Charlie Smith Alfred Justina Sammut ad: 💖⚡Fresh Plot, Instant Obsession!👉👉

💖⚡Fresh Plot, Instant Obsession!👉👉

"F*ck. Your p*ssy's even tighter than your sister's." My husband's d!ck was buried inside my sister. She moaned, then looked right at me through the door and smiled. I knew what that smile meant: See? Mine again. Growing up, I was always the backup daughter. My sister would smile and take my toys. My dresses. Then she got sick, and took one of my kidneys. But now? Now she was taking the only man I'd ever loved. Something inside me shattered. I ran to a bar. Drank until the world blurred. Drunk and furious, I did something reckless—I went home with a stranger. An Alpha. He pinned me down. Drove into me relentlessly. Thick. Deep. Again and again. I swore—hand to God—it was the most incredible s*x of my life. But when morning came, I ran. That kind of crazy? Once was enough. I went home, signed the divorce papers, and moved out the same day. First day in the new place. I was hauling boxes up the stairs when I heard a door open behind me. It was my new neighbor. I turned around. It was him—the Alpha from last night. He leaned against the door, that same smirk playing on his lips. "New neighbor, huh?" "Guess we'll be seeing each other a lot more often." ----------------------------------- Chapter 1 Rejecting Me for His Ex's Photo Christina's POV Slap! My head snapped to the side, vision blurring, skin burning as if someone had pressed a brand into me. I looked up to see Niall's furious eyes. My fated mate just hit me. Three minutes ago, I was daydreaming about redecorating this ridiculously expensive pack house. Two minutes ago, I accidentally knocked over a framed photo in his bedroom. A picture of my sister. Now blood rushed in my ears— sharp, humiliating. Akira roared inside me, a storm of betrayal that stole my breath. "You broke it!?" Niall spat. "This is the only picture I had with Beatrice. Your jealousy makes me sick." "Are you fucking insane?" I gritted my teeth. "No, you're the one who's twisted!" he roared."I already agreed to marry you, what more do you want? Beatrice left because of you! Because you forced the mate bond on me!" The hatred in his eyes cut deeper than any slap. "She was your sister! And now you covet what was hers? You won't stop until every trace of her is erased, will you?" He said in anger as he shoved me backward, into the coffee table. I landed on the shattered glass. Pain lanced through my palm, and my blood smeared across Beatrice's perfect smile. How bitterly fitting. My cheek throbbed. My hand was bleeding. But nothing hurt more than the realization that my so-called mate had never loved me. "It wasn't me," I said, one final attempt at reason. "I never forced this mate bond on you. I never asked her to leave." Logically speaking, I understood why someone might blame me. On my eighteenth birthday, I shifted and realized Niall was my fated mate.Stupidly, I wrote it all down in my diary. I planned to tell him when he returned from his business trip. If he couldn't accept me, I was prepared for rejection. But Beatrice found my diary and made it public. Privacy meant nothing to her. She broadcast my diary to everyone in the Crescent pack . I was publicly shamed as the pathetic spare who dared reach above her station for her perfect sister's Alpha. Then Beatrice graciously left for abroad, leaving behind a letter saying she'd discovered my secret and decided to let go and let him be mine. Her generosity was as real as someone being generous with a credit card that wasn't hers. And I was the villain who drove away The Crescent Pack's perfect princess. To my family, I was a long-neglected player suddenly promoted to the first string—a strategic shift I was now duty-bound to appreciate. My parents didn't truly care which daughter married Niall, only that the pack alliance was sealed. Even if Niall had literally ripped my heart out, my parents would've handed him napkins to clean up. It was as if my parents had always hated me. No matter how much I outperformed Beatrice in training, they always made excuses for her and found fault with me. I was bitter, ungrateful, someone who couldn't appreciate her dear sister. My fingers clenched around the engagement ring. This pathetic symbol of our joke mateship. Hot tears blurred my vision. I blinked them back fast. I bolted for the door and got out before the tears came. Niall grabbed my wrist to stop me. "Clean it up." "What?"I stared him in disbelief, needing to confirm I'd heard him right. "You broke the photo frame. Clean up the pieces." Ice-cold command. Too bad I never was good at taking orders. "No." I lifted my chin. Zero compromise. His jaw clenched. "You sure you want to do this, Christina?" "Yes. I said no." I stared him down without flinching. If love meant grinding my self-respect into dust, then fuck love. The air between us snapped, tension rising like a storm. He leaned in, fury blazing. "Last chance. Disobey me, and I'll end this bond right here—" "We are over," I cut in. Shock froze his face. For a moment,the air went still. He hadn't expected me to actually say it. I yanked my arm free, breath hitching as hope for escape flared—only for him to seize me again, his grip bruising, his eyes burning with something close to hatred. "This is on you, Christina!" Niall snarled, his tone that of a sworn enemy rather than the mate fate had chained me to. "I, Niall Granger, Alpha of the Frostpelt Pack, reject—" "Shut the hell up!" I snapped. If anyone was ending this bond, it would be me. My gaze locked onto his, unflinching. "You don't get to reject me. I reject you, Niall. Now accept it." The world seemed to crack in half. Akira howled inside me, a keening wail of loss, while searing agony tore through my chest as the bond unraveled thread by thread. His jaw tightened,but he forced the words past clenched teeth. "I accept your rejection. Now clean up your mess and fix the damn photo." My hands shook as I picked up the shattered frame, shards biting into my skin, my blood smearing across the glass. I tore the picture down the middle, ripping his face away from my sister's, as if severing every last tie. Without hesitation,I swung my hand and slapped him hard across that infuriatingly handsome, arrogant face. The crack echoed between us. I leaned in, letting him see the fire in my eyes. "Now," I hissed, "we're done..." The silence was absolute. My palm stung, but oh, the satisfaction almost dulled the pain in my chest. Niall staggered back, shock flashing in his eyes. It wasn't from pain, but from realizing the docile girl he'd despised no longer existed. I smiled coldly. "Goodbye, Niall. Go worship your shrine to Beatrice." And I walked out of that suffocating hell, head high. I would rather drown in my own tears than let him see one more drop. When I reached the parking lot, the cold night air hit my face, but overwhelming pain crashed over me like a tidal wave. Fuck, no one ever told me that breaking the mate bond would be this excruciating. It felt like having my heart sliced up and served to Hannibal Lecter.He'd probably enjoy it with a nice Chianti and some fava beans. I curled up in the driver's seat, cold sweat streaming down my face. Akira lay weakly inside me, whimpering,"It's so fucking strange!Like someone reached into my gut and tore something out with their fist." I couldn't agree more. I wanted to find my mother,she would definitely know how to ease this kind of pain. Or maybe any creature in pain instinctively thinks of their mother. As I hesitated between sending a mind-link or making a call, my phone vibrated. My eyes were so blurry that I fumbled to swipe and answer. "Chrissy, you must be insane!" My mother screamed."How dare you humiliate Niall like this! The pack alliance is ruined!" "Mom, he rejected me," I said weakly. "As in, formally. Also, he hit me. So there's that fun detail." "He... what?" For once, she sounded stunned. My dad's voice cut in, "Don't be dramatic. After everything Beatrice sacrificed for you? You will apologize to Niall immediately and beg him to marry you, or you're no longer welcome in our territory!" He hung up before I could respond. I stared at my phone in bewilderment, my father's words echoing in my head. Not "Are you okay?" Not "We're coming to get you." Just threats about banishing me from the pack. Why was it that no matter how hard I tried, I still couldn't earn even a sliver of their approval? When I was rejected by my mate and dying from the pain, all my parents could think about was the pack alliance and my fucking sister who had disappeared God knows where! Beatrice never had to do anything, yet she was their precious jewel. So, this is it? On the day I severed the mate bond with my fated mate, I finally realized that my parents had never loved me. It shattered my last remaining, pathetic and pitiful longing for my parents' love. Enough. I was done trying to earn love that would never be given. I was done being the convenient backup daughter. I was taking back the self-respect I'd lost long ago, and I was breaking free of this engagement—no matter the consequences. Chapter 2 Stop the Mourning Christina's POV The drive to my rarely-used apartment was a blur. The one I hadn't set foot in for months ever since Niall's mom invited me to live at their packhouse and plan the wedding. What a joke that turned out to be. As I reached my door, I fumbled with the security pad. Pain traveled through every inch of my body, and I gritted my teeth, refusing to faint pathetically on my doorstep. Wrong code. Again. And again. Frustration boiled over. I kicked the door with my heel, a pitiful gesture that accomplished nothing except sending pain shooting up my leg. Of course. The universe had decided today was the day for my starring role in a cosmic joke. I slumped against the wall and slid to the floor as sobs tore from my throat. Why did everyone always favor Beatrice?! Hadn't I suffered enough? Second place in my family, just a replacement in my own mate's heart? Just as I was nearly choking on my own cries, a deep voice came from behind me. "That's my door you're assaulting." Great. Another fucking problem. "What?" I snapped, turning to glare. The man standing there was... devastating. Not pretty-boy handsome like Niall, but ruggedly masculine. Tall and powerfully built, with sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and those piercing blue-gray eyes that seemed to see right through me. He looked like the kind of Alpha who didn't just win battles but erased his enemies from history entirely. "If you're planning to kick it in, I'll need your insurance information first," he said flatly. My throat went dry. "I—I'm so sorry. I thought this was my apartment." He tilted his head, gaze unreadable. "Rough day?" My face burned with awkwardness. Great. Rejected, injured, and now looking like a complete idiot in front of the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen. "You could say that." I muttered, hauling myself up and attempting dignity while looking like a raccoon caught in a dumpster fire. "Easy there, hurricane." He raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the door across the hall. "That would be yours, I believe." Hurricane? I should've been annoyed, but the way he said it made my stomach flutter strangely. "I know where I live." "Could've fooled me." "Fine," I mumbled, attempting to smooth down my wreck of a dress. "Thanks for the geography lesson." "Need help with your door code?" "What I need is for this day to reboot like a malfunctioning iPhone, but thanks for the offer." I walked toward my door, feigning composure and grace. As if the crazy woman who'd just had a breakdown wasn't me at all. While I punched in my door code, I could feel those intense eyes watching my every move. Come on, fingers, work faster. Beep—finally. I glanced back. He was still watching, arms crossed. "Sorry about your door," I muttered. "I'll survive." I closed my door and pressed my back against it. Well, that was humiliating. My devastatingly handsome neighbor probably thought I was a lunatic, and honestly? He wasn't wrong. Wait—devastatingly handsome?Fuck. I really was losing it. I dropped onto my bed, exhausted. Akira was barely alive inside me, hurt by rejection, her once-sharp senses now dulled. "We'll heal," I whispered to her. No response.Great. Even my own wolf was giving me the silent treatment. I don't know when I started losing myself for him. Maybe it was the first time he looked at me like I wasn't enough. I bleached my hair until my scalp burned raw because he called me boring with "mousy brown hair." I shoved my feet into heels that carved blisters into my skin, only for him to sneer, "Why are you walking like a newborn giraffe? Beatrice could run in heels." I dragged myself into the kitchen before dawn, cooking meals I never ate, ironing shirts that weren't mine. When the pack humiliated me, he didn't protect me. He only reminded me I should be grateful to "make do." I realize now—he never truly saw me as his mate. His one and only. I was his project. His servant. A placeholder until he found what he truly wanted. For four long years, I stayed. The weight of that truth crushed me. My chest ached with every breath. How pathetic, that I poured everything into a man who never even tried to know me. My exhausted heart needed rest. I curled into the wet pillow and let the darkness take me. Two days slipped away before I woke again. I called gently to Akira, "Are you okay, Akira? Can you hear me?" Akira stirred weakly in my mind, "Chrissy, I feel off. I can't smell anything anymore." I froze, trying to catch any scent. Nothing. "Maybe it's just temporary from all the pain," I said to Akira, not knowing if I was comforting her or myself. "It might come back later." Her tail drooped listlessly in my mind. Not being able to smell meant she couldn't identify potential mates—a devastating loss for any wolf. But there was nothing we could do about it right now. I let her rest and checked my messages. Oddly, my parents hadn't bombarded me with mind-links or calls since their initial outburst.This engagement had been their golden ticket to an alliance with The Frostpelt Pack. A marriage alliance with one of the North's top three packs wasn't something they'd abandon easily.Neither of us daughters could inherit leadership of The Crescent Pack, but marrying a powerful Alpha?That ensured our pack's future prosperity. Suspicious. Part of me wondered if Niall had said something to keep them at bay. Maybe even felt guilty? Unlikely. More probably planning his next move. The doorbell shattered my pity party. And it didn't stop ringing. For five minutes. I groaned. Horrible social interaction. Dragging my carcass to the door, I pulled it open. Ysolde Carlisle, who was my best friend and the only person with legal rights to yell at me, stood there with narrowed eyes and two bags of takeout. Then her gaze landed on my face. "What the hell happened to you? For real?" "I'm giving my face a remodel—symmetry was getting stale," I said with a lazy shrug, even though every muscle in my face ached. She wasn't buying that crap for a second. She reached out, tilting my chin gently to inspect the split skin on my cheek. "Who laid hands on you?" "C'mon inside," I muttered, hurrying her along—didn't need the whole block gossiping about my beat-up face. The door slammed shut, and I collapsed into her arms, all the fight draining out of me. Eventually, one word fell out, quiet and broken. "Niall." Ysolde froze solid. "No fucking way," she hissed. "Niall? Your mate Niall? The poster child for diplomatic perfect behavior?" I nodded, my eyes burning. "Tell me everything. Not a single detail left out." So I did. Beatrice's photo. The slap. The formal rejection. By the time I finished, Ysolde looked ready to commit murder. "That bastard," she hissed. "And over what? Your psycho sister who isn't even here? I swear to Goddess, Chrissy, Beatrice could be on another continent and she'd still find a way to ruin your life." "Maybe it's for the best. At least I found out what kind of mate he really is before we got married." My stomach growled loudly. Ysolde raised an eyebrow and lifted the takeout bags."Good thing I came prepared." Between bites, I frowned. "Don't you think it's weird my parents haven't called? They wanted this wedding so badly, but now... nothing." Ysolde shrugged."Maybe they're plotting. Your father isn't the type to give up his plan easily." After dinner, Ysolde pushed me into the bathroom to shower while she cleaned up. I stood under the hot water, trying to wash away four years of delusion. Through the bathroom door, I heard her on the phone. I caught bits and pieces. "Complete asshole." "What a dick." "You won't believe what he did to her—" She was probably talking to Zane Carlisle,her brother.Unlike Niall,Zane treated women with respect. The way Ysolde so instantly,so fiercely chose my side made my throat tight.She believed me without hesitation.When everyone else would side with Niall, she'd declared war on my behalf. This wasn't something small.Going against Niall's pack could create serious problems for her family's small pack. I wrapped myself in a towel and sighed. Why couldn't my parents love me like that? Suddenly,I was hit by waves of excruciating pain,each one stabbing through my abdomen. Each surge burned through my neck where Niall's mark still lingered. I collapsed on the bathroom floor with a scream. Ysolde burst through the door. "Chrissy! What happened?" I could barely form words. "Pain... killer... please..." Ysolde helped me up and rushed out to get medication. I clutched my stomach, biting my lip to keep from screaming again. This was different from rejection pain. Akira howled in anguish inside me. "It's mate betrayal," she whispered weakly. "What? But I already rejected him—" "The mark on your neck hasn't fully faded," Akira explained through our pain. Seriously? He rejected me and immediately ran off to fuck someone else? Couldn't even wait for our bond to completely break before shoving his dick into another woman? Ysolde returned with painkillers and water. After I swallowed them and the worst waves subsided, she sat beside me, fury blazing in her eyes. "That bastard," she snarled. I nodded weakly. "You know what?" Ysolde stood up. "Fuck him. You shouldn't have to suffer alone through this pain, he needs to get a taste of his own medicine." I stared at her in confusion. "Get dressed," she commanded. "Niall's dick isn't the diamond, and it sure as hell isn't worth mourning. We're going out to find you someone who doesn't need his ex's photo to get it up." I blinked. "I've been rejected and your solution is... clubbing?" She threw clothes at my face."My solution is reminding you that you're Christina fucking Vance, and one Alpha's rejection doesn't break you." I stared at her. Every part of me wanted to crawl back into bed and disappear. But lying here wallowing while Niall was probably celebrating with someone else? Fuck that! "Fine," I said, dragging myself up."But if I collapse on the dance floor,you're carrying me home." Ysolde grinned wickedly. "Trust me, you won't need rescuing tonight." Chapter 3 The Sister He Really Wanted Christina's POV "Don't you think I look like a hooker? Do I really have to wear this?" I said, tugging at my extremely short skirt that would show my panties if I so much as sneezed. "Sweetheart, it's not vulgar—it's daring sexy," Ysolde said, dressed like a mafia queen and standing tall against the icy wind in her five-inch heels. "Plus, don't cheapen yourself like that." "But isn't this a little too—" I didn't even finish before a brutal gust of wind slapped me across the face. I immediately wrapped my sinful fur coat tighter around myself and curled up like a frozen prawn. Ysolde let out a groan."Chrissy, come on. We're going to Highrise City's most exclusive pack club, not an Arctic expedition." "I'm just glad I won't be hospitalized for hypothermia tonight, thanks," I snapped back. She rolled her eyes. "Don't you already have a fur coat? You know, the one that comes naturally?" she said, clearly questioning why a werewolf was complaining about the cold. I bit back, "Because I'm in human form right now!" I'd thought we'd have to wait in line like everyone else. That was the whole reason I wore this fur coat. But clearly, I had underestimated Ysolde. She had no intention of following the rules. With the ease of someone who'd done this a thousand times, she slipped a rolled-up bill into the bouncer's hand, her palm casually grazing his rock-hard chest like a Bond girl who'd forgotten her martini. Ten seconds. That was all it took. We were in. Ysolde was the kind of beautiful that made men forget their names and girlfriends in two seconds. We sailed into Luna's Eclipse. It was the most exclusive club in Highrise City where rich werewolves played politics over overpriced drinks. The place was thick with heat, perfume, and the effervescent scent of champagne. I ripped off my coat the second we stepped inside, only to be met with a glare from Ysolde that said it all: Are you trying to humiliate me? She handed her coat off to a passing server with a flick of her fingers, like she'd personally hired the man. I tried to copy her moves. Failed miserably. Nearly dropped my purse. "Moon Goddess!" I gasped, eyes glued to the menu like it was robbing my credit card. Ysolde gave me a sideways glance and scoffed. "Wait, Niall never spent money on you? What a cheapskate." "Relax. Tonight's on me." I breathed a sigh of relief.Considering I'd been rejected by my mate, had my wedding canceled, and my parents were planning to banish me from the territory to become a rogue, I needed a fortune to buy scent-masking spray to prevent Niall from hiring someone to kill me. Price tags aside,the view was elite—rising young Gammas, handsome future Alphas, and a swarm of finance bros who looked like they gave TED talks on dominating Wall Street in custom suits. Honestly, it was a room full of show-offs and wannabe flirts, all hiding under the dim lighting. We found a table near the bar and a bartender locked eyes on us. Well. He was hard to miss—tall, sculpted features, sleeves rolled to the elbows just enough to show off well-trained forearms. He shouldn't be mixing drinks. He should be shooting Dior fragrance ads or modeling sexy men's underwear. Or at the very least starring on the shifter romance novel cover. Maybe that's why this club was so expensive,even the staff had to be perfect. "Two 75s, whiskey," Ysolde ordered before I could even find the cheapest drink on the menu. "Make it strong." And of course, she didn't forget to show her perfect smile,chin tilted just enough to say "Oops, didn't mean to flirt." The bartender reached effortlessly for the gin. "Rough night?" "More like a rejection-level disaster," she said, casually pointing her thumb at me. "And it's wrapping up real soon." I glanced at her. "Thrilled that my personal life is now public broadcast." She patted my hand."Sweetie, this place runs on romantic catastrophes. Without bad decisions, no one would be buying drinks." Then she turned away and melted into the crowd, flipping into Social Queen Mode like someone had hit a switch. In under ten seconds, she completed a visual sweep before spinning back around and pointing toward the edge of the dance floor. "Okay, listen. You need a rebound. Target A: Six-foot-two Manhattan finance bro, suit worth more than your monthly rent, haircut that speaks 'my therapist costs more than your car.' He'll wine and dine you, then ghost you for his stock portfolio." I shook my head. "Nope." Her eyes flicked to a new direction. "Target B: tortured Parisian artist type. Looks like he subsists entirely on cigarettes and existential dread. He'll write poetry about your eyes, then ask to 'borrow' money for art supplies that somehow always end up being weed and takeout.'" "Pass." She sighed, then pointed again."Fine. Target C: sensitive musician with a 'promising EP dropping next month.' Translation,you'll be supporting him financially while he finds himself through his craft for the next decade." I groaned into my hands. "Ysolde, please." She didn't back down. "Chrissy, you cannot sit here like a decorative wall gecko. Tonight is about rebooting your life, not stitching up emotional wounds." Just as she geared up for a fourth round of rebound recommendations, she suddenly froze. It was like someone had hit mute on her entire system. Then, far too casually, she said, "Hey, want to hit the bathroom?" I narrowed my eyes. "No?" "...Or maybe let's move tables? The vibe here's weird." Her smile was tight. Weird vibe? We'd only been sitting for ten minutes, and we just ordered drinks.By Ysolde's standards, we were barely warming up. Then I followed her gaze. A half-private booth. Niall. He had his arm draped around a woman. Her head rested on his shoulder, makeup flawless, smile polished and effortless. But that wasn't the worst part. They were kissing. Deep, hungry kisses. The woman was perched on his lap, her dress riding up, their hands roaming each other's bodies as if they were seconds away from tearing each other's clothes off right there in the club. My stomach lurched. The sight was revolting, obscene. I didn't need more details about who she was. That face, I would never forget it. Four years ago, the woman generously "gifted" me her boyfriend as my fated mate, left a heartfelt letter, and disappeared overseas.Now here she was, brazenly draped across my mate's lap, turning the whole club into their personal cheating stage. I had told myself I was over it. We'd broken up. It was done. Time to move on. Until I heard what came next. "Honestly, I didn't think she'd completely break down over a picture frame." Beatrice's voice dripped false pity as she pulled away from their kiss. "I put that photo where she'd see it. She still doesn't know about your 'business trips' to Europe for me. Time she got a hint, don't you think?" She looked up at Niall adoringly. "Darling, your performance was perfect. Even I almost believed you cared about the photo instead of covering our affair." Niall chuckled. "I had to act upset. She spends every day trying to be perfect for me. If she knew all her effort still couldn't compete with you, she'd completely lose it." Beatrice laughed softly, patting his chest. "Don't worry. Knowing Chrissy, she's probably still trying to fix things. She always believes if she just tries hard enough, people will see her worth." "The harder she tries, the more pathetic she looks." Beatrice smiled. "And I just 'happened' to return home. My parents don't know anything. She ended things herself, so you're blameless." Niall nodded. "I talked to your parents. The wedding's still on—just a change of bride." Beatrice smiled triumphantly. "Perfect ending, right? I never gave up on you. Just waited for her to step aside." She leaned closer. "You know how she tried copying everything about me? The bleached hair, the style changes, even how she talks? God, it was hilarious watching her pathetic attempts." Niall snorted. "Like a discount knockoff." "Though I thought fated mates were supposed to be deeply in love?" Beatrice's voice turned curious. "Aren't you two supposed to be...?" Niall's face darkened. My hands shook so badly I could barely hold my drink. The pieces were falling into place, and Akira whimpered inside me. "He's been cheating long before the rejection," she whispered weakly. "That's why we're in such agony." The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. When there's infidelity after being marked, intimacy with another outside the mateship causes extreme pain to the partner. But distance can mask immediate betrayal pain,it festers in the bond instead. All those "business trips" abroad. All those times he visited Beatrice. The mate bond had been slowly deteriorating, accumulating damage we couldn't feel because of the distance. When Niall rejected me, that rejection pain combined with months of accumulated betrayal trauma. It was destroying us both. No wonder I felt like I was dying. I wasn't just dealing with rejection. I was dealing with months of hidden betrayal finally surfacing all at once. Beatrice noticed Niall's dark expression and quickly backpedaled. "I'm just teasing, silly. I know I'm the only one in your heart." The words stung like humiliation dressed up as banter. It was the kind of punchline you'd expect at a comedy club, not from your sister and your mate. Funny, isn't it? How the people who know you best are the ones who can cut the deepest. Akira stirred inside me, her growl low and hungry for payback. Ysolde was pleading with me to stay calm, to not do anything stupid. But her voice was nothing but background noise. I wasn't the same Christina who swallowed her pride for praise anymore. I slipped free from Ysolde's grip and turned to the bartender."Your best champagne. Put it on Niall Granger's tab." The bartender handed me the bottle. With the bottle in hand, I strode straight toward Niall and Beatric—their embrace so tangled, so theatrical, it looked like a scene from a midday drama. I raised the bottle and smashed it, with all my strength. The glass shattered with a sharp crack. Niall's forehead split instantly, a thin line of blood tracing down between his brows. Chapter 4 Mr. Helpful Neighbor Christina's POV Beatrice screamed and leapt off his lap. "Christina?! Are you insane?! What are you doing here?!" She scrambled to find a lie,"You're misunderstanding, it's not what you think—" Niall cut her off, his hand gripping her arm."Don't bother explaining, Beatrice.It doesn't matter. Your parents will take our side. We're just correcting an old mistake." Beatrice's panic instantly turned into smugness. She curled into his side and cooed, "Oh, honey, your head's bleeding. We have to get to the hospital." Niall calmly took a tissue from one of his guards, dabbing at the blood on his forehead. "So now you know everything." Before I could respond, Ysolde rushed forward, her hand raised to slap Beatrice. "You filthy bitch—" Niall's hand shot out, gripping Ysolde's wrist brutally. His voice was ice-cold. "My woman isn't for some nobody from a backwater pack to insult. Playing the hero? Know your place." My heart sank. Right. He was a powerful Alpha. I couldn't fight him head-on. But I still had the glass shard in my hand. I moved quickly, yanking Beatrice in front of me and pressing the jagged edge to her cheek. "Let go of my friend, or I'll make sure your woman's face matches her personality. After all, even with werewolf healing, scars still show, don't they?" Niall's eyes flashed dangerously. "You wouldn't dare." "You've been having an affair with my sister for four years behind my back," I said calmly. "How do you think it'll look when that story gets out? Not great for your reputation, I'd imagine." Niall hesitated, then slowly released Ysolde's wrist. The moment he let go, I sliced the glass across Beatrice's cheek. She screamed. "Now get your woman and get out." —- As soon as they were gone, Ysolde dragged me out of the club. "Chrissy... I'm so sorry. I had no idea they'd be there tonight. I didn't even know Beatrice was back." Ysolde's eyes were full of regret. I gave a bitter laugh and shook my head."Neither did I. But I heard it loud and clear,they've been screwing around for a while. To them, I was just in the way." "Those goddamn assholes!" Ysolde hissed through clenched teeth. "You should tell your parents. Let them know Beatrice isn't the perfect angel they think she is. What about Niall's parents? No way they'll tolerate a scandal like this." I was quiet for a moment. Ysolde had a point—Niall's mother Louisa was the only person who had supported me. But he was her son. She wouldn't choose me over him. Not in the end. And my parents?I let out a breath."You know better than anyone,they only care about Beatrice. No matter what I do, I'll never replace her." Ysolde grabbed my shoulders, worry darkening her gaze. "So what now? You're just going to let them humiliate you?" "Maybe." My voice dropped to a whisper, a weariness weighing it down. "Maybe if I accept it, it'll finally be over." Suddenly, Ysolde's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, her brows knitting in frustration. "Chrissy, my agent just called. There's a last-minute ad shoot, I have to go now. Can you get home on your own?" I nodded, managing a faint smile. "Go. Don't worry about me. I'll call when I get back." After she left, I hailed a cab. Instinctively, I gave the driver my home address. But barely two minutes into the ride, a wave of suffocating pressure settled over me. "Actually," I said, "take me to any bar. Preferably one where people go to forget their names, not celebrate them." The driver barely shrugged.In Highrise City, heartbreak was just another traffic pattern. Ten minutes later, I was sitting at the bar, working on my third whiskey sour. Maybe fourth. I'd lost count. The bartender kept giving me that "you should probably slow down" look, which I was completely ignoring. "Another," I demanded, pushing my empty glass forward. "Ma'am, maybe—" the bartender started. "Did I stutter?" I cut him off, sliding my credit card across the counter like it was a weapon. "I'm trying to drown my sorrows, not baptize them." The bartender sighed but obliged. "That guy's right," a deep voice came from behind me. "Unless you want to wake up in a stranger's bed tonight?" I turned, ready to snap at whoever dared interrupt—then froze. It was him. The sexy neighbor.The one who'd helped me after I'd kicked his door by mistake, politely pointing out the right one. Tonight he was dressed in an expensive suit, his hair slicked back, revealing striking features that would make Michelangelo weep with envy and beg to sculpt him. "Well, look who it is," I slurred. "The Moon Goddess's envoy. Did she text you my GPS, or do you just have some built-in radar for women making terrible decisions?" He chuckled, the sound rich and warm like expensive brandy."Let's just call it a finely tuned savior complex." "You should've been Captain Rescue instead of an Alpha," I sighed dramatically. "Or maybe Don Juan, offering therapy sessions to every heartbroken woman in Highrise City." "And here I thought you'd be signing up for the therapy sessions yourself," he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. "You offer your services to every neighbor?" "Only to the ones who seem hell-bent on self-destruction at any given moment." "Well, I'm basically a pro at that," I said, lifting my glass. "My life's basically glitter in a carpet—messy, impossible to clean up." He didn't laugh, rush to comfort me, or even deny what I'd just said. He just watched me quietly, like a spectator observing a disaster movie. "You're not wrong," he finally said. "Your talent for chaos is impressive. I was right to call you hurricane. You can barely stand, yet here you are, drinking more wine." I opened my mouth to argue, but he continued, "But somehow you always seem to find someone who refuses to walk away...right when you're about to self-destruct completely." "Are you flirting with me, Bad Alpha? Or is this some kind of weird rescue mission?" I narrowed my eyes. His smile was slow, "Would either answer make you drink less?" "Probably not," I admitted. "But one might make the hangover worth it." I really looked at him then. He wasn't just good-looking. He was dangerous-looking. The kind that meant trouble and temptation, all wrapped in one.Not the pretty boys with trust funds and spray tans who populated most of Highrise's elite clubs.This was a man who knew exactly what he was and didn't need anyone's permission to be it. Maybe it was the alcohol or his devastatingly handsome face. Either way, the thought that had been haunting me since the moment I first saw him slipped into my head again. Before I could think better of it, my hand was on his arm. "So, Mr. Helpful Neighbor," I said huskily "since you're so dedicated to intervention, why not intervene all the way?" A flash of surprise, then he got serious. But he didn't pull away. Just held my gaze and said,"Only if you'll own this decision when you're sober." "Trust me," I said without hesitation. "This is the first clear thought I've had all night." Chapter 5 Best Sex Ever Christina's POV The suite door had barely shut when he kissed me, hard and needy. I kissed him back just as desperately, like we couldn't get enough of each other. Just from kissing him, I could feel myself getting wet. It wasn't just me—he was obviously hard too, his erection pressing against me through his pants. His hands were everywhere, burning hot against my skin. He pushed me back against the wall and lifted me up like I weighed nothing. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer. I ground against him, the hard ridges of his muscles rubbing against my most sensitive spots, sending waves of pleasure through me. "Fuck," he growled against my neck. "I've wanted this since I first saw you." He kissed my neck, my earlobe. I gasped and pressed against him. We tore at each other's clothes. His jacket hit the floor, then my dress. When his shirt came off, I couldn't help but stare. I ran my hands down his chest, trailing lower to his sculpted abs. I worked his pants off completely, his hot length springing free and slapping against my face. His cock was flushed deep red, the head rounded and glistening with moisture. So thick, I thought, reaching to wrap my hand around it, barely able to encircle him completely. I flicked my tongue across the tip. His cock twitched in my hand immediately, burning hot and rock hard, almost like heated steel. More wetness leaked from me, the emptiness inside driving me nearly insane. I wanted nothing more than to sink down on him right then, to be filled completely in one deep thrust. He picked me up and carried me to the bed, setting me down gently despite the hunger in his eyes. But that didn't last long. He touched and kissed every part of me, making me moan in ways I never had before. He was incredible at foreplay, kissing my breasts, circling with his hands. He carefully stretched me with his fingers, but all I wanted was for him to get inside me already. When he finally pushed inside me, I moaned with satisfaction—it was so intense it almost hurt. "You feel so fucking perfect," he growled, "So tight around me." He started moving. His cock filled me completely while his head buried deep in my neck, each powerful thrust sending waves of intense pleasure through me, easily filling the bottomless emptiness in my heart. My walls clenched and spasmed around him, my whole body trembling with ecstasy, white light flashing behind my eyes. He pulled me tight against him and kissed me deeply. The kiss was messy and desperate, leaving me weak in his arms. On the bed our bodies were completely entwined, him pressing me down as his hips drove relentlessly, burying his thick length inside me again and again. We held each other without any space between us, our sweat-slicked chests pressed together. I lifted my legs, wrapping them around his waist so he could thrust even deeper and harder. He flipped me over, positioning me with my back to him. His frame was so much larger than mine, his workout-hardened muscles solid and strong, covering me like a mountain. In this position he barely needed to exert any force,just his body weight alone let him slide impossibly deep. "Fuck, you feel incredible like this," he groaned, his breath hot against my ear. I felt like he was going to split me in half, terrifying waves of pleasure crashing over me as every inch of my skin became saturated with his scent. That relentless cock was buried deep inside me, claiming me completely. I arched my neck to kiss him, trailing from his throat to his jaw to his lips, then pulled him into another deep, desperate kiss. He fucked me through another climax, but his cock remained hard, showing no signs of pulling out. My nails dug into his arms, but he seemed immune to pain, simply gripping my ass and shifting me to my side, keeping me locked in his embrace. "I can't... it's too much," I gasped, my words broken. "Yes you can, baby. You're being such a good girl." In this position he drove even deeper, his powerful thighs trapping me beneath him, my ass cheeks pressed together as his pelvis slammed against me, creating ripples across my flesh. I clawed at the sheets, wave after wave of pleasure pushing me far beyond my limits. My orgasms became short and continuous, my walls clenching nonstop, my vision blurring. "Please... I need..." I whimpered, not even sure what I was begging for. "I know what you need," he whispered hotly against my ear. "And I'm going to give it all to you." He pressed against my back, his burning skin scorching mine as he held me close. Even though I was already overwhelmed,I still tried to lift my hips to meet his movements. He clearly wasn't ready to come yet, fucking me while lowering his head to capture my earlobe between his teeth. I was so fucked out I couldn't even form words, this was hands down the most incredible sex of my life. What the hell had I been doing with Niall all those years? That was nothing compared to this. In the moonlight, this made him look like some kind of large predator, and I was his prey for the night,a dying gazelle or doe about to have her throat torn out. Perhaps because his full weight was pressing down on me, his thrusts weren't large in scope, but each one was deep and heavy, as if he wanted to merge with me completely and thoroughly. He let out a muffled grunt, his cock growing even harder inside me. He nuzzled my neck, easing some of the pressure holding me down, and I turned to face him, looking into his eyes. "Look at you, so beautiful when you're fucked out," he murmured, his hand moving to my breast. His palm easily cupped my sweat-dampened breast, and with a forward thrust of his knee he spread my weak legs apart, sliding into me again. After what felt like my hundredth orgasm, this seemed like it would never end. By the time he finally came,I was so exhausted I was nearly unconscious, my strength completely depleted. He got up to clean me gently afterward, then pulled me into his arms, his breathing becoming steady and even. I drifted off to sleep too. The clock read 10:07 AM, way too bright for my eyes. I groaned as last night came flooding back. The bar. My neighbor. The hotel. The sex. My whole body ached in the best way possible. I sat up and started searching for my clothes, trying not to make my headache worse. I'd just pulled my skirt out from under the bed when a voice stopped me cold. "Leaving so soon?" I turned around slowly, partly from the hangover, partly from embarrassment, and saw him standing in the bathroom doorway with just a towel around his waist. He was still wet from the shower, water running down his chest. His hair was slicked back and damp. Somehow he looked even better in daylight. Images from last night hit me—his mouth on me, his hands all over me, the things he whispered in my ear. My throat went dry. "We need to talk," he said, and it wasn't really a question. He stood in front of me, his voice disturbingly calm—as if he were announcing the fridge had broken, not that I had thrown him onto a bed the night before. Talk? My brain instantly began sorting through possibilities. Talk about what? A debrief? A review? Was he proposing some kind of "long-term sexual partnership"? Well, considering how incredible he was in bed last night, being fuck buddies was honestly a tempting option. Oh god, could I please stop making bad decisions for once in my life? But definitely not a proposal. That sort of thing only happens in soap operas written by people with hopelessly romantic minds. Was he worried I'd cling to him? After all, it was me who started this. I was the one who dragged him out of the bar, opened the suite door and pinned him down without a second thought. "Look," I said, adopting the most mature, responsible tone I could muster, "Last night shouldn't have happened. It was reckless. Impulsive." I paused, my gaze slipping despite itself. "And… undeniably good." I tried not to look at his shoulders, his chest or the water droplets sliding down his collarbone, tracing over sculpted muscle. Akira stirred inside me, unnervingly interested in this man's scent. "I'm not asking for anything from you," I went on, clearer now. "No responsibility, no dramatic phone calls. That's not who I am." He didn't say anything. But his expression looked slightly annoyed Seeing no reaction, I turned to the door—aiming for a graceful exit, complete with a closure monologue. But just as my hand reached the doorknob, a warm, wet palm landed on the back of mine. I froze and turned around slowly. He was looking at me with an expression I couldn't place, somewhere between surprise and... seriousness. "You don't remember me?" he asked softly. I blinked, caught off guard. I answered quickly, almost defensively. "Of course I do. You're my new neighbor." Technically true. Totally accurate. That face was unforgettable, or, more precisely, that face standing in front of me in just a white towel, with water dripping down those abs... yeah. Not something easily erased from memory. I swallowed hard. The silence stretched. Then he said, "It's fine. Doesn't matter." I blinked. What? "Can I go now?" I asked dryly. His hand still hadn't moved. He looked at me again, then said, "Will you marry me?" Chapter 6 The Proposal Christina's POV "We need to talk." He stood in front of me, his voice disturbingly calm—as if he were announcing the fridge had broken, not that I had thrown him onto a bed the night before. Talk? My brain instantly began sorting through possibilities. Talk about what? A debrief? A review? Was he proposing some kind of... "long-term sexual partnership"? Well, considering how incredible he was in bed last night, being fuck buddies was honestly a tempting option. Oh god, could I please stop making bad decisions for once in my life? But definitely not a proposal. That sort of thing only happens in soap operas written by people with hopelessly romantic minds. Was he worried I'd cling to him? After all,it was me who started this. I was the one who dragged him out of the bar. I was the one who opened the suite door. I was the one who pinned him down without a second thought. "Look," I said, adopting the most mature, responsible tone I could muster, "last night was a mistake. A reckless, impulsive, but... undeniably enjoyable mistake." I tried not to look at his shoulders. Nor at his chest. Not at the water droplets sliding down his collarbone, tracing over sculpted muscle.Akira stirred inside me, unnervingly interested in this man's scent. "I'm not going to ask you to take responsibility. I won't call you crying about emotional trauma. I'm not that kind of girl." He didn't say anything. But his expression looked slightly annoyed, like I was the one who'd slept with him and was now trying to make a quick getaway. Seeing no reaction, I turned to the door—aiming for a graceful exit, complete with a closure monologue. But just as my hand reached the doorknob, a warm, wet palm landed on the back of mine. I froze. Slowly, I turned around. He was looking at me with an expression I couldn't place,somewhere between surprise and... seriousness. "You don't remember me?" he asked softly. I blinked, caught off guard. I answered quickly, almost defensively. "Of course I do. You're my new neighbor." Technically true. Totally accurate. What I didn't say and never would,was that even without those trivial interactions, I remembered him. That face was unforgettable. Or, more precisely, that face standing in front of me in just a white towel, with water dripping down those abs... yeah. Not something easily erased from memory. I swallowed hard. The trick was, don't look directly at him. Like an eclipse. Too bad that strategy had completely failed. Worse still, even though I was fully dressed and he was practically naked, somehow, under his gaze, I felt like the one who was completely exposed. I tried to speak—to say something, anything to shift the focus. But he didn't press further. He just stood there, watching me, as if waiting for the moment my real reaction would finally come. The silence stretched. Then he said, "It's fine. Doesn't matter." I blinked. What? "Can I go now?" I asked dryly. His hand still hadn't moved. He looked at me again, then said,"Will you marry me?" ... What?! "You're not serious." I finally found my voice. "I'm completely serious," he replied, as if he were announcing a quarterly financial report. "I've just returned from Europe. I've been Alpha of my pack for some time now, but I still don't have a Luna." He stepped closer, his wolf's energy radiating power that made Akira whimper inside me. "Unmated Alphas are considered volatile, aggressive. But with a mate and cubs?" A cold smile touched his lips. "People see us as grounded. Cautious. The council prefers their pack leaders... domesticated." I fell silent. Two days ago, I vowed I'd bring home someone better than Niall. Someone impressive enough to silence my parents. Now, the universe had sent an answer—just with a thick layer of irony. But I knew. Marriage shouldn't be like this. I'd already lived through a loveless engagement once. All it left was a house full of silence, hollow intimacy, and a slow, brutal erosion of my self-respect. I opened my mouth to say no. But at that moment, my phone rang. The sharp ringtone cut through the quiet like a knife. I glanced at the screen and felt like a bomb had exploded in my chest. Franklin Vance. My father. The Alpha of The Crescent pack, whose word was absolute in our household. I looked at his face, familiar yet distant, then back down at my phone. And finally, I said the words,"I can't accept." I walked out of the hotel suite, the ringtone still shrieking. I answered, not because I wanted to, but because I needed. "Where the hell are you?" My father's voice was angry."Your actions reflect on this entire pack. Do you understand the strategic liability you've created?" Ah, there it was. Not "are you okay?" but "how have you damaged our investment portfolio?" "I'll be there soon," I said coldly, hanging up before he could start calculating my depreciated daughter-value. I gave the driver my parents' address and collapsed into the backseat, like someone bracing for a public execution. Okay. Let's get this over with. My neighbor, aka my one-night stand, was probably insane. But I still had a drop of alcohol-induced courage left in my blood. The old Christina, desperate for pack approval, hadn't crept back in yet. I had to move fast. The pack house sat on the centre of The Crescent territory, in the kind of suburban enclave that didn't welcome anyone who couldn't trace their bloodline back three generations.No human visitors. No rogues. Just an elegantly worded "pure blood only" policy. At the wrought-iron gate, I took a deep breath. I felt like a boxer entering the ring. Shoulders squared. Chin up. Emotional armor locked in place. The moment I entered the living room, I could sense the ambush. My father, High and mighty Alpha Franklin, sat alone in his leather chair, wearing the same expression he probably used when commanding subordinate wolves. Beside him, my mother, Caroline, with her perfect hair and perfectly aligned pearl necklace, smiled the way a doctor does when saying, "The cancer's spread." To their left, Niall sat on the sofa, all solemn and brooding, as if waiting for a pack tribunal to direct his next pose. And on the right? Beatrice, obviously. All we were missing was a silver stake and an executioner. This was a trial. I was the defendant. And the verdict had already been written. Father struck first. "What took you so long? This pack doesn't run on your schedule." His voice was cold. "Traffic," I lied. If I told them I'd just escaped from a towel-clad Alpha proposing marriage, they'd have me locked in silver chains. "So? Why am I here?" My tone was iced over. No one answered. Not until Niall stood, a bandage still across his forehead. The sight of him looking vaguely wounded brought me a small, grim satisfaction. "I had your things removed from my pack house," he said slowly, nudging a small suitcase with his foot. "Everything's there." I stared at it. A single carry-on suitcase. Four years of engagement, and all I had to show for it was luggage small enough for the overhead compartment on budget airlines. Perfect metaphor for my importance in his life. Rage rose in my throat, but I swallowed it. "Thanks," I said flatly. "That's... thoughtful." I snatched up the ridiculous little suitcase and turned to leave. Come on. No one calls a full-blown family meeting just to return a suitcase. I knew better. This was about humiliation. About putting me in my place. They were the real family. I was always the outsider, tolerated only when they needed someone to blame. "Wait," my father said. I paused. Didn't turn around. He folded his arms and smiled. "Now that Beatrice is back," he said, "and since you and Niall have broken up, we need to address the pack's public position." I gave a short, humorless laugh. Turned around slowly, letting the sarcasm drip from my lips. "By all means. Plan whatever you want. It's not like you've ever asked for my opinion before." "We used to ask," he shot back, "back when you were still the sensible daughter. The one with potential." He stepped closer. "You're too emotional, Christina. Your insecurity made you paranoid—accusing Niall, trying to control him. You rejected your fated mate, and that's what destroyed the relationship." His words were blades. Light in tone. Ruthless in effect. "So this is on you. And you'll make that clear to the other packs. Tell them you fell for someone else. That's why you rejected your mate bond." I froze. Something ripped open inside my chest, like they'd torn it apart with their bare hands. I looked at them, all of them—my parents, Niall, Beatrice. So calm. So deliberate. Like a script they'd rehearsed for weeks. What had I done to deserve this? Where had I gone so wrong? I glanced at Niall, hoping for something. I don't know what exactly. A shred of decency? A moment of courage? But there was nothing. Just that entitled look staring back at me, unapologetic and self-satisfied. This was absolutely insane. "No, I refuse to make that statement!" I exploded. "Niall and Beatrice's affair caused me unbearable pain, weakened my wolf. Akira and I can barely sense scents anymore. You both know that means I'll have difficulty bonding with any new mate." I was ready to storm out. But that's when my father finally stood. Like a judge preparing to read the sentence. "You don't have to worry about finding someone new," he said with absolute finality. "We've already made arrangements. As long as you're still part of this pack, you have value, don't you?"