at his mate.

“Are you good out here?” Candy asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“I’m good, beautiful. Just dealing with someone from work,” Poseidon lied smoothly, offering her a reassuring smile. “What’s up?”

“Sarah and I are starving, but we haven’t done a grocery run yet. We were thinking about ordering pizza, pasta, and wings for lunch. Sound good?”

“That sounds perfect, baby,” Poseidon said softly.

Candy turned her gaze to Carter. “Carter?”

“Absolutely, Candy. I’m game,” Carter agreed with a nod.

“Cool. Hurry up with those boxes, then. The others are going to be rolling up soon,” Candy announced.

“We’ll be in in a second,” Poseidon promised. Candy smiled, blew him a quick kiss, and disappeared back inside the comfort of their new home.

“Percy... who was that?” his mother’s voice came crackling through the line, having heard the entire exchange.

“None of your business.”

“Do you...Do you have a mate?” she questioned, her voice thick with utter disbelief.

“Yeah, I do. So you can go back and tell the Alpha’s daughter she can—”

“A chosen mate?” her mother interrupted.

“No, mother,” Poseidon said, a proud, lethal edge taking over his tone. “Unlike that spoiled, self-entitled b*tch, I was blessed with a fated one. One who is a million times more pure, loving, and kind than she who shall not be named could ever hope to be. So, again, you and everyone else in that pack can f*ck off and leave me alone.”

Poseidon slammed his thumb onto the screen, ending the call before she could utter another syllable. Without missing a beat, he opened her contact details and blocked the number.

Carter watched him, crossing his arms. “Bro, what the f*ck was that about?”

“Nothing. Just old family drama. It’s not important.”

“Poseidon, I’m standing right here, I heard the whole thing,” Carter said gently but firmly. “Your ex-mate wants you back?”

“I don’t give a sh*t what she wants. I have Candy now, and she’s the only one who matters.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

Poseidon sighed, running a hand over his face. “Later. Right now, everyone is in a good mood. We finally have a chance to breathe. I don’t want to ruin our first day in the house by dragging my toxic past into the mix.”

“Fair enough,” Carter nodded, though his expression remained serious. “But take a word of advice from someone who had to deal with a literal stalker—you need to tell Candy sooner rather than later. Because hell hath no fury as a woman scorned. If your ex thinks she can slide back into your life, she's going to cause trouble.”

Poseidon let out a heavy breath and gave a tight nod. He knew Carter was right, but he refused to let the ghosts of his past cast a shadow over his present. Candy was his future, and he’d kill anyone who dared try to destroy the peace they were building.

Ryder

She and her troop had stayed to watch as the pack members of Jagged Moon were claimed by the other Alphas, who were there for that mating ball last night. Isla was more than happy with the outcome and to see Aiden, her Fated Mate had not only become wolf-less but was now without a Mate at all.

That pup of his was no longer any of his concern, it belonged solely to its mother. He was still on that shaming post when there was no one left inside this pack, it was just him and the King’s Eyes now. Not even his parents had hung about to wait for him. They’d been warned to leave or be hunted by the King’s Eyes for the dragging back to the wolfen realm, to be put to work inside the king’s mines. Be a slave for the rest of their natural lives.

Not something either of them wanted, so they had abandoned everyone, including their own son. They were not worthy of their born bloodlines, what parent abandoned their child just to not be punished alongside them, when they were all neck deep in the same s**t.

Ryder stood looking down at Aiden for a long time before she unchained him. He wasn’t likely to go anywhere. He was broken, she thought with disgust.

“You’re not worth your bloodline, you are just a pathetic weak-willed wolf that has no backbone, I see. I think it is you that were not worthy of Isla. All you got was one hit and kick, to be rejected and then branded as the traitor you are. Not even given a lashing or dueled to the death as was decreed, and why? Because your wolf abandoned you so you could no longer stand and fight to the death, take the punishment Isla could dish out to you.

“A pathetic excuse for a wolfen folk if ever there was one. Do you know what Isla put up with day and night inside that war camp? You have barely suffered, maybe half a day of what she has suffered for years; branded, starved, beaten and fed upon by vampires countless times, tossed onto a battlefield with nothing, while practically wolf-less and starved, and yet she still survived.

“She is omega born but has more strength and will to live than you do, a so-called alpha-blooded wolf that was to reign over a pack, I think you would have folded at the first sign of trouble. You couldn't even stand up to one punishment, a branding. Which is nothing compared to all you made Isla suffer.” She kicked him over and watched as he just took it and lay there on the ground.

“Do you know we were all so weak that our wolves couldn’t heal us? They were just a voice inside our minds and nothing more. We barely sustained keeping them alive. Isla did not whimper and cower like you are now, she stood tall and accepted it all. Never gave up and fought every day to survive. You can’t even bring yourself to survive a rejection. A worthless, pitiful creature you are.” She shook her head, disgusted in him.

“Max haul him up, if he wants to die like this, or is laying there looking broken in the hope it will gain him some semblance of sympathy, he can be taken back to the Wolfen Realm and put to work inside one of the wolfen packs, where he will have omega status, and treated by a ruthless Alpha as he has treated Isla.”

Aiden didn’t even struggle, he’d lost everything now, his Luna and son, his Goddess-Gifted, his title and his pack had been disbanded to nothing. That traitor's mark on him would see no pack allow him to rise through the ranks ever again. Be lucky if any pack would take him in willingly, but they would find a place there were plenty of archaic packs still clinging to the old ways in the wolfen realm.

They would find it easy to find a pack that did not treat the wolf-less with respect, where as a traitor and wolf-less, he would find himself beaten regularly, sometimes for just simply looking at a ranked member or showing annoyance or trying to stand up for oneself.

All things he would likely do because he was used to being at the top of the food chain, and being made to do work beneath his bloodline would be hard for him to deal with. It was only likely a matter of time before he arced up and got a lashing or more time on a shaming post, or was put in the cells.

He would waste away because out there in the dark ages of the wolfen realm, traitors were below even omega-ranked wolves and food would be scraps. If he got that, he would soon learn to know what starvation felt like as well.

Aiden was tethered to Isla’s horse and informed curtly by Isla herself, “You either get up and walk or be dragged the entire way there. The choice is yours.”

He just lay there still and Isla shrugged and nudged her horse into moving on, and he was dragged along behind them. It only took half a minute before he cried out, “I’ll walk, let me get up.”

Isla stopped her horse and let him get to his feet, but the minute he was upright she kicked her horse, and it was trotting away, and he had to jog along behind her. Despite the fact that he was now wolf-less, he still had alpha-blood and Isla made him jog along behind her for well over an hour as she led them from the now deserted pack and headed up into the mountains to the portal back to the wolfen realm.

There would be no rest for him, it seemed. He was made to stumble along behind Isla’s horse, and she paid no attention to him at all, not even when he tripped or fell over, he had to just pick himself up and continue on.

They stopped at a stream to water the horses and take a meal break for themselves, but he was not given food, and he did look at them as if to say 'where is my meal?' Ryder watched Patrice walk over to him and squat down before him, look at him through her hood and then just state, “You’ll starve now, just like you left Isla to in that place. One meal a day of watery slop and a tiny piece of stale mouldy bread is all you’ll get from us, because that is all we ever got. That is the plight you sent your Goddess-Gifted to suffer…

“Oh, and that meal is breakfast. You missed it, so you’ll get nothing. You’ll learn to keep your eyes down and speak only when spoken to, or you’ll get a beating. If you try to steal food, you’ll get a beating for that too. All the things you made her suffer are now yours to suffer.” She handed him a canteen of water filled from that creek. “Water was the only thing we ever had to make us not feel hollow from hunger. Didn’t really work, but that’s all we had.” Patrice stood up and walked away from him as he drank from the canteen.

They passed through the portal into the wolfen kingdom and Isla pulled that kingdom map out, which showed all the portals and where they were, and she murmured, “I wonder which pack will see him treated as we were.” As she looked at it, and to her surprise as well as everyone else’s a deep red spot appeared on the map and the words ‘Crag Shadows Pack.’ Appeared underneath it, it was in the depths of a heavily mountainous region.

“Well now, isn’t that handy for us?” Isla smiled. It even lit up a path for them to get there. It was a long way off, on the other side of the kingdom, but the path was seen to be passing through a portal from Nightingale and appearing on the edge of the mountain range.

They discussed it and agreed a stop in the city of Nightingale was wise, they could rest and supply themselves with the necessary food and water for the journey. They arrived in the city and went to their barracks, tied their prisoner to a post outside their home and Remi and Kimber looked at him and then just nodded. “We'll see he doesn’t flee.” Was all Remi stated.

Ryder sat down with Isla and the two of them wrote out the official report on a wolfen scroll of all that had happened and punishments dished out, that Aiden was with them, and they were going to take him to the Crag Shadows pack where he would be treated like Isla had for the rest of his life, or however long he survived now that he was wolf-less.

They’d not used the device Hera had given them due to coming back to Nightingale, after dealing with that pack. Which was now just a ghost town to the humans. She could only imagine that another Alpha would go in and claim it for themselves, or maybe rogues would come across it and make themselves at home.

They spent two days in the city of Nightingale before heading for the circle of portals which the map lit up to show them which one to pass through. From here on out, Aiden was going to be in agony as he learned what it was like to have to drink the water from the streams and rivers here in the Wolfen Realm, just like they all had to, it was not clean and pristine like in the human realm.

They didn’t bother with their horses, it was only a three-day walk from the portal to the pack, and they set military pace, something they’d all had to learn to deal with. He, too, was affected by the water here in the realm and clutched his stomach and vomited and had the runs for those three days, still had them when they approached the pack.

The Alpha stood waiting for them. Obviously had look-outs for the protection of his pack, “Evening King’s Eyes,” he bowed his head. “How may the Crag Shadow help you?”

“A gift,” Isla stated. “A traitor, he was once an alpha’s heir, is now wolf-less and of no status. He’s yours now.”

“Ah, I see,” he nodded and took the chain and key that locked the shackle in place around one of Aiden's wrists. “Will you be wanting a night’s rest? We do have suitable accommodations for that.”

“No, thank you,” Ryder commented. “Just making a delivery is all. Thank you for accepting it.”

“I just do as I’m told by the king.” He nodded. “Thank the king for the assistance he’s providing my pack and do tell him I’m happy to accept any and all, it’ll help us to grow.” He looked at Aiden, “A traitor, but not de-ranked? I could use a breeder of that bloodline, will make for the creation of stronger warriors.”

Isla snorted, “He’s yours to do with as you will, none will ever concern themselves with his plight, he’s been officially branded.”

“Excellent. It’s a nice night enjoy the mountain air.” He bowed his head and walked away, pulling Aiden along behind him.

Odette
I've always wondered if I would survive in prison.
It wasn't like whatever crime I committed would be too serious. I would probably get a two-year sentence. Three at most. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, asking myself if I was really considering this.
I've been a dancer at Zero Hour for a few weeks, but it was enough for me to get familiar with the way things worked. Including where the club owner kept the wad of cash we made each day, right before we closed. To be honest, it hadn't exactly been so hard to find it out.
All I'd had to do was keep a close eye on Peter that one night, and that was it.
In his defence, he made sure Zero Hour had 24/7 surveillance and it would almost be impossible for someone to not get caught by the cameras if they tried to rob him. Unless that someone knew the club like the back of her hand and planned to not show up for work on the day of the theft.
I already knew my absence would make me the first suspect, but I was determined to not leave any traces behind. My arrest could only be called for when they had some evidence. Innocent until proven guilty, right?
Right.
Still. That didn't mean I wasn't also thinking about the consequences incase I fucked things up. I would go to jail, but I was pretty sure I would survive. It was a good thing I didn't give two shits about a criminal record, for when you know, I eventually got released.
Someone snapped their fingers in front of my face, drawing me out of my thoughts. "You've been in here getting ready for almost thirty minutes, you know we don't have that much time," Colleen reminded me, shooting me a droll look. She was my dance partner for tonight.
I darted a glance at the small table clock and realized she was right. Giving my reflection one last glance to ensure nothing was out of place, I stood up and exited the room with her. In three days, Zero Hour would lose a lot of money.
Whatever amount I stole would be used to clear part of my father's debt. I would have to figure a way to pay Peter the money my father owed him without being suspicious. Colleen and I stood backstage for only a few seconds before Peter gave us the signal.
"It's time."
We slipped through the curtains and into our respective rings. We wouldn't dance together until much later when we have the attention of almost everyone in the club. There might even be some girl on girl play.
I let my eyes close as I moved my body to match the slow, sensual song drifting through the speakers. Dancing had become almost as easy to me as breathing. And why wouldn't it? I was still hunting for a job to keep me busy during the day.
All I had was this job to keep me by.
I startled when someone snaked their hands around my hips, but managed to hide my reaction on time. It was Colleen behind me, deductively running her hands up and down my body. A wave of self loathing crashed into me. This what was it had come to. And still I knew I would do more than this.
I would do anything for my father.
***
Jericho Evans hadn't always been a drunk. I still recalled memories of when my father got me chocolate bars on his way back from his job as a construction worker. My mother complained he was spoiling me too much, but in the end, my father won against her.
And then two years ago, she lost her life to cancer. We'd both lost her, but I hadn't lost the absolute love of my life. Things had taken a drastic turn from there. Dad had spent the first few days after her death locked up in his study. I had been scared out of my mind for him. Then he'd stepped out of the house one day and returned in an even worse condition.
It was like the life left in him after my mother's death had been drained completely. The following week was when the drinking had begun. He would always come back drunk to stupor. And then one day I'd gotten a call from Zero Hour to come pick up my father.
That was the day I'd learned of his gambling habits and gotten to know that he owed a lot of people a lot of money. Including the club owner, Peter, who I now worked for in order to clear those debts.
The sun was almost up by the time I got back home. I twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open, the stench of alcohol and cigarettes immediately hitting my nose. The house was pitch black, but it didn't matter because I knew my way around it.
"Dad?" I called out. No answer.
I reached out for the light switch and turned on the bulb. My father was passed out on the floor beside the couch, an empty bottle of alcohol sitting loosely in his grip. I waited for a flicker of anger to rise, certain that I would eventually tire of this routine.
That anger never came.
Instead what I felt was sympathy for a man who had loved a woman so deeply he'd also lost himself when he lost her. I had just crouched down to pick up the bottle when our front door slammed open. Three men walked into the house without warning.
They were dressed in all black, with hard looks in their eyes. My breath froze the moment I caught sight of the object in their hands. Guns. The tallest one stepped forward, his gaze colliding with mine. “We’re here for Jericho Evans,” he said with an underlying note of violence that frightened me.
My heartbeat skyrocketed. “He's my father. How can I help you?”
“Your old man owes our boss. He’s coming with us.”
The dots suddenly connected. I'd heard my father mumbling a few days ago about how deeply he was in trouble. A part of me knew he must have landed himself in another debt aside Peter. And still, I'd dared to hope that it wasn't the case.
I quickly shot to my feet when the leader took a step forward. “No, no, please,” I almost cried. “He’s not well, and he’s drunk. He doesn't know where he is right now.”
“Not our problem.”
Two of them moved forward to grab him. My body moved before my brain did. I spread my arms out, blocking their path. My voice shook, but I didn’t move. “Please,” I said, forcing my eyes to meet the leader’s. “Just tell your boss I’ll get the money. Whatever he owes. I just need a little time. Please.”
The desperation in my voice must have gotten to him. He looked at me for a beat before pulling out his phone and dialing a number. I watch him turn slightly away to speak. I couldn’t hear the whole conversation, but I heard “daughter”, “bastard" and "drunk".
He ended the call in a minute and turned back to me. “You have one week,” he said coldly. “Two hundred and fifty grand. We don't care what you have to do to get the money. You either have it the next time we're here, or we take him. Conscious or not.” He nodded at his men, and just like that, they all turned and left.
I stood in the middle of the room, my arms shaking and my throat burning. One week. A quarter of a million dollars. My father groaned and I turned to him slowly. He was awake now, but barely. Groggy, blinking up at me like a confused child. "Odette?" He called out vulnerably.
My heart melted.
Tears stung my eyes at the sound of my name. I fell beside and placed his head on my lap, before leaning down to drop a kiss on his head.
Oh, Dad.
How would I get us out of this?

The sour smell of expired milk burns my nose before it even drips off my chin.

I don't move. I don't wipe it away. I just stare at the gray linoleum floor of the cafeteria, listening to the laughter echoing around me.

"Oops. My hand slipped." Kira’s voice is high-pitched, dripping with fake sympathy. She tosses the empty milk carton onto my tray, splashing whatever is left onto my only good pair of jeans.

Pam and Gemma snicker from behind her.

"Are you deaf, Bianca? Or just stupid?" Pam kicks the leg of my chair. "Kira said her hand slipped. The least you could do is say it’s okay."

"It's okay," I whisper, keeping my eyes glued to the floor.

"Speak up, mutt," Gemma snaps, leaning over the table. "We can't hear you."

I squeeze my hands into fists under the table. My nails dig into my palms so hard it hurts. I am an eighteen-year-old half-blood with no pack, no father, and a mother who is completely delusional about our social standing. In this academy, I am nothing. Less than nothing.

"I said, it's fine," I say louder, finally looking up.

Kira smirks. She flips her perfectly styled blonde hair over her shoulder. She’s a purebred Alpha female. She gets what she wants, and right now, what she wants is to make me miserable.

"Good. Because you smell better with trash on you anyway," Kira says, her eyes darting toward the cafeteria entrance. Her entire demeanor changes in a second. The cruel sneer melts into a bright, desperate smile. She fixes her posture, thrusting her chest out.

The entire cafeteria goes dead silent.

I don't need to turn around to know who just walked in. The temperature in the room drops. The air suddenly feels heavy, suffocating, thick with the scent of pine, winter rain, and pure, unfiltered dominance.

The Blackwood triplets.

Stefan, Canasta, and Oth.

They rule this school. They rule this town. And one day, they’ll rule the entire Northern territory.

"Stefan!" Kira calls out, her voice sickly sweet.

They don't even look at her at first. They walk straight down the center aisle like the rest of us are invisible. Oth is trailing slightly behind, his headphones on, staring blankly ahead. But Stefan and Canasta stop right in front of my table.

My heart hammers against my ribs. I try to make myself smaller. I try to sink into the plastic chair, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow me.

Canasta leans his hands flat on my table, right in the spilled milk. He doesn't even care. He tilts his head, a slow, mocking smile spreading across his face.

"Well, well. Look what we have here," Canasta says. His voice is a low drawl that makes the hair on my arms stand up. "Did the trash bag spring a leak?"

Laughter erupts from the tables around us. Kira laughs the loudest.

I swallow hard, staring at Canasta’s knuckles. "Please, just let me go."

"I didn't hear a please," Stefan says.

His voice is different from Canasta’s. It’s flat. Dead. There is no amusement in it, only pure, freezing contempt.

I slowly look up at Stefan. He is staring down at me with an expression of absolute disgust.

"I said please," I whisper.

Stefan steps closer. He completely ignores Kira, who is practically begging for his attention. He reaches out and grabs the front of my shirt, hauling me up from the chair.

My chair tips over backward, crashing to the floor. The sound echoes loudly in the silent room.

"You don't talk to us unless we tell you to," Stefan says, his face inches from mine. "Do you understand me, mutt?"

"Yes," I choke out. The collar of my shirt is digging into my throat.

Canasta chuckles, stepping around the table. He reaches into my backpack, pulling out my history notebook.

"Hey, don't—" I start to say, but Stefan yanks me forward, cutting off my air.

"Did I tell you to speak?" Stefan asks quietly.

Canasta casually flips through my notebook. "Look at this, Stef. The half-breed actually thinks she’s going to graduate. Taking notes and everything."

With a sudden, violent movement, Canasta grips both sides of the notebook and rips it straight down the middle. Pages flutter to the floor, landing in the spilled milk.

Tears burn the back of my eyes. That was a whole semester of work.

"Oops," Canasta mocks, dropping the torn covers onto the pile. "My hand slipped."

Kira and Pam burst into giggles.

Oth finally stops walking. He stands a few feet away, his hands in his pockets. He slowly pulls one of his headphones off. He looks at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. For a second, he just stares at my neck, breathing in slowly.

He doesn't say a word. He just puts his headphone back on and walks away.

Stefan shoves me backward. I trip over my fallen chair and hit the ground hard. My palms scrape against the rough floor.

"Clean this mess up," Stefan orders, looking down at me like I am a disease. "And if I ever see you sitting at a table in my cafeteria again, I’ll make sure you don't walk for a week."

He turns around and walks away. Canasta follows him, tossing a wink at Kira, who looks like she might actually pass out from the attention.

"You heard him," Kira sneers, looking down at me. "Start cleaning, freak."

She steps right on my hand as she walks away. Her sharp heel digs into my skin, and I bite my lip to keep from screaming. Pam and Gemma follow her, laughing as they kick my torn notebook pages further across the floor.

I stay on the ground until the bell rings. Until the cafeteria empties out.

My chest heaves as I wipe the milk off my face with the back of my sleeve. My hand is bleeding where Kira stepped on it. I feel numb. It’s always like this. Day in, day out.

Mrs. Abbott, congratulations! You're expecting twins," the doctor proclaimed.

Mikaela Abbott, still in a daze, left the hospital. The doctor's words spun around in her head, over and over again. 'Am I really going to have Thomas's babies?' she thought. A wave of happiness washed over her as she gently touched her lower belly, thinking that maybe these babies might be the spark to reignite their troubled marriage.

When evening fell, Thomas Abbott came home. Mikaela, barely containing her excitement, dashed downstairs, holding the pregnancy test results in her hand. But as she reached the living room, the color drained from her face. Thomas wasn't alone. There was a woman sitting on the couch with him.

'Annalise...' Mikaela muttered inwardly. Annalise Silverman was the woman Thomas had planned to marry two years ago. 'Hadn't she disappeared?' Mikaela wondered.

"Thomas, why is she here?" Mikaela questioned, her joy at the news of her pregnancy now replaced with shock.

"Annalise is back, as you can see, and it's time for you to move out." Thomas nodded towards the papers on the coffee table.

Mikaela's eyes quickly scanned the document titled "Divorce Agreement," and she felt a cold chill run down her spine.

"Thomas, don't be so harsh," said Annalise, feigning sympathy. "At least give Mika some time."

"She's had two years as Mrs. Abbott. That's more than enough," Thomas retorted coldly, eyeing Mikaela. "Sign the agreement. For the sake of Grandpa, I will fulfill any requests you have."

Pain pierced through Mikaela's heart, branching out to her lower abdomen. 'Compensation? How can fifteen years of my love be compensated?' she pondered in despair.

Sensing her hesitation, Thomas added curtly, "Don't try to fight this. It will only make me despise you more."

Mikaela forced a smile onto her pale face and removed her hand from her belly. "I'll sign this, but first, I have a question for you," she said, lifting her gaze to meet his.

Thomas gave a nod of agreement.

"You were only kind to me to win over Grandpa Maverick and get the Abbott Group inheritance, right?" she asked.

"What do you think?" Thomas retorted, fixing his cold eyes on her frail figure. "I still can't figure out why Grandpa had such a soft spot for you."

Truth be told, Mikaela didn't understand either.

Grandpa Maverick Abbott had adopted her from the orphanage, treating her better than his own grandson, Thomas. As soon as he discovered her affection for Thomas, he even coerced him into marriage, using his life as leverage.

From day one, Mikaela should have seen the situation for what it was. Thomas was simply using her, but in her innocence, she believed that with enough love and by being a good wife, she could win his heart.

She realized, belatedly, that she had been too naïve. 'The only one Thomas wanted to marry was Annalise. And now that Grandpa Maverick is no longer here, he can't wait to get rid of me.'

Mikaela took a deep breath to fight back her tears, quickly picked up the pen and signed the divorce papers without a second thought. She chose not to mention the pregnancy; it didn't seem relevant now. She couldn't bear to be in this house a minute longer. She straightened her back, ready to head upstairs and grab her few belongings.

Just as she was about to leave, Thomas called out, "Mikaela, even though you are adopted, you're still a part of this family. I've arranged for you to study at a top medical school overseas. They'll have a job lined up for you once you finish your education. Consider it a tribute to Grandpa." He spoke flatly, with no hint of emotion. "After the divorce is finalized tomorrow, someone will escort you abroad."

"There's no need for tomorrow. Let's finalize it now," she said, forcing a smile, then turned and rushed out of the mansion.

*****

Fast forward six years.

Inside a taxi, a woman dressed casually in dark overalls and a baseball hat gazed out the window. The sun highlighted her striking, celebrity-like features.

"Mommy, is this where you grew up?" The little boy by her side looked awestruck. "It's so awesome. It makes sense that someone as beautiful as you came from a place like this!"

Touching his head affectionately, Mikaela murmured, "Yes, Elijah, this is where I grew up."

In her heart, this place was a reminder of old wounds. Although she had stayed away for the past six years, circumstances had drawn her back.

My fiancé is gay.

That was the thought echoing through my head as I stood there frozen, watching a scene I could never unsee. I stared at the man thrusting into my fiancé’s ass, and at Charles moaning like a goddamn whore in heat.

This was my fiance, the man I was supposed to marry in five days. The man I had shared a bed, a future, a life with for five whole years. But he was there, legs spread wide, eyes rolled back in bliss I had never seen cross his face when he was with me.

I couldn’t breathe anymore, everywhere felt like it was spinning. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. My eyes stayed locked, watching as if my brain couldn’t register that this was real.

“Ah, fuck, Mark… yes, I love this… fuck… you’re so big.” Charles moaned, and the words hit me like punches to the gut. 

My hand flew to my mouth, pressing hard to keep the nausea down. My heart felt like it had been torn from my chest and shoved down a garbage disposal. Was this a nightmare? Was I going to wake up in our apartment, beside him, with his arms around me and none of this real?

“Fuck yeah, Charles, baby,” the man grunted. “Take my big boy. Take him good.”

“Ah, daddy! Give me your big boy!!!”

Tears burned the back of my eyes. My knees buckled slightly, and I reached out to the doorframe for support. Daddy? He had never called me anything in bed. What was I saying? He had never seemed that interested in sex with me. Two minutes. That was the amount of minutes he took before he came. Anytime I asked him for more, he would say he was tired or he would just give me a disgusted look before leaving. 

My mind raced, spiraling out of control.

Is he gay? Bisexual? Has he always been like this? Had he been faking it with me? All these years? Every kiss, every time he said I love you, every plan we made for the future, was it all a lie?

I felt humiliated, sick, and like a goddamn fool.

How do women process this? How do they act when they find out their supposedly straight fiancé is getting his back blown out by another man days before the wedding? But what was I saying? Most women haven’t caught their future husband mid-thrust with another man.

I felt something wet on my cheeks. My hand lifted, brushing my skin. I hadn’t even realized I was crying.

“Fuck, yes, I’m close!!” Charles moaned from the bed. 

I shook my head slowly, like maybe if I shook hard enough, I could wake up from this twisted reality. But the sound of him panting, the sight of them tangled together was still there.

I laughed bitterly. “You know what?” I said, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “You’re really fucking shameless, Charles.”

They froze and Charles’s head whipped toward me. His eyes stretched wide in panic. He scrambled away from the man between his legs, grabbing at the nearest blanket and yanking it over himself like that could somehow undo what I’d just seen.

“G-Gracie…” he stammered, his voice cracking. “What… what are you doing here?”

I pressed harder against the wall, still wiping at the tears with the back of my shaking hand, trying to stay on my feet. 

“What am I doing here?” I repeated slowly, meeting his eyes. “That’s the first thing you have to say? After I walk in on this?”

He shook his head, still clutching the blanket. “No. No, it’s not— it’s not what it looks like.”

“Not what it looks like? Not what it looks like?!”

I pushed off the wall, legs wobbling, hands balled into fists. “Charles, you’re cheating on me with a fucking man. In our bed. In the house we brought to live together after our wedding. You are spreading your ass for someone else, moaning his name like you have never been fucked before, and you have the audacity to tell me it’s not what it looks like? What exactly does it look like, then?

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His face crumpled as he looked at me with shame, guilt, and mostly fear. 

“You’re a bastard,” I hissed. “After everything I’ve done for you. After five years of loyalty, patience, planning our goddamn future together, this is what I get in return? This is who you are when I’m not looking? How dare you do this to me!”

The man who had been inside him only moments ago rolled his eyes and sat up. “Jesus,” he muttered. “How dramatic.”

He started pulling on his clothes, unbothered. “I don’t want to be caught up in this mess, Charles. I’m out.”

Charles turned to him, panicked. “Mark, wait— I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”

Mark cut him off with a dismissive wave. “It’s fine. You were right about her, though. She is dramatic.”

That did it. Something inside me snapped. My whole body shook with rage. Why were they acting like this was normal? Why were they not on their knees begging? Why was no one crying but me? He didn’t even look surprised, that meant he knew Charles was already in a relationship and still went ahead and fucked him on our bed.

“You fucking asshole!”

I stormed toward him, hand raised, ready to deliver the slap he damn well deserved, but before I could reach him, Charles moved fast.

“Stop it, Gracie!” he shouted, grabbing my wrist and yanking me back. His grip was tight, fingers digging into my skin. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“What am I doing?” I spat, eyes blazing. “Stay out of it, bastard! Wait for your fucking turn.”

I jerked toward Mark, but Charles stepped in front of me again, blocking my path. “Don’t be delusional,” he said coldly. “I won’t let you touch him. Don’t even dare.”

My heart dropped. He sounded so… protective of him.

The man he cheated with. The man who had just mocked me, smirked at me, and walked out of bed with my fiancé like this was some goddamn sitcom.

“Why?” I whispered, stunned. “Why are you protecting him? Are you seriously defending him? After what you did to me? Shouldn't you be on your knees right now?”

Behind Charles, Mark straightened his shirt, not even trying to hide the smugness on his face. Then he looked at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

“Why are you surprised?” he said, shrugging casually. “Did you honestly think he ever liked you in the first place? Use your brain, girl.”

My mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“If it weren’t for your families being involved,” Mark continued, “do you really think he’d even look at someone like you?”

My vision blurred with anger. I could feel the blood roaring in my ears. “Let me go,” I growled through gritted teeth, yanking at my arm. “Let me go this instant, Charles!”

“No!” he barked. “Stop it, Gracie!”

I shoved him hard enough to make him stumble back a step. I charged toward Mark, ready to slap the smug off his goddamn face but Charles lunged between us and in a flash, his hand shot out and slapped me hard.

My head jerked to the side, cheek burning at the sudden impact.

“Don’t you fucking dare lay a hand on Mark!”