Chapter Harbor ad: 🔞Click to Read on More Spicy Chapters👉

My mother used to sing in the garden every morning. I want you to hold onto that, because by the end of this you're going to understand exactly what it costs a woman to lose it — and you're going to recognise it, because it's happening to someone you love right now. My name is Claire. My mother is Pat. She is sixty-three years old and two years ago she disappeared in front of me, one small piece at a time, and not one doctor could tell me why. She didn't get sick. There was no diagnosis, no scan, no terrible phone call. It was quieter and crueller than that. She just stopped. Stopped singing. Stopped gardening. Stopped getting down on the floor with my daughter. Stopped sleeping. Stopped being the woman who raised me. And the whole time she smiled and said she was fine, because that is what women of her generation do — they suffer in silence and they call it coping. I am writing this because I almost lost her to that silence. And I am not going to let it take your mother too. — Let me tell you who my mother was, so you understand what was stolen. Pat raised three of us more or less alone after my father's heart gave out. She nursed him through his last two years without a single complaint. She hosts every Christmas, twelve of us round a table built for eight, and she does it on her feet for three days. She is the one the entire family rings when something has gone wrong and nobody knows what to do. And every single morning of my entire childhood, she was out in that garden by eight o'clock, on her knees in the beds, singing. Half the time the radio, half the time nothing at all, just the sound of a woman who was happy in her own skin. I grew up hearing it through the kitchen window. My own daughter grew up hearing it. That sound was my mother. Two years ago it stopped. — It started so small I told myself I was imagining it. A stiffness in her hip in the mornings. "Bit creaky today," she'd laugh. She was sixty-one. Everyone's creaky at sixty-one. That's what I told myself. Then the few minutes of creaky became twenty minutes of not being able to walk straight. Then her hip became both hips. Then her knees, on the stairs. Then her hands — my mother, who could fillet a fish and ice a wedding cake, couldn't open a jar of jam. She'd hand it to me across the kitchen without a word and something in my chest would crack, because she wouldn't ask. She'd just quietly hand me the jar. Then came the night I'll never get out of my head. We were staying over. I got up at four for a glass of water and the landing light was on. I found my mother sitting on the edge of her bed in the dark, both hands gripping the mattress, just sitting there. She'd been awake since two. She couldn't lie on her side anymore — thirty years of sleeping curled on her side and now it sent a bolt of pain through her hip that woke her gasping — so she slept flat on her back, when she slept at all, staring at the ceiling. She looked up at me and she was embarrassed. My mother, embarrassed, in front of her own daughter, at four in the morning, for the crime of being in pain. "Go back to bed, love," she said. "I'm fine." She was not fine. — And then the worst one. The one I have to make myself remember. My daughter — Pat's only granddaughter — had built something out of blocks and she ran to show her nana, the way she'd done a hundred times, expecting Nana to get down on the floor with her the way Nana always had. And my mother didn't. She stayed in her chair. And she said, "Bring it over here, darling, let Nana see it from here." My daughter's face did something small and confused, and then she carried her little tower over to the chair, and I stood in the doorway and watched my mother choose her chair over the floor because the floor had become a place she could no longer get up from. That was the day I understood my daughter was going to grow up with a different grandmother than the one she'd started with. A grandmother in a chair. And I went into the kitchen and I ran the tap so no one would hear me. — So I did what you do. I tried to help her fix it. We tried turmeric — everyone says turmeric. A bottle from the chemist, two a day, three months. Nothing. Collagen. Glucosamine. The big yellow bottle. Nothing. I took her to her GP myself. He pressed her hip, glanced at an X-ray, and gave us the sentence I have come to hate more than any words in the English language: "It's just wear and tear. It's her age. Take some ibuprofen." Her age. As if my mother was a worn-out kitchen appliance you keep until it dies. Physio. Twice a week, four months. Cortisone — two injections, eleven good days the first time, barely a week the second, then the pain came back worse, like it was angry it had been interrupted. Over a thousand pounds. Two years. And my mother got smaller, and quieter, and further away, and the worst part — the part that still makes me furious — is that she started to believe them. "Maybe this is just how I am now," she said to me one afternoon. My mother. Who nursed my dying father. Who feeds twelve at Christmas. Giving up. I wanted to scream at every doctor who'd shrugged at her. Because not one of them — not one — ever told us what was actually wrong. — It took a stranger at my sister's wedding to do that. Seated next to my mother at the rehearsal dinner was the groom's mother, Sheila — early seventies, sharp as a tack, walked to the pub from the next village and didn't mention it. I watched the two of them talk for half an hour, and I watched my mother's face change in a way I hadn't seen in two years. On the walk back, Mum told me what Sheila had said. Sheila had been exactly where my mother was. Stiff, shrinking, told it was her age. Until she found out it wasn't her age at all. It had a name. And once she knew the name, everything changed. The name is hormonal inflammation. When a woman goes through the change, her whole inflammatory system shifts — and in so many women it floods the joints and never switches off. That's the deep ache. That's why it starts in one place and spreads everywhere. That's why it's worst in the morning, because it builds overnight while she sleeps. That's why turmeric and collagen and cortisone and ibuprofen did nothing — because every single one of them was aimed at the wrong thing. None of them touched the actual fire. My mother had been suffering for two years from something with a name, and four medical professionals had handed her ibuprofen and called it old age. — But here is the part that nearly didn't happen, and it's the part I most need you to hear. When Sheila mentioned turmeric, my mother almost laughed in her face. "Tried it. Did nothing." And Sheila said: you tried the wrong one. The turmeric my mother had bought from the chemist — the one nearly every woman buys — is around three percent curcumin. Curcumin is the only part that actually fights inflammation. Three percent. The rest is filler. My mother had spent three months swallowing a capsule that was ninety-seven percent nothing and then concluded turmeric was useless. The version that actually works — the version in the real studies — is ninety-five percent curcumin, with black pepper extract so the body can absorb it instead of flushing it straight out. Not three percent. Ninety-five. My mother hadn't failed turmeric. The chemist had sold her a watered-down imitation of it and let her believe she'd given it a fair go. The brand Sheila used was called She Again — the concentrated version, ninety-five percent, with the black pepper, made specifically for the hormonal inflammation that was eating my mother's joints alive. Two capsules in the morning. That was the whole thing. — I'm going to tell you what happened, because I was the one watching, and I watched my mother come back to life. The first fortnight, nothing. We'd braced for that. Week four, I heard it. She was at the kitchen sink washing up and she was singing. Under her breath, something I didn't even recognise. She didn't notice she was doing it. I had to leave the room. Week six, my daughter ran to show her a drawing, and my mother got down on the floor. She just lowered herself down onto the rug and sat there with my little girl, and got back up afterwards, and nobody made a thing of it except me, standing in the kitchen with my hand over my mouth. By high summer she was back in the garden. On her knees in the beds at eight in the morning, secateurs in hand, doing the roses she'd let go wild for two years. She came in for lunch with soil on her forearms and I realised I'd been grieving that exact sight without knowing it. And then one morning she rang me from her car after a check-up, the bloods all fine, told to carry on exactly as she was. And underneath her voice, on the radio, I could hear her singing along. My mother was back. The chair didn't get her. My daughter has her grandmother — the real one, the one on the floor, the one in the garden, the one who sings. — So now I'm the stranger at the rehearsal dinner. I'm your Sheila. If you are watching your mother go quiet — if she's handing you the jar instead of asking, if she's choosing the chair over the floor, if she's awake at four in the morning telling you she's fine — she is not fine, and it is not her age, and she does not have to vanish into that chair. It has a name. It's hormonal inflammation. And the reason her turmeric did nothing is almost certainly that she was sold the three-percent version, like my mother was, like nearly every woman is. The strong one — ninety-five percent, built for exactly this — is called She Again. It's a smaller company and it sells out, so if it's gone when you look, get on the restock list, because it's worth the wait. Don't let her disappear an inch at a time the way I almost let my mother. Don't wait until your child is carrying a drawing over to a chair. She's still in there. Go and get her back.

Chapter 1 What Is the Gender? Twenty-five weeks pregnant, Sloane Powell caught her husband cheating—right outside the hospital. A tall, striking man in a black overcoat was shielding a soft, delicate-looking girl in his arms. The girl wore a white fox-fur coat. Her cheeks were rosy, her small face tucked into a fluffy wool scarf, her features pretty as a porcelain doll. Sloane clenched her prenatal checkup slip so hard her fingers went white. The cold wind sliced across her face, but it was nothing compared to the stabbing ache in her chest. Jaxson Cole saw her from far away. His expression stayed indifferent, not a trace of shame at being caught. He personally opened the car door for the girl, his demeanor gentle. So the cold, untouchable man at the top of the world could be tender, too. The girl seemed to notice Sloane. She paused, looked at Sloane with confusion first, then turned to Jaxson and asked, “Why is that old woman staring at you? Jaxson, do you know her?” The wind howled in Sloane’s ears. She didn’t know what else the girl said to Jaxson. But from the shape of her mouth, Sloane could clearly make out two words. “Old woman.” That was supposed to be her. Sloane’s lips curled into a bitter smile. She was only twenty-four. But she’d always been a little chubby, with an ordinary face. Wrapped in a black puffer jacket and a black knit hat, her late-pregnancy body was swollen and heavy. Add in the exhaustion on her face, and she really did look like some worn-out woman in her thirties or forties—how could she compare to a young, bright, beautiful girl? Jaxson protected the girl as she got into the car. Sloane stood frozen, watching the vehicle pull away. She and Jaxson had married because of the baby. This forced marriage—to a man like Jaxson, heaven’s chosen—was a stain on his life. The child in her belly was the tool she’d used to corner him. He hated her. And she had loved him in secret for eight years. Sloane knew she never deserved him. All she could do was study harder, keep pushing, take him as her life’s ideal, and chase after his footsteps. Finally, she got what she wanted. She became his assistant. She could stand close to him. But that night destroyed more than Jaxson. It also tore apart every last shred of pride and dignity she’d ever had in front of him. She would never forget the way he’d stared at her afterward—disgusted, like he’d touched something filthy that made him sick. So, of course, only a beautiful girl like that deserved him. A hot tear slid from the corner of her eye. Then her lower abdomen cramped hard. She hurriedly held her belly with one hand and braced the stone pillar beside her with the other. A passing nurse saw her and rushed over, supporting her and taking her into an exam room. It was just the emotional shock—she’d stirred the baby. Once she calmed down… Sloane left the hospital, driving alone back to Emerald Bay Mansion with a body and soul that felt wrung dry. This was Jaxson’s villa. Wren Cole, Jaxson’s grandmother, had arranged for experienced housekeepers from the Cole Estate to look after her. At that moment, the two housekeepers assigned to her were sitting in the warm living room like they owned the place, eating good food and laughing together. When they heard the sound, they turned toward the door. Seeing Sloane back, one of them stood and walked over, asking, “How were the results?” The attitude was arrogant, the tone dripping with contempt. They were supposed to be taking care of her, but they looked more like they were here to watch her and act like the real masters. Sloane only gave the housekeeper a cold glance and didn’t answer, heading straight for the stairs. The housekeeper frowned in displeasure. “I’m talking to you.” Sloane still ignored her. The housekeeper spat toward Sloane’s back. “Fat as a pig. You really think you’re some young mistress of the Cole family? Who are you trying to fool?” Back in her bedroom, Sloane sat on the bed, hollow and lost. Neither Jaxson nor the Cole family had ever accepted her. Wren had been the one to make the decision and force her and Jaxson to get their marriage certificate. But that was only because Noah Cole, Jaxson’s grandfather, had been critically ill. She’d shown up pregnant at just the right time, and they’d arranged the marriage to bring him good luck—two happy events at once. Whether it was coincidence or whether the “good luck” was real, Noah’s condition gradually improved. Only then did Wren’s attitude toward Sloane soften. But everyone else in the Cole family still looked down on her. Today’s hospital visit had been to confirm the baby’s gender. A girl. Mrs. Cole’s side had probably already gotten the hospital’s notice. Just then, her phone vibrated. Sloane pulled herself out of her thoughts. She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. When she saw the caller ID, she froze—it was her advisor. She picked up. “Professor Grant.” “A spot just opened up for advanced study at Stanford—PhD track. You interested?” At Leo Grant’s words, Sloane went still for a long moment. When she didn’t answer, Leo continued, “If you’re not available—” “I’m in.” Sloane snapped back to the moment and answered with quiet certainty. This time, Leo fell silent. He knew better than anyone how hard Sloane had fought just to be worthy of standing beside Jaxson. Now that she finally had what she wanted—marriage, a baby on the way—how could she possibly walk away? He’d only mentioned the last slot on a whim, testing the waters. “Professor Grant,” Sloane said. Leo replied, “Come by my office tomorrow at ten.” “Okay.” He hung up without another word. Sloane set the phone down and let out a long breath. For the first time in a while, it felt like the clouds had parted, letting a sliver of moonlight through. She needed to wake up. A man who didn’t love you—no matter what you gave him, no matter if you bore his child—would never stay. He wouldn’t even glance back. Her phone rang again. This time it was Wren, asking her to come back to the Cole Estate. Sloane agreed. It was probably about the baby. Now she finally had a bit of energy. She went to the bathroom and took a long, hot shower. Afterward, sitting at the vanity, Sloane studied herself in the mirror—puffy face, dark circles under her eyes, sunken eyelids, cheeks dotted with freckles. Looking this worn down… who wouldn’t be repulsed? How could someone like her ever deserve to stand next to Jaxson? She put on makeup, slipped into a pink puffer jacket, and pulled on a white beanie. She looked much more presentable. She’d planned to drive herself back to the main residence. But the moment she stepped outside, Jaxson called. His voice came through flat and cold. “Come out.” Sloane startled. Wren must’ve told him to come back too. She answered, “Okay.” Outside the villa, his Rolls-Royce sat idling at the entrance. Two hours ago, that same car had picked up another woman and dropped her off somewhere. Sloane took a deep breath, walked over, opened the door, and got in. The moment she sat down, she caught a faint scent—sweet and young. On the seat beside her sat a pink teddy bear, the kind of plushie a girl would adore. When she lifted her gaze, she noticed a hair tie wrapped around the man’s wrist. A quiet claim. Jaxson must really like that girl. Sloane swallowed the sour ache rising in her chest, sat up straight, and buckled her seatbelt. The driver pulled away smoothly. Sloane stared out the window, silent. Before, every moment alone with him had been something to treasure. She’d inch closer, start conversations over and over, even if he looked down on her. Because she’d foolishly convinced herself they were already husband and wife—that they had a child, that there was a long future ahead. If she became a good wife, a good mother… maybe one day Jaxson would finally turn and see her. But in the end, it had all been lies she told herself. The man didn’t care about her feelings. As always, he was detached, asking in a casual tone, “What’s the baby’s gender?” Sloane answered, “A girl.” Hearing that, nothing shifted in Jaxson’s sharp, handsome features. He only said flatly, “After the baby’s born, we’ll get divorced.” The words landed. Sloane’s fingers tightened. It felt like a hand had clenched around her heart, making it hard to breathe. This marriage was never meant to last. She’d always known. But hearing him say it—now, like this—still cut deeper than she’d expected. She bit her lip and answered, “Okay.” Jaxson turned his head to glance at her, as if surprised she’d agreed so easily. Chapter 2 He Came Home Early But he didn’t dig into it any further. Sloane followed up right away. “Tomorrow’s Monday. Do you have time in the afternoon? Why don’t we go to Civil Council early and get it handled? It shouldn’t matter if we do it two months ahead of time, right?” Even after signing, there was still a one-month cooling-off period. And it wouldn’t be long before she gave birth. Jaxson looked at her. She was too calm, too straightforward. Something like scrutiny flickered in his eyes before he pulled his gaze back. “Whenever I call, that’s the time.” Sloane lowered her eyes and didn’t speak again. The car arrived at the Cole Estate. Wren had called them back because of the baby in Sloane’s belly. The Cole family had more men than women. Wren had two sons. The eldest was Ethan Cole. The younger was Julian Cole. Ethan had two sons. The eldest, Felix Cole, had gotten married a few years ago and had a pair of twin boys. They were five this year. The younger, Miles Cole, was twenty-four and still unmarried. Julian only had one son—Jaxson. So when it turned out Sloane was carrying a girl, both Wren and Noah were overjoyed. “It really is good news. The moment our little sweetheart arrives, the old man’s illness is basically cured.” Seeing how much her mother-in-law valued the baby, Lyra quickly echoed her, then added a couple of nice words to Sloane. Sloane sat quietly to the side, hands folded, her posture obedient. Looking at her—plump, head bowed, meek as could be—Lyra found her hard to stomach. But with Wren right there, she kept it off her face. Wren, however, was in high spirits. She gifted Sloane an expensive emerald bracelet. Sloane blinked, flustered, and immediately tried to refuse, pushing it gently back. Lyra Cole, Jaxson’s mother, spoke up. “If Wren’s giving it to you, take it.” So small-town. So timid. Just like someone who’d never learned how to carry herself in public. Sloane stopped protesting and accepted the bracelet. “Thank you, Grandma.” “Take good care of that baby. Give us a healthy, chubby little one.” Sloane smiled and nodded. She knew Wren’s kindness had nothing to do with her. Originally, she and Jaxson were supposed to stay for dinner. Until Jaxson stepped out to take a call. Through the glass door, she saw something shift in his expression—a softness in his eyes, indulgent, almost tender. It sounded like they’d just gotten a pet. Jaxson murmured the pet’s name. Sweetie. If he married the woman he actually loved, she thought, he’d probably make a good father. “Mm. I’ll be right there.” He hung up. When Jaxson turned and walked back in from the balcony, he found Sloane standing just inside. She flinched, slow to react, lifting her gaze to meet his—only to be met with the cold, distant face of a stranger. Her chest tightened. She managed, “Grandma wants you in the study.” He said nothing. Just walked past her. Sloane stayed where she was, heart clenched in a grip she couldn’t loosen. She didn’t know how long she stood there before she finally came back to herself. Jaxson reached the study. Wren and Noah were both inside. “Jaxson,” Wren began, “Grandma knows you don’t have feelings for Sloane. But the baby’s almost here. And Sloane herself is accomplished—top university, well-educated, gentle. What this marriage needs right now is stability. She’s the most suitable partner for raising children and supporting her husband.” Jaxson said nothing. But the faint furrow in his brow—the tension there—spoke volumes. How could Wren not see it? Sloane really was plain. Standing next to her grandson, they just didn’t look right together. Noah cut in. “Right now, your marriage can’t afford any disruptions. If you truly don’t care for her, as long as she doesn’t do anything reckless, keep things steady for a year or two.” Wren added, “Exactly. Too many people are watching you, waiting for a story. Let her raise the child first. Divorce later—it won’t be too late.” Jaxson was quiet for a long moment. His handsome features revealed nothing. Finally, he said, “Grandpa, Grandma. I understand.” When Sloane saw Wren again later, Wren said simply, “Something came up at Jaxson’s office. He had to leave. I’ll have the driver take you home.” Sloane nodded. “Okay.” Before she left that day, Wren reminded her, “Even though you’re pregnant, you still need to exercise more and take care of yourself. Back when Lyra was pregnant, she still had to accompany her husband to events and manage the household. Some things are easy to get, but holding onto them isn’t easy.” Sloane understood instantly what Wren meant. Being a daughter-in-law in Cole family wasn’t easy. If she wanted to secure her position, she had to change herself. And in her current state, she would only embarrass Jaxson. She had thought about getting better—working out, doing yoga, trying to lose weight. But she lacked the drive to keep going. She grew exhausted in body and mind, and her weight only climbed. But Wren was right. She couldn’t keep sinking like this—though not to secure her place. For her future self. “Grandma, I understand.” Night. What surprised Sloane was that the man who’d brought up divorce that morning actually came home. “You…” “Make me a bowl of chicken soup and bring it to the study.” After that, Jaxson went upstairs to the study. Sloane snapped back to herself, went to the kitchen, cooked a bowl of chicken soup, and delivered it to the study. He was flipping through documents in his hand, his features hard and cold, his whole body giving off a distant, untouchable chill. She didn’t disturb him. She turned and left the study. Even if he came back, they still slept separately. He slept in the master bedroom on the second floor. She slept in the guest room on the first. The next day. Because Jaxson was home, the housekeeper prepared a lavish breakfast. He sat at the main seat and didn’t see Sloane. Usually, when he was home, Sloane not only ironed and prepared the clothes he’d wear the next day, she also made his breakfast herself. She really had been a dutiful, proper wife. But that morning, there were no freshly ironed clothes laid out. And breakfast had been made by the kitchen staff. “Where is she?” Jaxson asked, irritation creeping into his voice. Maren didn’t hesitate to unload her grievances. “I went to wake her first thing, and she just refuses to get out of bed. Every day we have to bring meals to her room. She acts like we don’t exist. Ask her what she wants to eat—she won’t say a word. We’re not mind readers. She’s just pregnant, that’s all. When Mrs. Cole was expecting you, Sir, she still serve Mr. Cole well. But this one? She acts like she’s checked into a resort.” Jaxson’s brow tightened. “Go wake her up.” “Yes, sir.” Sloane had actually been awake for a while. She was just waiting for Jaxson to leave. Then the door swung open, and Maren walked in without knocking. Spotting Sloane already seated on the sofa, she let out a sneer thick with contempt. “Oh, look at that. The Young Madam, waiting to be invited out of bed.” Sloane lifted her gaze, her voice cool. “I’m not. Are you?” For months, Sloane had kept her head down, never once talked back. Maren hadn’t expected that. “If you keep forgetting your place, don’t blame me if I tell Wren exactly how you’ve been carrying on.” She was getting divorced anyway. What did she have to lose? With two months left, why keep swallowing insults? Maren’s eyes went wide. “You—” Just yesterday, Lyra had called and told them to take good care of her. Even if it was a girl, this would be the only daughter of the Cole family’s third generation. Sloane was lucky—carrying a girl meant Wren had taken notice. Maren choked back her anger. “The Sir’s waiting for you in the dining room.” Sloane was surprised. She made her way to the dining room. Jaxson was already eating. He glanced up as she entered. She wore a white knit tunic, the fabric stretched out of shape by her swollen body. Her steps were unsteady, her pace slow, her belly so heavy she looked like she’d carried multiple children before. Sloane felt his eyes on her and consciously sat far from him. Then she heard his flat, cool voice. “Maren and the others have been with the Cole family for decades. You can’t expect them to cater to you in everything. You’re only pregnant. It’s not like you can’t move.” Only pregnant? Yeah. To him, this accidental child probably meant nothing at all. This sudden scolding of his had to be because Maren had been running her mouth to him. And it wasn’t the first time. Sloane stirred the porridge in her bowl, her voice even. “If they resent having to look after me, then send them back to the main house. I can manage on my own.” After all, she cooked for herself, washed her own clothes, cleaned her own room. The staff only bothered putting on a show when Jaxson was around. Jaxson’s brows drew together. Sloane recognized that expression—it was his tell. Displeasure. In work and in life, Jaxson was relentlessly controlling. He didn’t tolerate being contradicted. “I’m telling you. I’m not asking for your input.” Sloane lowered her head and fell silent. Jaxson looked at her—that flat, hollow expression—and his jaw tightened. He turned to Maren and the others and told them that from now on, she could handle her own affairs. They didn’t need to wait on her. Sloane’s fingers tightened around her fork. Breakfast ended. Jaxson left. Sloane went to Silverlake University. She arrived at Leo’s office. Behind the desk sat a young man in a tailored suit. His nose was sharp and straight, rimless glasses resting on its bridge, his bearing composed and deliberate. Leo was only twenty-nine—the youngest full professor in Silverlake University’s Finance Department, a near-legendary figure whose name carried weight throughout the financial world. Sloane raised her hand and knocked. Chapter 3 Not a Good Match When Leo looked up and saw the woman standing in the doorway, he froze for a beat. He didn’t recognize her at first—until she spoke. “Professor Grant.” Leo smoothed his expression without a trace and said, “You’re here.” Sloane took off her mask and walked into the office. “Professor Grant. Long time no see.” Leo smiled gently. “Long time no see. I almost didn’t recognize you.” Sloane hooked her lips in self-mockery. “With how I look now, I almost didn’t have the nerve to come see you.” Leo stood and came around from behind the desk. “It’s normal for your figure to change during pregnancy. Once you have the baby, it’ll get better.” “Sit.” Sloane sat on the sofa. Leo poured her a cup of warm water. “Warm up.” Sloane took it. “Thank you.” Leo glanced at her swollen belly. “How many months?” “Twenty-five weeks,” Sloane said. Leo said, “Then when school starts at the end of January next year, you’ll be right at your due date.” Sloane pleaded, “I want to ask you for help, Professor. Can I delay enrollment?” Having a baby was unavoidable, but she really didn’t want to miss this chance. Leo’s face turned serious. “Why do you want to go?” Sloane lowered her eyes. “After the baby is born, Jaxson is planning to divorce me. I don’t want to keep this twisted connection going either. I want to start over and live my own life.” Six months wasn’t long. It wasn’t short. But for her, it felt as long as an entire lifetime. Leo couldn’t help frowning. The sunny, lovable girl from back then had changed beyond recognition in such a short time. You could imagine what kind of torment—body and soul—she’d been through. “I’m relieved you’ve thought it through and decided to pull yourself together,” he said. “You and Jaxson really aren’t a good match. From now on, you’ll definitely meet someone who truly loves you.” Sloane kept her eyes lowered and nodded. Back then, Leo had opposed her going to Jaxson’s side as his assistant. But she insisted. In the end, she crashed headfirst until she was bleeding. She suddenly asked, “In your eyes, Professor Grant, what kind of person is Jaxson, really?” Leo fell silent for a moment, then said slowly, “Someone who will do anything to reach his goals. Profit above everything else. He probably won’t have love.” “Is that so?” Yet the tenderness he showed that girl couldn’t be fake. Maybe only someone who loved to the point of ruin would lower himself like that. Only a beautiful, stunning woman was worthy of him. Sloane didn’t ask anything else. “Since you’ve decided,” Leo said, “when the time comes, I can help you apply to delay enrollment.” “Thank you, Professor.” Leo had her fill out an application form. Sloane finished filling it out. “After the baby is born, will you leave her with the Cole family?” Leo suddenly asked. Sloane tugged her lips helplessly. Even if she wanted to take the child, it would be impossible. She could only be the one who let this child down. “The Cole family should take good care of her.” Leo didn’t press further. “I happen to need an assistant. Just for a month. Want to try?” Sloane agreed without hesitation. “Okay.” Ever since she got pregnant, Jaxson’s side had transferred her to an insignificant position in the secretarial office. Overnight, she fell from CEO assistant to a nobody, and all her effort turned to foam. She really did need a new job to distract herself, to make her life move again. It would also be the perfect way to prepare in advance for further study later. And she’d taken the day off anyway. Sloane stayed on and began working as the professor's assistant. She had been Leo's student originally, and after those months of intense, high-pressure work at Jaxson's side—even though she'd spent the last few months in a fog—she still picked things up quickly. Handling the tasks came easily. For the first time in a while, Sloane felt a flicker of clarity, like she'd found herself again—found the real value of her own existence. Just like Leo always said, she was meant to thrive in a professional setting. Love was never supposed to be the only thing in life. That night. Jaxson didn't come home. Same as always—he only showed up once in a while. Only this time, she didn't care anymore. The next day. She drafted her resignation letter ahead of time. Jaxson oversaw the Cole Group's financial sector, including its banks and investment funds. In an industry soaked in betrayal and cutthroat ambition, where reputation and wealth were everything, the fact that he'd inherited the Cole family's core enterprises—and kept acquiring and expanding without pause—proved not only that he had an exceptional mind and ruthless instincts, but that he also possessed a cold, unyielding heart. Sloane arrived at the office and happened to see Jaxson stepping out of his car. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a sharp suit—devastatingly handsome, commanding. Wealth and status only sharpened his appeal, giving him a mature, almost magnetic presence. "Mr. Cole." Employees lowered their heads in respect as he passed. Sloane snapped out of it and quickly dipped her head too, stepping back a pace. The man walked past as if she weren't there and strode into the building. Sloane handed her resignation letter to Thea. Thea was Jaxson's secretary. She used to be Sloane's subordinate. Funny how things turned out. Now Sloane reported to her. When Sloane had been abruptly demoted, the whole department had been stunned. Right after college, she'd been made the CEO's assistant. That role demanded more than competence—appearance mattered too. And Sloane, whether in looks or figure, was unremarkable. Yet she'd still been chosen, which said something about her ability. The CEO, notoriously hard to please, had even praised her more than once. But Thea knew the real story. Sloane was just a frog dreaming of swan meat—trying to sleep her way up. No matter how capable, she still wasn't decent. That was exactly why. Mr. Cole despised her down to his bones. Thea glanced at the resignation letter, her eyes flicking over Sloane's pregnant belly. Her lips curled. "People should learn their place. Take a good look in the mirror. Don't think carrying a baby buys you a ticket up. Do you even know what kind of family the Coles are? What kind of standing you have?" The fact that she and Jaxson were already legally married—no one in the company knew. Chapter 4 I Don’t Want to Hear Your Excuses “Have the financial report analysis for Vegas Partners done before lunch break ends.” Sloane went back to her desk. Even though she’d been transferred to the secretary department as nothing more than a low-level clerk, Thea still dumped a pile of work on her—tasks that were never supposed to be hers. And Sloane accepted every single one. She stayed at the company like this, working herself to the bone, but it was just her own self-deception. Jaxson was never going to spare her a second glance. After finishing the report analysis, Sloane handed both the electronic file and the printed copy to Thea, then ordered delivery. The company had a cafeteria, but she always brought her own lunch. She didn’t want to go somewhere crowded. She didn’t want people’s eyes weighing her up and down. She didn’t want to socialize. She only wanted to be alone, quiet, and undisturbed. But she hadn’t prepared lunch this morning, so she made do with delivery. While she waited. A couple coworkers returned to the office after eating, walking in while chatting excitedly. “Mr. Cole’s girlfriend is so young—she’s still at college, right?” “Probably. She’s seriously gorgeous, like a doll.” “And the way the CEO looked at her—so soft it was practically dripping. Who knew someone as stern as him could be that devoted? It’s literally the real-life romantic novels!” The two of them talked as they came in, then noticed Sloane at her workstation, sitting there like a stone statue. Ever since she’d been transferred to the secretary office, she barely spoke to anyone outside of work. Lately she’d gotten more and more withdrawn, wearing a mask all day like she couldn’t show her face. It was hard to imagine that just over half a year ago, she’d been the CEO’s glorious, untouchable assistant. After getting the delivery driver’s call, Sloane stood up. When she went downstairs to pick up her food. She happened to run into two hotel staff carrying boxed dishes, asking the front desk for directions. The receptionist swiped a card for the CEO’s private elevator. Sloane saw the bottle of red wine in one staff member’s hand. Just that single bottle cost around two million dollars. Two million—pocket change to Jaxson, money he could earn in less than a minute. She carried her delivered braised pork rice back upstairs. At two in the afternoon. Thea came to her and said, “Mr. Cole wants to see you.” Sloane’s heart jumped. A vague, terrible premonition rose in her chest. And sure enough. The moment Sloane stepped into the CEO's office, the weight of the room pressed down on her like a physical force. She walked to the desk and said, "Mr. Cole." When Jaxson looked up, his handsome face was cold and hard. Without a word, he hurled a file folder at her. It struck her square in the face. The sharp edge of the paper sliced across her cheek. A sting flared instantly. She stared at the documents scattered at her feet—her report from this morning. One hand braced against her stomach as she bent down awkwardly to gather them. The man's dark eyes tracked the way she held her belly, the slow, careful way she crouched. Sloane scanned the report in her hands and spotted several incorrect figures immediately. She said, "Mr. Cole, this isn't the report I wrote." "Enough. I don't want to hear excuses." Sloane's grip tightened on the papers until her knuckles went white. Jaxson knew her capabilities. He wasn't refusing to listen—he was choosing to believe she'd failed. To be hated this much by the man she loved... she was pathetic. A joke. She drew a slow breath, closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and forced the words out. "I kept a backup. I can send it to you now. After you've seen it, you can tear into me then. It won't be too late." Jaxson's eyes narrowed. Displeasure flickered openly across his face. Sloane's nerves pulled taut. Deep down, she was afraid of Jaxson—the kind of fear you have for someone with power, especially when his expression went cold. She almost never dared to contradict him. But now she forced herself to stay steady. They were getting divorced anyway. She'd give him what he wanted. After this, she'd never set foot here again. She'd stopped hoping for anything from him. So what was there to be afraid of? "You think you've been wronged?" His voice was ice, edged with mockery. Sloane met those sharp, black eyes. Her nails pressed into her palms as her voice came out heavier. "You didn't even ask what happened before you blamed me. Don't I deserve to defend myself?" Jaxson's expression turned arctic. "Then that's something you deserve." A violent pain ripped through Sloane's chest. The color drained from her face. Then. The lounge door opened. A young girl stepped out in a pink satin slip dress. Her long black hair gleamed, her skin almost luminous, her features so delicate they were impossible to look away from. “Jaxson!” Her voice was like a gentle spring rain—soft, warm, and tender. Sloane finally saw the girl’s face clearly. She really was stunning enough to make anyone feel inferior. Sloane only looked once before the man barked harshly, “Get out!” Sloane pulled her gaze back, swallowed the surge of emotion, turned around, and walked out. The moment she left the office. She heard the girl soothing him gently, and the man quickly calmed down. Sloane lifted her chin, forcing the tears in her eyes back down. She went to the deserted stairwell corner. One hand held the railing. Her emotions finally snapped, and tears fell in a steady stream. The pain in her heart twisted so hard her stomach churned. To rip an eight-year love out of her heart completely was no different from carving bone and stripping flesh. But it was fine. Everything would get better. She would forget him completely. She didn’t know how long passed. When she finally calmed down and went back upstairs toward her workstation, she ran into the girl walking toward her. The girl was dressed head to toe in custom designer brands, exquisite from hair to heels—clearly someone raised in luxury and spoiled with love. Adrian escorted her personally. He was Jaxson’s special assistant. Seeing Sloane, the girl smiled and walked over, stopping in front of her. In a gentle voice, she said, “It’s okay now. Jaxson won’t blame you anymore.” As she spoke. She reached into her bag, took out a pearl, then took Sloane’s hand and placed it in her palm. “This is for you. Don’t be sad. And remember to treat the cut on your face. It won’t look good if a girl has a scar on her face.” What a beautiful, kind girl. Compared to someone glowing with youth like her, Sloane felt like a clown living in a dark world. When Sloane didn’t respond at all. Adrian frowned and reminded her coldly, “Aren’t you going to thank Miss Reed?” So her last name was Reed. Liora Reed withdrew her hand. “It’s fine. Let’s go.” The two of them left. Sloane stood where she was, staring at the silver-blue Australian white pearl in her palm—flawless, as pure as that girl. She just didn’t know whether Miss Reed understood the fact that Jaxson was already married. Back at her desk. She printed the original document again and delivered it to Thea. When Thea saw her, there wasn’t a trace of shame on her face—only smug satisfaction. “Did you see it clearly? That’s what a girl who’s worthy of the CEO looks like.” Sloane slammed the materials down in front of her. “So I’m not worthy—and you’re not either. You can only pull trashy little tricks like this. You’ll never have a future in your life. You’re already in your thirties—hurry up and find someone to marry. Stop day dreaming.” Chapter 5 Look Similar Thea’s face changed in an instant. She slammed her palm on the desk and shot to her feet. “Sloane!” Sloane couldn’t be bothered to respond. She turned and walked away. Back at her workstation. Sloane pulled out a small mirror and looked at the faint blood mark on one side of her cheek. It wasn’t deep. She wiped it once with a damp tissue. No need to do anything else. With a face like hers now, what did one more scar matter? And then she thought of that girl again. Somehow, she looked familiar. Near the end of the workday. Sloane got a call from her dad. Ezra was back, and he wanted her home for dinner. Sloane brightened. “Ezra is back? Didn’t you say he’d be home on the fifteenth?” Her father said, “He wrapped up work and came back early.” “Okay. I’ll come home as soon as I get off.” Sloane drove back to the Powell family house. Their place was in a mid-range complex in the west side of the city, a spacious secondhand condo they’d bought earlier this year. Her father ran a mid-sized real estate company. They weren’t some elite dynasty, but they’d always lived comfortably, so Sloane had grown up in a well-off life. But the market had turned cold. More than half a year ago, a failed investment blew a hole through the company’s finances, pushing it to the edge of bankruptcy. When her father found out she was pregnant with Jaxson’s child, he hadn’t forced her to march up to the Cole family and demand an answer. Watching her father grow older and more worn by the day—so desperate he was already selling off assets just to pay debts—Sloane finally made her choice and went to the Cole family. Back then, she’d had her own selfish reasons. It wasn’t only for her father. It was for herself, too. She did get what she wanted. The Powell family cleared the debt because of a huge bride price from the Cole family. But she’d paid the price she was supposed to pay. So the pain she suffered now… it was all her own doing. She couldn’t blame anyone else. Back at the Powell House. Nora came out of the kitchen. “Sloane, you’re back.” When Sloane was nine, her mother divorced her father. Her mother took her brother and left Sloane behind. Later, Nora met her father, but the two of them never got a marriage license. They lived together like partners. At first, Sloane didn’t accept her—she even hated her. But little by little, she felt Nora’s kindness. And Ezra treated her so well. After losing her brother, she’d gained a new one. “Aunt Nora, where are my dad and them?” “They should be on the way. They’ll be back soon. Go rest for a bit first.” “Okay.” Sloane went back to her room. Even though she was married, her father had always kept a bedroom for her, renovated in the style she liked. Back in a place that belonged to her, all the exhaustion and bitterness inside her vanished in a single breath. She sat on the edge of the bed and saw the photo album on the nightstand. She reached for it and opened it. The very first photo was a torn family portrait. The picture was old. She had been eight that year. Her young, handsome father held her in his arms. Beside him stood her brother—he’d been fourteen. On the other side was her mother. She was the one who had ripped the photo. Because she’d hated her mother for taking her brother and abandoning her and her dad. Time had passed, and now that ripping, splitting pain no longer existed the way it used to. She turned to the next page. In the photo, a teenage girl looked bright and beautiful. She wore a long white dress and a light-brown woven little square cap, standing beneath golden ginkgo trees. The sunlight fell perfectly over the girl’s radiant smile. Long black hair. A small oval face. Features that were vivid and striking, moonlit and mesmerizing. Especially those eyes—sparkling like stars in the sky. But later, she’d gotten seriously ill and had to take steroid medication. Her body slowly gained weight. No matter how she tried to lose it, nothing worked. She could only rely on starvation and exercise to keep herself from getting even bigger. All at once, Sloane thought of the girl from today. Her features looked somewhat like the girl in this photo—especially those eyes. Chapter 6 Far Out of Her League Knock, knock, knock. "Sloane, your dad and brother are back," Nora called through the door after knocking. Sloane didn't think much of it. She set the photo album down, got up, and walked out. The moment she saw the two men coming in, her face lit up. "Dad, Ezra." Ezra and Silas Powell both looked at her. "Sloane, I brought you something. Come see if you like it," Ezra said, motioning her over. Sloane hurried toward him, delighted. "What is it?" Ezra carried in several bags and set them on the coffee table. Then he pulled out a designer jewelry box and handed it to her. "Open it." Sloane took it happily. Inside lay a beautifully crafted gold bracelet. "Thank you, Ezra. I love it." "Glad you like it." Ezra reached out and ruffled Sloane's hair with easy affection. He'd also bought Nora a different gold bracelet that suited her, along with skincare sets for both women. For Silas, he brought tea and liquor, plus local specialties. The atmosphere was warm, easy—the way home should feel. Only here did Sloane feel like she could finally breathe. "Sloane, when are you due?" Ezra asked, concern creeping into his voice. Her belly really did look like someone else's late-term pregnancy. "Two more months," Sloane answered. "Sloane must be carrying a girl," Nora said with a smile. Sloane nodded. "It is a girl." "You checked?" Silas asked. Nora seemed to catch something and tensed up alongside him. "Yeah. But Wren cares a lot about this baby," Sloane said. Silas finally let out a breath. "Good. As long as there's a child, you and Jaxson will slowly work things out down the road." Sloane lowered her eyes. Her chest tightened, heavy and aching, and for a moment she didn't know how to respond. Jaxson had already brought up divorce. But she couldn't hide it forever. And she'd already decided to move out of Emerald Bay Mansion and come home. Forget it. She'd tell them after dinner. Nora prepared an elaborate meal. Ezra had partnered with a friend to start a tech company. Two years ago, when the business was just getting off the ground, Silas hadn't hesitated—he'd given Ezra startup capital. The company was doing extremely well now, focusing mainly on AI. This trip had been for a partnership deal, and it had gone smoothly. Silas, meanwhile, was in the process of selling off his own company. Before, thanks to the bride price from the Cole family, the company had managed to stay afloat. But the economy was struggling now, and pivoting had proven nearly impossible. The business simply couldn't survive. He was getting older, with far less energy than before. He believed strongly in Ezra's company. Ezra's company would enter its financing stage by the end of the year, so it was the perfect time to sell his own business and invest everything into Ezra's. Then he shared another piece of good news: Silas was going to officially get the marriage license with Nora. Nora's eyes immediately welled up. Years of standing by his side had finally led to this. Sloane had no objections. She knew her father had held back all these years because, deep down, he still missed her mother. She'd never understood why her mother had divorced and left a man as good as him. But now it didn't matter. On a day like this— She couldn't bear to ruin the mood. But in the end, she still said it. “Dad. Aunt Nora. Ezra.” She forced the words out. “Jaxson is planning to divorce me.” The moment it left her mouth, the dining room went dead silent. Everyone’s expression turned heavy, especially Silas. He lowered his head, his face tight. The result wasn’t exactly a shock. Only the speed of it was. The Powell family and the Cole family had become in-laws, but there had been no wedding—just a marriage certificate. In the past six months, the two families had had no contact at all. Jaxson had never once stepped into the Powell family home. No matter the holidays, the Cole side never sent gifts. Every time Sloane came home alone, Silas and Nora would prepare holiday gifts and have her deliver them to the Cole family. When she brought them over, Wren would accept them politely, but Sloane knew she handed them straight to the staff at Cole Estate. Lyra, on the other hand, had a servant throw them directly into the trash right in front of Sloane, telling her not to let her family send that kind of low-class junk again. Jaxson only reminded her not to do something so pointless. In a marriage that unequal, going their separate ways had always been a matter of time. Sloane pressed her lips together and continued, “But we’ll wait until after the baby is born. And I already agreed to Professor Grant—I’m going to Stanford University for advanced study next February.” Ezra was the first to break the suffocating silence. “Going for advanced study is good. Sloane, you’re so outstanding. You shouldn’t be trapped in a marriage. No matter what you decide, I’m backing you.” Sloane smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Ezra.” Silas sighed—a sigh full of endless helplessness and guilt. “Then divorce. It’s all Dad’s fault. People like us… ordinary folks… we really can’t reach a family like the Coles.” Sloane’s eyes burned red. All the pain she’d endured lately suddenly felt small compared to this. She had her family. They were her shield, her support. With them behind her, there was no hurdle she couldn’t get over. Seeing her like that, Nora quickly grabbed a tissue and wiped at Sloane’s reddened eyes, soothing her. In the end, the family still finished this dinner with smiles. At the same time. In the southern suburbs, at Cloud Peak One—an area that had existed for over twenty years, an old-money neighborhood with aging infrastructure. A Bentley slowly stopped at the gate of Villa 12. This villa was the one the Powell family had sold. The car window slid down, revealing a handsome, flawless profile. He looked into the villa. Inside, the lights were blazing. Warm yellow streetlight fell into his eyes, unable to hide the complexity and loneliness there. He pulled his gaze back and lit a cigarette. Then his phone vibrated. He picked up and answered, his voice gentle. “What’s wrong, Liora?” Liora’s sweetly complaining voice came through. “Declan, when are you getting here? I’m starving. And Jaxson won’t even let me eat first.” Right after that, a low, indulgent male voice sounded on the other end. “Who was it that told me to remind her to watch her mouth? Now she’s blaming me?” Liora huffed. “If you’re hungry, eat first. I’ll be there soon,” he said. He hung up. Declan stubbed out the cigarette. Then, one last time, he looked out the window. He raised the window and drove away from the villa.

She is a lone wolf banished from her pack, living alone in the human world and studying the art of healing. He is the young and powerful Alpha Wolf, the fearsome leader whom everyone fears and submits to. Fate brings them together by accident. With a kind heart, she saves the man who is badly injured but still wild. As she treated his wounds with trembling hands, with every touch and every glance, it was as if electricity flowed in the air. At that moment, they looked into each other's eyes, shocked to realize: mate! ……………………………… Yara It’s been too long since I’ve let Annika out to run. With the number of classes that I’m taking and the heavy schedule I’m keeping at the university, there isn’t a lot of time to eat, much less let Annika run. But I have to let her out. She’s becoming more and more restless. ‘School is boring. Humans are boring. I want to do something fun,’ she grumbles in my head. ‘We’re going for a run, Annika. Calm down.’ ‘Next time, don’t wait so long.’ It’s been a couple of months since I took her out. She’s right, it’s been too long. But I know how the packs fight, and I haven’t wanted to risk getting in the middle of a battle, or worse, getting caught by Simon. ‘I’m too smart for him to catch us. Besides, he has no idea that we’re still so close to the pack.’ By ‘so close’ she means two hours, but it is too close. A wolf can run nearly as fast as a car, and when that wolf is on the hunt? Goddess forbid anyone gets in their way. In the past, when I’ve taken Annika out to run, I’ve taken her in the opposite direction of Simon’s pack. Well, technically, it’s not his pack, it’s his father’s pack. Alpha Solomon has been the Alpha of my previous pack for as long as I can remember. His son, Simon, is a nasty piece of work. He loves to fight and he loves to kill. The two of us couldn’t be any more different. I like to heal, and I like to save. For whatever reason, Simon set his sights on me. I don’t know why. I’m an orphan, I’m not ranked. My parents were warriors and while I can fight, I prefer to use my biggest strength, my brain. Simon much prefers to use his strength, his Alpha strength. He doesn’t have to work for it, being genetically predisposed to being larger and stronger than most wolves in the pack, so he doesn’t appreciate what he has, in my opinion. Me, on the other hand, I’ve had to work for everything I’ve achieved in this life, with the help of Alpha Solomon. My parents were killed in a pack war when I was young. Alpha Solomon took over as my guardian and made sure that I was cared for all my life. Maybe it’s because he never had a daughter, or maybe it’s because I’m more like him than his own son, but he’s always looked after me, even to the point of sending me away from the pack when he realized that his son had taken an interest in me. He knows Simon is no good, and he didn’t want me to suffer with his son’s infatuation. When we get to the spot where we like to run, I stop, sniffing the air, making sure there are no other wolves around here. ‘Annika?’ I ask, making sure she’s not smelling something I’m not. ‘No other wolves,’ she says, almost sadly. She misses the companionship of being in a pack. I look around once more, then make my way into the forest before stripping off my clothes and tucking them onto a tree branch, high enough that someone would have to look up to see them. I have a spare set of clothes in the car, just in case anyone steals these. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. Rather than assume that someone was being malicious, I choose to believe that they needed the clothes more than I did. They’re only clothes after all. I let Annika pull the shift, feeling my bones snapping and reshaping after so long of not shifting. It’s more painful than it should be, but soon enough, Annika is shaking out her reddish-brown fur and taking off into the woods. Even though I’m in the background while Annika runs, I can feel how good it is to stretch her legs, to feel her muscles flexing in her body as she runs. It’s quiet tonight, thankfully, and Annika’s paws on the ground are nearly silent as she runs, giving both of us a chance to enjoy the sounds of the forest around us. I’m not sure how long she’s been running when we smell it, blood. She slows, lifting her nose in the air. ‘There was fighting nearby,’ she says in our shared mind space. ‘Do you hear anyone?’ I ask. ‘I’m not sure. I hear rustling, what sounds like a wolf in trouble. Do you hear it?’ she asks as she tilts her head from one side to the other. I do hear it. It does sound like a large animal who is struggling. ‘Annika…’ ‘I’ll be careful,’ she says, knowing that, if I can, I will want to help this animal, even if it is a werewolf. It may not be possible, they may not let me get close enough to help. But I’m going to school to become a doctor for a reason. So, I can help wolves in just this type of situation. Annika slowly and carefully makes her way to the sound of the struggling animal. As we get closer, I can tell that it is a wolf by the soft sounds that it’s making. I can’t figure out what it’s doing though. Maybe it’s caught in a snare of some sort and trying to figure out how to get out. Or maybe it’s just stuck in a hole that one of the packs dug to capture other pack members so they can interrogate them for information. ‘Please be careful, Annika. We can’t afford to get caught.’ “I’ll be careful, Yara.’ When we get close, she begins to belly crawl, slowly making her way closer. When the wind shifts, her whole body goes rigid, the scent of teakwood filling my nose and making my body tingle with unwanted desire. ‘Mate,’ she says softly. ‘WHAT?’ ‘That’s our mate, Yara. Our mate is injured.’ This is terrible. This isn’t just an injured animal, it’s our mate. I can’t leave him out here to die, but I also can’t have him trying to take me back to his pack. I have school, and I’m still in hiding from Simon. It’s takes me a moment too long to realize that the wolf, my mate, has stopped moving around. Annika barely breathes, waiting to see what he’ll do. He chuffs at us, letting us know that he knows we’re here. I’m not sure how I know that he’s not going to hurt us, but something in his chuff seems more like a request for help, than a threat of violence. Annika slowly and carefully makes her way through some bushes until we can see him. SHIT! He’s caught in a bear trap. No wonder he’s still in wolf form. If he shifts, it will rip his leg off. ‘I can’t believe he’s not howling in pain,’ Annika says. She’s right. His leg, where it’s caught in the trap is shattered, no question. ‘You have to help him, Yara. He’s our mate. You have to,” Annika practically begs me. ‘I know. I will, if he’ll let me.’ As much as I hate the idea of being naked in front of this unknown man, even though he’s my mate, I have no choice if I’m going to talk to him and try to help him. I pull the shift, standing in front of the midnight black wolf who is watching me with his beautiful, intelligent green eyes. “Hey, big guy. I see you’re caught in a trap. I want to help you. I know you can’t shift, or you’ll rip that leg off and that looks really painful. Your bones are probably shattered but I want to help you, if you’ll let me,” I say softly, keeping my tone gentle. I slowly approach the wolf. Mate or no, this wolf must be in terrible pain and he’s going to be feeling vulnerable, unable to escape. I extend my hand, letting him sniff me and see that I mean no harm. “I’m a doctor. Well, I’m studying to be a doctor, to both humans and wolves. I don’t want to hurt you. Will you let me see if I can help you?” The wolf sniffs my hand, then nuzzles me. I gently run my hand through his fur, stopping when I come to stiff fur that smells like blood. I don’t want to know what else is in this wolf’s fur, but I can guess that guts and bones are stuck in there as well. He’s obviously been fighting and whether he got separated from his pack, or he was part of a group that intentionally separated out trying to cut off the other pack’s escape, he’s now out here alone without anyone to help him. Well, anyone except me. I look up, trying to see where the moonlight is so I can get a better look at the trap. “Okay, big guy, are you able to move to your right a bit? I need the moonlight to help me see how I can spring this trap and set you free.” He moves to his right, keeping an eye on me as I carefully look over the trap. “Nasty piece of work,” I mumble to myself. “Stupid idiots doing this to each other.” I look back up at him. “Okay, I think I’ve figured it out. Before I spring this trap, you need to know that when I release this, it’s going to hurt, really bad. But then you’ll be free and I can take a look at how badly your leg is broken,” I tell him. I already know it’s shattered. I can see bone splinters sticking out of his skin from above the trap. I move my hands in position. I’m going to need Annika’s strength to help me open this trap. “Try not to bite me and if you can, try not to howl. I have no idea if there is anyone else nearby that might hear you, or try to come hurt you,” I tell him. He chuffs at me again, letting me know he understands. “On three, ready? One… two … three!” I say and push the release with all my strength, Annika pushing with hers as well. I feel the spring give and the trap snaps open. The wolf yelps but it’s quickly cut off as he moves away from the trap, keeping his injured leg off the ground. He turns, looking at me a moment before his bones begin to snap as he shifts back into his human form, his ridiculously gorgeous, tall, muscular form. Chapter 2: Mate Warren I can’t believe that Arric and I got caught in this bear trap. Fucking Brady! I know he’s the one who set this trap. He knew that he and his pack would retreat this way. I raced around, attempting to cut off their escape route, but I’d ended up caught in the trap. I know my pack will come back for me, but they’re in a battle and I’ve been waiting for them to find me for hours. When I wasn’t able to cut Brady off, they continued following his pack, hunting them down like the fucking dogs they are. I knew immediately that I couldn’t shift. While I could use my hands to spring the trap, it was too risky. I wasn’t willing to lose my leg and therefore my rank as Alpha. While the pain is significant, Arric and I are strong Alphas, and I know it's only a matter of time before the pack finds me and gets me out of here. We’d been struggling with a way to get the damn trap off when we’d smelled her. I’ve been looking for my mate for over ten years and now, here, in the middle of the forest, in the middle of an area covered in blood from a recent battle, I find her. Her cinnamon and nutmeg scent instantly calms Arric. Her wolf is a beautiful reddish-brown color and she’s obviously a skittish little thing. Through all of her conversation with Arric, she never once gave us her name. So, as soon as she releases the trap, I step back and begin to shift so I can talk to her. The shift hurts like a fucking bitch, my bones trying to reshape but unable to in my leg because they’re in pieces. I watch her eyes go wide and she scoots back, farther away from me. “Easy there. You just got me out of a trap. I may be a vicious Alpha when I’m hunting my pack’s attackers, but I’m not the kind of man who kills someone who just helped me,” I say. Because she didn’t give me her name, I’m resistant to giving her mine until I know what pack she’s from. “You said you’re a doctor?” “I’m studying to be one,” she says, watching me carefully. “For humans and wolves?” I ask her. It’s unusual and I’m in desperate need of a good doctor in my pack. My doctor needs to retire. I need someone young, someone intelligent, someone like my little mate here, to take over my pack hospital. “What pack are you from?” I ask, not sure I care. I’m at war with so many packs that the odds of her being from one of them are highly likely. Of course, she’s out here on her own, not fighting with a pack, which is also unusual. “I’m not from a pack. I’m a lone wolf. Did you want me to look at your leg?” I notice that she changes the subject away from her. Interesting. Or maybe not, lone wolves are alone for a reason. It makes me wonder what happened to make my mate a lone wolf. “Yes. I would appreciate your medical assessment,” I say, wanting her closer to me. I know her touch will help with the pain. She moves closer and her intoxicating scent fills my nose as I take in her beautiful body. She had looked shy but determined when she’d shifted. Her lean body isn’t as muscular as the wolves in my pack, which makes me think she hasn’t been part of the pack wars for a while. However, the softness of her only adds to the allure. My finger twitch with my desire to touch her. “What’s a lone wolf doing out here all by herself?” I ask. “Letting my wolf out. It’s not easy when you go to a human university,” she says, not looking up at me. I, on the other hand, can’t look away from her. She’s beautiful. The reddish-brown fur of her wolf is now long reddish-brown hair on the woman. It falls over her shoulder as she looks at my leg and I watch as she distractedly flicks it back over her shoulder and out of her way, as if this is a common occurrence in her daily life. “You know there are pack wars going on around here,” I say. She may not be mine yet, but I want her safe. “There are pack wars going on everywhere. If I tried to find someplace where war isn’t happening, I’d have to run in the human areas and risk hunters shooting Annika. You’re going to need surgery on this leg. You have multiple fractures, several being compound fractures,” she says, once again diverting the conversation from herself. I already knew I was going to need surgery. I could see Arric’s bones sticking out of his leg when we were in the trap. “Annika? Your wolf’s name means merciful? How appropriate for a doctor,” I say, still studying her. Her fingers on my leg are gentle. She seems to inherently know where to touch so that it only causes minor discomfort. “Gracious or merciful, yes. And Annika is a wonderful wolf,” she says proudly, still not looking up at me. I’m about to tell her that Arric agrees when I hear my Beta’s howl. My mate’s head snaps up and I smell the scent of her fear as her heart rate spikes. However, she doesn’t run. She looks like she’s about to take a protective stance in front of me. A perfect Luna, pushing her own fear aside to help someone in need. I smile. She’s perfect for me. “Relax, it’s my pack coming back for me,” I tell her. “Oh, well then, that’s good, you need to get someplace safe. Hopefully, they won’t attack me for helping you.” “I’ll protect you,” I say, smiling at her discomfort. My warriors come rushing up, surrounding us as my Beta, Charlie, shifts and snarls at my mate. “Who are you?” I snarl at him, startling both of them. “She’s the one who got me out of the bear trap I was in. Stand down!” I command. I won’t allow anyone to disrespect my mate. He looks at her, then turns back to me frowning before crouching to look at my leg. “How bad is it?” “Bad.” “Okay, let’s get you back to the pack,” he says, getting a couple of warriors to help me up. I wrap my arms around their shoulders and lift my bad leg, gritting my teeth against the pain. “Ready, Alpha?” Charlie asks. “Yeah, let’s go.” Charlie shifts, taking point as guard, and the warriors holding me start to move fast. “Wait!” I say, and everyone stops. “Bring the doctor." "The doctor?" one of my warriors asks. "The girl! Bring the girl," I bark, turning to look at her. I can see that she was ready to slink away. I watch her turn and look behind her as if judging whether or not she can make a run for it. “Don’t even think about it,” I say to her. Charlie’s wolf, Gregor, moves swiftly to her side, nudging her forward with his head. I don’t like how close he is to my naked mate and Arric growls softly. Her eyes flash up to mine. “I should go,” she says. “Like you said, there are a lot of pack wars going on around here. I probably should get home.” “Home?” I ask. I know I sound arrogant. The woman is a lone wolf going to school. Where exactly is home for her? I’m not letting her go back to wherever she wants to go. I’ll never see her again. I know from the little I’ve learned about her that she’ll never let her wolf run in these woods again. And, by the time I healed and went to find her at the university, I’m sure she’d have transferred. She’s too skittish to stay where she might get caught. “School,” she says, clarifying her intended destination. “Hmm, well, as you just reiterated, it’s not safe out here, especially for a lone wolf. What kind of Alpha would I be if I left you to fend for yourself? No, I think you should come with us,” I say and my voice holds no room for argument. She presses her lips together and stands, nodding, and reluctantly following behind me. Chapter 3: Doctor Warren Charlie orders two wolves to flank my mate, keeping her safe, but also making sure she follows my order. ‘Alpha?’ Charlie asks in the mind link. ‘She’s my mate.’ ‘Oh shit.’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Does she know? She doesn’t act like she recognizes you as her mate.’ ‘I’m not sure. She’s a lone wolf, but she’s going to school for human and veterinary medicine.’ He turns and looks at her. “Wow. A smart one.’ ‘Apparently.’ ‘What did she say about your leg?’ ‘That I need surgery.’ ‘Well, no offense but I could have told you that.’ ‘Let’s see what she says when we get to the pack. And find her a shirt. I don’t like her walking around our warriors with no clothes on.’ He takes off, rushing toward our pack lands. When he returns, his wolf carries a shirt to her in his mouth. I watch while she looks up at me. “We’re about to enter my pack. You’re an unmarked, unknown, young female. I thought you might like a shirt to put on to cover yourself,” I say. If she says no, I’ll insist, but I’m hoping she’ll choose to put it on without me having to demand it. Thankfully she does, looking almost relieved. Good. She’s not the kind of woman who flaunts her beautiful body for all to see. When we get back, I’m taken straight to the pack hospital, asking Charlie about other injuries the warriors sustained and what happened to Brady’s pack. He gives me the list of injuries as we walk in, shifting and continuing to talk to me out loud as Dr. Stevens rushes up. “Alpha, let’s get you into a room so we can look at your leg. You’ll need x-rays,” he says. “Yes, I will,” I say. “The girl comes too.” “The girl has a name,” she mumbles. I stop and turn to look at her, her eyes going wide. She obviously hasn’t been around a lot of Alphas or it’s been a long time. She keeps mumbling to herself as if I can’t hear her. It’s kind of cute. “If you’ll give me your name, I’ll be happy to use it,” I say to her. “Yara.” “Yara. I’m Alpha Warren. Come with me,” I say, turning back and letting the warriors help me into the x-ray room. “Who are you? Get out!” Dr. Stevens barks at her as we walk into the room. “She’s with me,” I say, ignoring his blustery attitude that a young woman is in the room with us. She looks at him and I’m pleased when she instinctively moves closer to me. I get settled onto the table and Dr. Stevens sets up the x-ray machine. While he does, I watch Yara. She has a very expressive face. Now that I can see her in the light, I can tell that she’s a pretty little thing. I’m sure I’d think so even if she weren’t my mate, but based on the glances my warriors keep giving her, she’s a natural beauty. Yep, good thing she’s got that shirt on, or I’d have to rip their eyes from their sockets. Because I’m watching her, I see her frown, her head tilting to the side as she watches Dr. Stevens. I crook my finger at her beckoning her forward as Dr. Stevens leaves the room. “What was that look?” I ask, realizing that my mate’s eyes are a grey-green color, almost sage. My eyes are green too, but not as dark as hers. “What look?” I just raise an eyebrow at her. Perhaps the pain in my leg is making me less amenable to small talk. I’m trying to ignore it, but it’s not easy and Arric can’t heal me until the bones are set properly. So, I’m not as patient as I might normally be in this situation. She turns and looks behind her to see if the doctor is there, then leans in, her scent filling my nose. “Why isn’t he taking side views? He only took a view from the top,” she whispers as Dr. Stevens walks back in. He glares at her but puts the x-ray up on the lightbox. “Well, Alpha, your leg isn’t salvageable. I’m afraid we’re going to have to remove it,” he says dispassionately, as if he didn’t just tell me that my entire world was about to collapse around me. I feel my stomach clench and my heart skips a beat. At the same time, I hear Yara suck in air. “Dr. Yara, what do you think?” I ask her. If she has any suggestions for me to save this leg, I’m doing it. I don’t care how much pain it’ll cause me, or how long it will take me to recover. I’ve been an Alpha for twelve years. Before that, I was an Alpha in training. Without my rank, without a pack to lead and protect, I have no idea who I am. She looks at me, then at Dr. Stevens who is glaring at her again. “Doctor?” he asks condescendingly. He’s of the old school mindset where women are nurses, meant to be at the beck and call of a male doctor. It’s another reason he has to go. My nurses are constantly complaining and threatening to leave. “Studying to be, but I would suggest getting x-rays of the sides of the leg before determining if the leg has to be removed,” she says, more confidently than I was expecting. She may not be comfortable around me, or even in the pack, but here, in this hospital room, her confidence is clear. “You heard her, Dr. Stevens. Side x-rays,” I say, seeing her glance at me appreciatively for supporting her. In truth, I’m thankful she’s giving me an option, any option to save my leg. “Young lady, what are your credentials?” he demands. “HER credentials are not in what’s in question, doctor. I gave you the order. Side x-rays! NOW!” I bark. Yara jumps as I yell, but really, this asshole is going to tell me my leg needs to be removed and think that I’m not going to fight it? He continues to glare at Yara while he does the x-rays, and when he comes back, he puts them on the lightbox and turns to her with a sneer on his face. I’m about ready to come off this table and rip that look off his smug face. “What do you think now, doctor?” he asks, as if questioning the truth in her title. Yara walks to the lightbox, looking closely at first one, then the other x-ray. “Do you have the original?” she asks, turning to Dr. Stevens. He huffs, but hands it to her and she sets it up on the lightbox beside the others. She stands back, her head tilting from one side to the other. “Yara?” I ask, unable to stop the flutter of hope in my chest. “We can salvage the leg,” she says, turning to me and making me sigh in relief. “You’ve got to be joking!” Dr. Stevens says. “His leg is shattered!” “Yes, it is. And it will take a lot of time and patience. But Alpha Warren has time, and I have patience,” she says, looking at me. “Do it,” I tell her, putting my future into this woman’s hands and hoping I won’t regret it. Chapter 4: No Sedation Yara I’m not sure if Alpha Warren brought me here because he recognized me as his mate and he didn’t have the strength to reject me in the woods, or if he knew that his pack doctor was well past his retirement years. Either way, I’m here and since I am, I’ll help this Alpha. This is the reason I chose medicine. He doesn't have to lose his leg. It will take a lot of effort on my part, but I'm excited to finally get to work on a werewolf, an Alpha no less. “I’m assuming you want to do this now, Alpha?” I ask him. “Yes, the sooner the better.” “Okay.” I give him the list of items that I’ll need to get his bones put back together properly. “Oh, and we’ll need to sedate you,” I say, looking around the room to see how they have their hospital rooms set up. “Is this where…” “No,” Alpha Warren says. I turn to look at him. “No?” “No sedation.” “Okay then, a nerve block, I’ll just need…” “No,” he says again. “Alpha, please, I’m going to have to wash the area, scrub it clean, I’m going to cut your leg open, pin your skin and muscle back so that I can get to the bones and then slowly put them back where they belong. The pain will be excruciating. You need the nerve block.” “No,” he says again, holding my gaze. I finally look away, mumbling about stupid, stubborn Alphas. When I turn back, he’s watching me with a raised eyebrow as if he heard me. I wasn’t that loud, was I? Crap, I’ve been hanging around humans who can’t hear anything for too long. How much can he hear of my mumbling. The irritable Dr. Stevens comes in, throwing the things I asked for on the table. I jump when I hear a warning growl, looking up to see Alpha Warren glaring at him. “Will there be anything else, doctor?” Dr. Stevens asks. He somehow makes my title, which is the same as his, sound like a dirty word. “No, thank you, doctor. I’ll take it from here.” I go to the sink and begin scrubbing my hands. I’m nervous for a lot of reasons. First, I’m in an unknown pack with an Alpha who is my mate. I have no idea what to expect from him, or really why I’m here. And almost worse than that, he wants me to operate on him while he’s awake! What the hell kind of crazy Alpha is he? “You’re thinking so hard that there’s steam coming out of your ears, Yara. What are so worried about?” he asks me. I turn and look at him over my shoulder. How does he even know I’m worried? Why is he paying so much attention to me? Is this the mate bond? I’ve only had exposure to two Alphas in my life, Alpha Solomon and Alpha Simon. Alpha Solomon is a good Alpha, but he was never this in tune with what I was doing or thinking. And Simon…a shiver of revulsion rolls through me. He was in tune for a whole other reason. The man gave me the creeps. When I finish scrubbing my hands, I turn back to Alpha Warren. I see he’s waiting for a response to his question. “This is going to be very painful. Can I at least give you a local anesthetic? “No, I need to be alert so I can protect my pack,” he says. “You can’t exactly protect your pack with only one leg, Alpha," I snap, my nerves making me bold. “Warren. Call me Warren, and you said you could save my leg.” “I can, IF you are under sedation and I’m not worried about you flinching or yanking your leg away while I’m operating.” “I have a very high tolerance to pain.” That doesn’t surprise me. He wasn’t even whimpering when Annika and I found him. He also has multiple, very faint scars all over his body. The man has been fighting in the pack wars for a long time. He must have a very strong wolf that is able to heal him, over and over. “How strong is your wolf right now?” I ask, getting his leg prepped to wash. “I am very strong, little one,” a deep voice says, and my eyes snap up as Annika begins purring in my head. Warren's wolf is forward, answering for himself. Warren smiles, once again looking as if he knows the effect his wolf is having on mine. Can he hear Annika purring? I shake my head, trying to clear it. I need to focus my attention and NOT on Warren’s incredible teakwood scent. “If I hold the bones in place, one at a time, how long will it take for you to set them?” I ask. “Not long, little one,” he says but it’s practically a purr. “I am a very strong, powerful Alpha wolf.” The way he says it isn’t bragging, but more like preening. My brain flashes an image of a peacock strutting around flaunting his feathers for his chosen mate. “Right,” I say, feeling my body responding to the deep tenor of his voice. It feels like his voice is caressing the nerves in my body, making them all light up with a need I’m unused to feeling, especially when I’m about to do surgery. I look up into the intense, jade green eyes of Alpha Warren. “Are you ready, Alpha?” “Warren,” he corrects. I nod. “Are you ready, Warren?” “Yes, Yara.” I grit my teeth, hating that I know this is going to hurt him, but if he won’t let me at least numb his leg, I can’t help it. I begin washing the blood off his leg, laying a wet cloth over the bloody area, careful that I don’t tug on the bones that are still jutting out. His body is covered with caked blood, guts, and bits of bone, just like I thought it would be. Under the teakwood scent, he smells like war and death. It’s good practice for me, learning how to ignore the smell of battle while I work. I don’t get this kind of training at the university. “Talk to me,” he says through gritted teeth. “What do you want to talk about?” I ask, not looking up as I begin to scrub the blood from his leg. “You know what you are to me?” he asks, although it’s more of a statement than a question. My stomach feels like it’s twisting into knots. "Yes," I say without looking up. "After you have healed, you can reject me. If you do it before, it could impact your healing." I don’t know why the thought of this man rejecting me feels so painful. I don’t even know him. I have no intention of becoming his mate and returning to the packs, at least not until I’m done with school anyway. And this pack is much too close to Simon for my comfort. "Who says I'm going to reject you?" he asks, sounding offended. Now I do look up at him. “But I’m a lone wolf.” “What you are, is my future Luna.” “You don’t even know me,” I say going back to my work. “I know that you’re intelligent, you’re compassionate, you’re brave, and I know that you’re lonely,” he says. The intelligent and compassionate parts I get. That could easily be discerned from me being a doctor and helping him, those two make sense. The brave part I’m not sure about, but the lonely part… “Why do you say I’m lonely?” I ask him, wiping off the blood and turning to get the scalpel. I lift it up, showing him that I’m about to cut into his leg. He nods and continues. “The closest university with a medical school is about an hour north of here. Between here and there, there are many areas where a lone wolf could run, if she wanted to. But instead,” he stops, grunting as I carefully slice into his leg. “Instead, you chose to come to an area that is full of wolves.” He’s partially right. Annika misses being in a pack, she misses the companionship of being with other wolves. Me, I’d be fine living alone the rest of my life, but my wolf likes the smell of the forest and it makes her feel more settled to smell the scent of other wolves. Warren hisses and I glance up at him, watching him take deep breaths to control his pain. “How do you do that?” I ask. “Do what?” “Manage this level of pain?” “Mind over matter. Physical pain will break you mentally if you let it. That’s why people get tortured for information. If you can break the body, you can usually break the mind. My mind is stronger than my body and my body is very strong.” I glance at the scars on his legs again. They're a testament to the accuracy of his words. “You’ve been fighting for a long time?” I ask, cutting and pulling the muscles away from where his bones have snapped into pieces. “Since I became an Alpha, nearly twelve years ago.” “Twelve years?” I exclaim, standing up and looking at him. He’s older than I thought. That eyebrow shoots up again. It’s an arrogant look, but on Warren, its oh so sexy. “I took over the pack when I was eighteen, I’m now thirty, that’s twelve years, little wolf.” “Annika’s not that little,” I say, returning my attention to his leg. “She is compared to Arric.” “Well, Arric is an Alpha wolf. Only another Alpha would be larger than an Alpha wolf,” I say, as I carefully pluck out the first bone. I look at it, checking to see where it goes and then I press it against the bone it snapped off of. “Okay, Arric, let’s see what you’ve got,” I say, carefully holding the bone in place so Arric can begin to heal the fracture. I watch as the bone begins to connect and seal in front of my eyes. “Cool!” I say, forgetting where I am and who I’m with. I’ve been working with humans for so long that I forgot how quickly wolves can heal, especially Alpha wolves. “Is it that exciting?” Warren asks me drolly. I shrug. I know not everyone finds medicine and surgery thrilling, but I do. “It is for me.” “Then it must be my lucky day,” he says, just as there is a knock at the door. I look at the door, then at Alpha Warren, wondering who could possibly be knocking. “I told you I would protect you,” he says smiling. His smile is so beautiful that it nearly takes my breath away. “Come in, Charlie,” he says, not taking his eyes off of me. “Alpha…what the fuck are you doing in here?” he asks angrily, striding quickly to the table and looking at Alpha Warren’s leg, filleted and open on the table. Chapter 5: Surprising News Warren As much pain as I’m in, I’m enjoying watching and talking to my mate. She’s unlike any woman or she-wolf I’ve ever met. Besides the crazy notion that I would reject her, she’s funny. I love how she’s constantly murmuring to herself, talking to herself as if no one else can hear her. I can hear every word and without being marked, it’s a good second option to knowing what’s going on inside that interesting mind of hers. Her face is nearly as expressive as her murmurs. She hasn’t learned or doesn’t care about hiding her facial expressions. Once again, I find it refreshing. She isn’t trying to be coy or impress me because I’m an Alpha. On the contrary, it’s almost as if she’s trying to get away from me BECAUSE I’m an Alpha. It's not going to happen. I’ve searched for this little doctor too long to let her go now. “To answer your question, Charlie, Dr. Yara here is piecing me back together, slowly and painstakingly, which is preferable to Dr. Stevens plan which was to remove my leg,” I say and my Beta’s eyes flash up to mine. He understands the ramifications of what I’ve said. And as my Beta, he’s in line to take over the pack. Thankfully, I trust my Beta and I know that he has no desire to be an Alpha. It’s not an easy job and he makes it easier by being an incredible Beta. “Are you at least numb?” he asks, his lip curling as he looks at what Yara is doing. “Utterly ridiculous Alpha,” Yara murmurs, obviously listening in to our conversation and giving her own opinions of me that she thinks we can’t hear. Charlie looks at me frowning. ‘She knows we can hear her, right?’ he asks in the mind link. ‘Apparently not,’ I say, smiling. “No, no numbing,” I tell him out loud. ‘I might agree with her,’ he says, scowling at me. “Give me the run down on Brady. Did you kill him?” I ask, watching my mate. “Arric, you ready?” she asks softly, all her concentration on her work. “Yes, mate,” Arric answers and Charlie turns to look at her again, leaning over to watch as Arric heals my bone. “Oh shit! That’s fucking awesome!” he says. “I know right,” my mate says, smiling a huge fucking smile at my Beta. Without thinking, I snarl jealously. Both of them jolt and while it fucking hurts that she tugs on my newly healed bone, it doesn’t break again. “Sorry, Alpha,” Charlie says, showing his neck. She looks at Charlie submitting and then at me and her lips press tightly together. She doesn’t approve. I lean forward so she’s sure that I’m talking to her. “You’re MY mate.” “What I am is your DOCTOR. Temporarily. And if you don’t want me walking out of here and letting Dr. Stevens take your leg, I’d suggest that you not pull that shit while my hands are in your shattered leg again,” she snaps. I sit back, having to fight hard not to smile. Damn, I like her spunk. I turn my head to my Beta, not looking away from Yara. “So what happened with Brady?” “When you couldn’t cut him off, he made it back to his pack. Since we know it’s booby-trapped, we didn’t pass his borders.” “Booby-trapped how? Arric, again,” Yara says, still not looking up at us. I tilt my head. Does she think that she’s part of this conversation? I don’t care if she is, I just know that most doctors would pretend to ignore the conversation going on around them. Not my mate, though. She’s not pretending anything. And somehow, she’s multi-tasking, listening to us and still working on my leg, letting Arric know when he needs to start healing a bone. “Spring-loaded wooden stakes buried in the ground,” Charlie answers her, careful now in the way he interacts with her so he doesn't piss me off. “Stupid pack wars, killing for no good reason,” she mumbles to herself. Charlie’s eyes snap back to mine and I smile. “Anywho,” he says, refocusing on me. “We did get one disturbing piece of information.” “What’s that?” I ask. “Alpha Solomon is dead. Simon is Alpha now.” If I hadn’t been so focused on her, I’d have missed it. Her very steady hand slipped. I lift my hand, telling Charlie to stop. I frown as her hand begins to shake. “I’m sorry, Alpha. I need a break,” she says, stepping away and not waiting for me to release her. She pulls off her gloves and rushes from the room. “Follow her. Don’t approach, but make sure she doesn’t leave,” I tell Charlie. “Yes, Alpha.” When they’re gone, I sit back, thinking, which is hard because my leg is throbbing and laying open on the table in front of me. The door opens and Dr. Stevens walks in. “I knew she wouldn’t make it Alpha. I mean…” he stops staring at my leg. “Just look at this mess! I’ll get ready to remove the leg.” “The fuck you will. She’s taking a break and for your information, she’s getting my bones back together. So, get the fuck out of my surgery room, doctor,” I snarl. “Alpha, I must insist…” “What you must do is listen to your fucking Alpha. GET OUT!” I shout. The door opens and Yara rushes back in, seeing Dr. Stevens. “What the hell is wrong with you? You don’t leave a patient in the middle of surgery!” “CHARLIE!” I bark. “Dr. Stevens,” he says much more calmly than I am, holding the door open and gesturing for Dr. Stevens to leave. Dr. Stevens huffs, but walks out. “My apologies, Alpha. Dr. Stevens is right. I shouldn’t leave in the middle of surgery.” She’s not looking at me and I look at Charlie who shrugs. “What did you call me?” I ask, my irritation with Dr. Stevens tainting my tone. Her head snaps up to mine. “Alpha?” I crook my finger at her and she walks over to me. “And what did I tell you to call me?” I ask her, forcing my tone to be gentler as I take her chin between my thumb and forefinger, forcing her to hold my gaze. “Warren,” she says, her dark green eyes nearly making me forget that I’m in a surgical room. “Warren,” I confirm, reluctantly releasing her. “Continue, Dr. Yara.” She nods and returns to my leg. I watch her take a deep breath before picking out several more bones until she finds the one she wants. “Arric?” “Ready, my mate,” he says, beginning to purr which helps her to steady her hand and her nerves. When she does, I gesture for Charlie to return. “Any other serious injuries that Dr. Stevens is threatening to do something ridiculously over the top with?” I ask. “Yours is the worst, Alpha. There are a couple with deep wounds that he’s washing out with alcohol." Yara sucks in air again and stands up straight looking at us. “Not the right course of treatment?” I ask her, raising my eyebrow. I'm starting to trust her medical knowledge much more than my current doctor. “Why wouldn’t he just stitch them up?” she asks. “He said it would take too long and there are too many injured,” Charlie says, watching her closely. I like my Beta, a lot. But until my mate is wearing my mark, I don’t like all the interest he’s showing in her. Yara, however, turns to me. “Don’t you have omegas in your packhouse who sew your clothing?” “Yes,” I say, frowning at her. “It’s basically the same. Yes, skin feels a bit different, it’s a bit tougher than fabrics, but they could do it and not cause the pain that pouring alcohol into their wounds is causing,” she says. I look at Charlie. “Call the omegas, get them over here. Tell Dr. Stevens that he can go.” “But who is going to assess the warriors?” he asks me. “Have the nurses give a diagnosis and recommended treatment, then bring it in here to ask Dr. Yara’s opinion.” “My opinion?” she asks me, obviously surprised. “Yes, Yara. Your opinion. I’m beginning to think that you are the perfect replacement for Dr. Stevens.”

💕💕❤️❤️💖💖😍😍😘😘🥰🥰💕💕❤️❤️💖💖 Our story starts off at an annual neighborhood barbecue to kick off the warm weather. A pretty nice one too. You might think Jim's backyard looks like a landscaping company had been given a dangerous amount of money. But that would be a bad guess. The man actually spends an inordinate amount of time working in his backyard. The grass is clipped short enough to shame every other lawn on the street, even my own. There are raised planters along the fence, featuring herbs and little vegetables growing in tidy rows. A small gazebo sits near the back corner of the yard, strung with warm little lights even though the sun is still out. The whole place smells like charcoal, beer, sunscreen, and summer arriving in Scarsdale. I'm standing near the side of the deck with the boys, holding a paper plate in one hand and a beer in the other, listening to Ron explain why the Spurs are the most frightening young team in the league, as if he had been personally hired as hypeman by their front office. "You don't understand," Ron says, pushing his glasses up his nose. "That team is going to be a problem. A bunch of young guys with veteran pedigree." Ron has been my best friend since we were kids. Always been a big Black dude. Soft around the middle now, but still the same guy who once broke his wrist in a scuffle with some asshole who never gave up a chance to hurl insults at our crew. "I'm just saying," Theo says, leaning against the deck railing, "the Thunder have the MVP." "I'd take the alien any day of the week," Jim adds. "You guys know the Knicks are in the playoff this year too, right?" I ask. Theo lives in New York City now. Managed to end up a big-shot writer. Some actual books, interviews and literature festival shit. Still somehow finds time to come back and hang with us degenerates every summer. So proud of the guy. Jim is our host. Tall, white, and someone we have not known since high school. Doesn't matter though, would still put him down as my emergency contact. Mr. Reliable since the day we met. Honestly, I'm having a damn good time. Feels like one of those moments you don't appreciate enough while you're living it. Then we hear the lovebirds. "You should have told me!" Every guy in the circle looks toward the side gate. Charlie comes in first. Full head of steam. Kate follows right behind him. "You don't just buy a car without talking to your fucking wife first, Charlie!" Charlie turns halfway around, already red-faced. "You wanna do this here?" "No, actually, this would've been a fantastic thing to discuss before you actually bought the damn thing!'" Theo slowly lowers his beer. Ron whispers to me, "Uh oh." Charlie's alleged purchase, which he had been musing about non-stop for the past week, is probably that Nissan Altima he'd been obsessing over. Exactly the kind of car a man buys to announce to the world that his knees still technically work. "We'll talk later," Kate snaps. Charlie walks right into the group circle as if he didn't just stroll into the yard guns blazing. "Hey boys! What'd I miss?" There's a pathetic response of head nods around the group. Charlie has the confidence of a guy who looks like Chris Hemsworth, despite frankly looking like quite the opposite. Biggest gut in the neighborhood. Balding more aggressively than the rest of us thirty-year-olds. Not what you'd call attractive by any stretch of the imagination. "Women," Charlie says, snatching a beer Jim had set down a few minutes ago. "Am I right?" Did he genuinely expect us to back him on that? "Everything okay, man?" I ask. Charlie waves me off. "Yeah, yeah. She's pissed because I made a call without consulting the board apparently." "Marriage tends to involve that kind of communication," Theo mutters. Charlie ignores him. "End of the day," he continues, "I'm the man of the house bringing in the big bucks." Ron blinks. "Brother, you're a trucker who hasn't had a gig in months." Conveniently, it's at this point that Charlie takes a long, long swig from his bottle. Without warning, Lana appears to my left. And the entire atmosphere changes. She has a platter of hot dogs in her hands and this ridiculous apron tied over her clothes. One of Jim's many gag aprons, and this one was designed to look like a shredded female bodybuilder wearing a bikini. The problem was it's probably mean to be worn by a guy, and definitely has a... different effect when worn by my beautiful wife. "Fresh off the grill, boys," she announces. Then she steps a bit closer and wraps an arm around my back. Four years of marriage. She still bumps my heart rate every. Single Time. Lana is objectively gorgeous. Like that real-life, no-filter gorgeous. The kind that catches men mid-sentence, leaving them wondering where they were going with a thought. Her long brown hair spills over her shoulders. She glances up at me with big brown eyes that have this soft, innocent warmth to them that makes people trust her almost immediately. That made me fall in love with her almost immediately. She's got thick thighs from years of beach volleyball and jogging around the neighborhood, paired with a soft little waist. And her ass... Lord Almighty. Lana had the kind of ass that yoga pants were invented for. Full, round, and ridiculous in the most perfect way. Which is a long way of saying that Lana has the kind of body that looked incredible in absolutely anything, and positively insane in one of Jim's stupid sexy aprons. Her outfit underneath wasn't helping either. White t-shirt, little shorts, showcasing just enough of her sun-kissed skin. Normally, she'd be covered up a bit more, but the sun had different plans today. Charlie whistles. This guy. At least every other dude has the decency to steal a quick glance at the goods before grabbing a hot dog. "Damn Lana," he says. "I wouldn't be surprised if that's how you actually looked under there! Feel like taking a trip to a nude beach this year?" Lana's smile tightens. Jim and Theo looked mortified on behalf of all half-decent men. I'm thinking about how many years it's been since I've had a chance to try my left hook. Something... weird also stirs inside me, but I swallow that. "What?" Charlie asks defensively. "I'm joking. Wow. Can nobody take a joke around here anymore?" I should've said something. I know that. But the ugly truth? Some small part of me understands the reaction. Lana and I do get it everywhere. Maybe not as... crass as Charlie, but Lana just elicits reactions. Lana rolls her eyes. "I've already got a man Charlie, and he's the only one allowed to take a peek under the hood." That gets a couple barks of laughter out of the guys, mostly because nobody expected her to fire back like that. And honestly? I don't think she did either. I can tell immediately, spotting the emerging pinks in her cheeks. Lana's always been adorable like that. Gorgeous enough to make every head turn whenever she strolls into a room, but still somehow painfully innocent whenever anyone actually flirts with her. I've seen her actually duck her head more than a few times, laughs awkwardly, and escape the situation as fast as humanly possible. Lucky for me, she usually finds refuge in my arms. But this is Charlie. We've known Charlie for years, same with almost everyone here today. And I'm standing right beside her. So instead of retreating, Lana just keeps blushing while swinging the platter around to hand out the remaining hot dogs. Theo grabs one with this deeply impressed look on his face. "That was cold, Lana." Ron nearly snorts beer through his nose laughing. Meanwhile Charlie blows a raspberry, raises his hands in defeat, and walks toward the screen door of Jim's home. Before he leaves, I spy Lana shooting him a sharp side-eye. She gives me a nervous kiss on the cheek before heading back toward the gazebo where the wives are gathered. Becky is there already. Loud, blond, infectious energy condensed into human form. Been the same way since she was fourteen. Jim's wife and the real estate agent who landed Lana and me into the neighborhood. I am honestly forever grateful. Ron's girlfriend of two months, Maya is sitting beside her. Gorgeous, Black, and curvy in all the ways Ron described his perfect woman way back in Mr. Ventura's Math class. It was his favorite time to do so, because numbers and equations never really caught his eye in the same way a woman could. Theo's girlfriend Jackie wasn't around today, but honestly, the one time Lana and I met her, we both thought she could very well be a runway model. Kate's standing with the women now too, maintaining a death glare in Charlie's direction, even as he enters the back door of Jim and Becky's home. Honestly? Kate was pretty too, a girl-next-door type brunette with a cute face. But she had one of those shrill voices that made every sentence sound like the beginning of an argument. Or maybe living with someone like Charlie changes a woman into that. The party recovered a little bit after Charlie went to the washroom. Music none of the Gen Z's would recognize blaring over the speakers, beer magically disappearing, and Charlie talking about the new Altima way too much. You'd think he was stepping out on Kate and sticking his dick in the car muffler. "Alright everyone," Jim announces. "Game's starting." He looks toward the women. "You ladies good out here?" Becky waved him off immediately. "We're not watching sweaty dudes fight over balls for three hours." "That is a gross reductive take on the game of basketball, honey," Jim responds. "Love you!" Becky replies. The guys started heading inside. I glanced back once before stepping through the sliding door. Lana is laughing at something Maya is recounting. The backyard lights just turned on. Her skin looks golden, and her? Beautiful and happy. And somehow, mine. It's cliché, but many days I really do feel the luckiest guy alive. --- By the time we leave Becky's, the whole neighborhood smells like smoke and barbecue. It's a pretty pleasant smell. I'm holding Wayne's hand. He's been musing about basketball since we stepped onto the street. I understand maybe twelve percent of it. "So who do they play next?" I ask. "Probably the Pistons. But who knows, Cleveland's got a pretty explosive backcourt." That's a little confusing. "They... have bad gas?" Wayne laughs. "Thank you for pretending to care, baby." "I do care." "You care about me caring." "Exactly!" I stare up at Wayne and smile. My handsome guy. He isn't the type most women immediately notice. But that's part of why I fell for him. Tousled dark hair. Glasses, and a sweet smile. Pretty athletic for someone that sits behind a desk all day, thanks to his gym membership and history on various sports teams back in high school and college. He's someone people accidentally underestimate before they get to talking to him. We met in high school. We were each other's first loves. First everything, now that I think about it. I heard horror stories earlier from Maya about the modern dating scene, and every single one made me want to kiss Wayne right on the mouth for not being a raging psychopath. Pretty low bar to be honest, but he clears it pretty easily. After a minute, we're at our front door, and he's still talking about defensive matchups as I get the key in the door. I've mostly been watching his adorable face while he talks. He seems to notice now. "What?" he asks, tilting his head. "You're cute when you ramble." "I thought I was always cute." I giggle a little. When we step inside, he stretches and groans. "I need a shower. I smell like something fierce." I step closer. "Maybe I could... join you?" I place a hand on his chest. "You know I love the way you smell after a long day." That gets me the smile. A very real one. "Gross! You still like my musk?" "Always." We kiss. It's slow, warm, comfortable. "Alright, Lana, I'll meet you in the shower." He plants another gentle kiss on my forehead. "Oh, and can you grab towels from my office? I folded all the laundry yesterday after I got home. You left the basket in the hallway." I stare at him. "Marry me again." "No." "But why?" I look up at him and pout. "That shit was expensive, babe." I laugh and head toward his office, as I hear him sprint up the stairs. Wayne's office is... chaos. There are open books strewn everywhere, papers and important-looking documents covering most of the hardwood, and used coffee mugs lining his desk. I tiptoe around a stack of... everything towards the laundry basket near his desk and grab a folded towel. Then I notice the glow. His laptop is half-open. I should close it. But a part of me is curious. All these years and I always go out of my way not to even peek at his screen or his phone. Well, Wayne's not around now and I'm feeling a little naughty. I lift the lid. Just enough to read the title of the paused video: Cuckolding Wife drenches her Bull's Cock in front of hubby I stare. Then stare harder. I know it's porn. Honestly? The fact that Wayne watches porn doesn't shock me. Men watch porn. I don't, but I always assumed he did. But I've never heard these terms before. The paused video shows this gorgeous, fit blond riding a gigantic... thing while the cameraman is off to the side. That thing is... huge. Huge like I don't even know how she's fitting that inside of her. I feel something weird twist in my stomach. But I keep staring at the screen for another few seconds. The more I look, the more my stomach twists itself into nervous little knots. Maybe I'm misunderstanding something. Maybe it's one of those weird internet titles that doesn't actually mean what it sounds like. Maybe this is some bizarre ad that came up by accident while Wayne was browsing his actual porn? Honestly, that has to be it. Because the alternative makes absolutely no sense. Wayne loves me. When we're both home he practically follows me around the house like an affectionate golden retriever. There's no world where my husband secretly gets off on the thought of me sleeping with another guy. Right? I shut the laptop back to halfway. Then immediately open it again. My brain refuses to let it go. I don't know if I'm angry, or something I just don't understand yet. Wayne and I tell each other everything. Or... at least I thought we did. Sure, we don't sit around discussing his porn preferences over breakfast, but still. My chest tightens. Then another thought hits me. Oh no. Oh no, oh no. Is he unhappy? The idea lands so hard it physically hurts. I look down at myself. My body, my arms, my thighs. I'm pretty fit too, but the woman in the video looks nothing like me. Blond. Huge, enormous knockers. She also looks like she goes to the gym twice a day. I suddenly feel embarrassed standing alone in Wayne's office for reasons I can't fully explain. No. No, stop. This is Wayne. My Wayne. The man who still grabs my ass in the kitchen every time he walks by, like a kid in a candy store. The man who still gets flustered if I change in front of him too slowly. So what the fuck is this? I pick up the laptop. My heart is pounding now. I head upstairs at a brisk pace, anxiety creeping higher with every step. The second-floor hallway is dim except for the bathroom light spilling across the floor. Steam curls lazily through the cracked door. Wayne's inside humming to himself horribly off-key. For one stupid second, I almost turn around. Maybe I should just close it back up? Pretend I never saw it. But then another image flashes into my head. My husband is watching me. I'm on the bed with... that enormous thing from the video. What. The. Fuck. I push the door, striding in the bathroom with purpose. "Hey beautiful," Wayne calls from behind the shower curtain. "You ready to join me for some-" I cough, loudly. Then the curtain shifts. Wayne peeks out with wet hair hanging into his eyes and the easiest smile in the world. Until he sees the laptop. The smile dies. His eyes widen. Which tells me that whatever this is? It's his. He knows I've seen his porn. A horrible little pit forms in my stomach. I hold the laptop up slightly. My voice comes out calmer than I actually feel. "Wayne," I start. "What's a cuckold?" --- She caught me with my pants down. And everything else too, actually. That is the first dumb thought I manage after Lana leaves the bathroom with me standing in the shower, and her question hanging ominously in the rising steam. What's a cuckold? There are things I'd much rather be caught by my wife for. A bank robbery, maybe. A small-scale fraud scheme involving Canadian maple syrup. But not porn. And I don't mean regular porn either. Like the boring, forgivable stuff a man could shrug away. No. I think this morning I decided to dive into a more hardcore category to get a quick one off before heading over to barbecue. But I swear to God I at least closed the lid on that thing!? I turn the shower off and stand there for a few seconds, dripping onto the tile, listening to the house. Nothing. No slamming doors. No drawers being opened with violent purpose. Even after seeing my worst shit, Lana is still being the angel she is. I towel off with my old clothes and put on clean boxers and an old t-shirt I had grabbed before starting the shower. My brain keeps spiraling into catastrophe after catastrophe, each one somehow worse than the last. One minute I'm imagining Lana crying in our kitchen, the next I'm picturing lawyers dividing up furniture while I try explaining to Ron that yes, technically porn did end my marriage. The bedroom light is off when I step inside. Lana is in bed, lying on her side, facing away from me. The blinds are open just enough to let in the streetlights from outside. Thin orange bars cut across the wall and the dresser. Normally, our bedroom feels safe and warm. A little messy, of course. A little lived in. Tonight, it feels like a sterile, hospital waiting room. I stand near the doorway for far too long. Lana does not turn around. "Lana?" My voice comes out carefully. "I'm thinking, Wayne." Okay, right. I am in trouble. I get into bed as gently as possible, which is ridiculously futile because the creaky IKEA frame shifts noisily under me, and I knew it would do that. Lana's shoulders tense. I stare at the ceiling. A few minutes pass, and I hear a car drive by outside. Then another. Somewhere down the block, a dog barks once, settles his affairs, and stops. I fold my hands over my stomach. Unfold them. Fold them again. "Do you want a divorce?" she asks. The question punches the air right out of my lungs. "What? Absolutely not!" She still doesn't turn around. "Do you want to see other people?" "No, babe. I don't." "Sleep with other women?" "No. Lana, no." My voice cracks on her name. That finally makes her move. She rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling as well. Her face is in profile, mostly shadow, but I can see wetness in her eyes.