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One reckless night before escaping the MC life left me carrying the child of the one man I can never have. As the President's middle daughter, I'm off-limits by club law. Two pink lines shattered every plan I had. How can I tell my crush biker I used a wig, a mask, and a fake ID to trick him into spending one night with me? But this baby... He deserves to know. My baby deserves to know him. With my hands buried in my hoodie pockets, my fingers trace the plastic edges of the test. I've never been so terrified in my life. "I... I wanted to talk to you," I start, my voice trembling. He raises an eyebrow. "Right." "I have feelings for you, and I was wondering... if you'd like to go on a date with me? Sometime?" I blurt out, the words tripping over each other. For a long, agonizing moment, Bear just stares at me. His mouth is slightly agape, his hazel eyes wide with pure, unadulterated shock. "You're joking, right?" he asks, his voice breathless with amusement. "Ivy, honey... look at you. You're a kid. You're Stone's little girl." He laughs again, a dry, dismissive sound that echoes through the small room. "A date? With you? I don't know what kind of schoolgirl crush you've got going on, but you need to find some boy your own age to play with. I'm old enough to be your father, and I've got work to do." Hot, stinging tears well in my eyes, blurring the image of the man I thought I knew. I'm standing here, pregnant with his child, and he's laughing at me. —————— The smell of the clubhouse is a permanent resident in my lungs. It's a c0cktail of stale beer, expensive leather, motor oil, and the underlying metallic tang of gun solvent. To my sister Rae, it's the scent of freedom. To me, it's the scent of a room I'm trying to find the exit for. I sit at the heavy oak table in the "Big Kids" makeshift-classroom, the late morning sun slicing through the high windows. "And... sent," Caroline says, her voice bright with a triumph I don't quite feel yet. She clicks the mouse with a flourish. "The University of Seaview Finance Department won't know what hit them, Ivy." Caroline, Riot's Old Lady, has been our teacher in this windowless world of chrome and testosterone. She's homeschooled almost every club brat for over a decade. She's the one who looked at my spreadsheets and my obsession with market trends and guided me towards a degree in finance. "Thank you, Caroline. Really," I say, leaning back in the mismatched plastic chair. "You're going to be the only person in this zip code who understands a diversified portfolio, honey," she teases, patting my hand before gathering her lesson plans. "Your dad is going to be so proud. Even if he doesn't understand half the words you'll be using." I offer a tight smile. My dad, Stone, is the best man I know. He's the President of the Broken Halos MC, a man who commands silence just by breathing, but who used to tuck me in with Romanian lullabies he learned just to please my mother, Alexandra. My parents are the gold standard-a rare, shimmering example of MC royalty done right. But I don't want the crown. I don't even want the throne room. I look around the playroom. It's littered with remnants of a life I'm outgrowing. A stray math textbook, a discarded leather vest in a toddler size, and the faint sound of "Old MacDonald" drifting from the hallway. I love my family. I love the salt-sprayed air of Seaview and the way the fog rolls over the redwoods like a heavy blanket. But I want a life that doesn't require a property cut. I want a glass-walled office and a quiet apartment where the doorbell doesn't mean a federal agent is serving a warrant. I think of the summers I spent in Romania with my mother's family. The Carpathian Mountains, the ancient stone streets of Timisoara, the sense of history that had nothing to do with patches and rivalries. Sometimes, I wish we'd stayed there. In Romania, I was just Ivy. Here, I'm the President's daughter. A prize to be guarded or a target to be hit. The door creaks open, and the human equivalent of a biological miracle waddles in. "Hey, Ives," Angel calls out, her voice bubbly despite the fact that she's carrying what looks like a small planet under her shirt. Angel is radiant. Truly. She's been basically pregnant since the moment she became Ghost's Old Lady. This is number six. Six. The daycare, which had gone dormant once Cyber's kids, Ariana and Nicolas, moved up to the homeschool room, is now fully repopulated solely by the Ghost and Angel production line. "Hey, Angel," I say, watching her rub her bump with a look of pure, unadulterated bliss. "How are you feeling?" "Like a literal house," she laughs, leaning against the doorframe. "But he's kicking. I think he's going to be a kicker like his daddy." "Wonderful," I say, trying to keep the "gross" out of my voice. I like Angel. I really do. She's kind and fierce and loyal. But her life is my literal nightmare. To be a vessel for the club, to spend decades in a cycle of morning sickness and clubhouse dinners? To each their own, but I'd rather calculate compound interest for the rest of eternity. She thrives here. She loves the chaos. Me? I'm counting the days until I can walk through the front gates and not feel the heavy weight of the "Halos" legacy on my shoulders. "Ghost is looking for you, by the way," Angel adds. "He's in the garage with Bear. Something about your car's alternator?" My heart does a weird, traitorous little skip at the mention of the second name. "Thanks. I'll head down." I pack my bag, slinging it over my shoulder. I pass the common room, where my sister Ava is sitting on the lap of her husband, Blade. They look like a poster for the life-young, tatted, and completely entwined. Ava is twenty and already settled. Rae, at seventeen, is probably in the gym right now trying to out-lift a prospect to prove she deserves a patch. I'm the glitch in the DNA. I head down to the garage, the air turning colder and heavier with the scent of grease. The garage is the heart of the clubhouse-a cathedral of iron and rubber. I see Ghost first. He's leaned over a bike, his lean frame tensed as he wrenches something into place. And then, I see him. Bear. He's standing by the tool bench, wiping his hands on a dark rag. The name is apt. He's massive-at least 6'7''-with shoulders that seem to take up two zip codes. He's bulky in the way a mountain is bulky, all solid, terrifying power. His hair is dark, his beard neatly groomed into a sharp line that emphasizes a jawline that could cut glass. He's thirty-eight. I'm nineteen. He's a man who lives, breathes, and would likely die for the Broken Halos. He is everything I am trying to run away from. He's also, quite unfortunately, the most gorgeous man I've ever seen. He looks up as I approach, those hazel eyes-the color of moss and autumn-settling on me. He doesn't smile. Bear doesn't really do smiles for anyone who isn't wearing a patch. "Ivy," he grunts. His voice is a low rumble, a frequency I feel in the floorboards under my boots. "Bear. Ghost," I nod to them both. "Alternator's fine," Ghost says, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Just a loose belt. Bear tightened it up for you." "Thanks, Bear," I say, stepping closer. The height difference is comical. At five-foot-nothing, I have to tilt my head back just to meet his gaze. Up close, he smells like sandalwood and expensive tobacco-not the cheap stuff the prospects smoke. He looks like a model who walked off a runway and decided to join a biker gang. He looks down at me, his expression unreadable. To him, I'm probably still the little girl who used to color with crayons in the corner of the bar. I'm the President's middle daughter. I'm off-limits by every law of the club and every law of common sense. "Don't take the curves on the coast road so hard," Bear says, his voice like gravel. "Belts don't like the heat you're putting on 'em." "I like to go fast," I counter, my voice steadier than I feel. One corner of his mouth twitches-not a smile, but a ghost of one. "I know you do. Just make sure you can stop when you need to." He turns back to the workbench, his massive back a wall of denim and muscle. The muscles in his forearms flex as he moves a heavy wrench, the ink on his skin dancing with the movement. I should walk away. I should go home, finish my finance prep, and dream about spreadsheets and city lights. I should find a nice, safe guy at college who doesn't know what a hang-around is. But as I watch him, a hot, sharp spark of defiance flares up in my gut. I've spent my whole life being the good daughter, the one who doesn't cause trouble because she's too busy planning her escape. I'm leaving this life. But before I go? Before I turn into a suit-and-tie professional in a high-rise? I want that. I want the mountain. I know the rules. I know my father would probably skin him alive, and he'd likely lose his patch before he even touched me. He's nineteen years older. He's a zealot for the life I hate. We'd be a disaster waiting to happen. I adjust my bag strap, staring at the broad expanse of his shoulders. fk it. I'm leaving this world behind, but I'm not leaving without a souvenir. I don't want a relationship. I don't want a happy ever after in the clubhouse. But I want to know what it feels like to be crushed by all that power. Just once. I'm getting under him. I don't know how, and I don't know when, but I'm going to make the big bear growl. ... The plan is: get in, get under him, get out. It's a simple strategy. I've known for a while that Bear spends his Saturday nights at Onyx. In the clubhouse, secrets have a way of leaking through the floorboards like old oil. I know he likes the dark side of things. I also know he's a man-wh0re. He doesn't do "Old Ladies" and he doesn't do "forever." He does Saturday nights and intense, nameless encounters. Normally, the age limit for Onyx is twenty-one. But we all have fake IDs that could fool a federal agent; it's practically a rite of passage. My ID says I'm twenty-three and from San Diego. Tonight, that's all I need to be. I'm standing in front of my full-length mirror, adjusting the hem of a black dress that is barely legal and definitely not Stone-approved. It's tight, silk-thin, and ends at mid-thigh. It hugs every curve I've spent years trying to hide under baggy hoodies. "h0ly sh1t. You look like a high-end hooker." I jump, spinning around to see Rae sprawled across my bed. She's wearing grease-stained jeans and a faded Halo tank top, her feet dangling off the edge. She looks like a tomboy ready for a brawl; I look like a woman ready for a scandal. "fk off, Rae," I say, though there's no heat in it. I turn back to the mirror, checking my eyeliner. "Where are you going looking like that?" she asks, propping her chin on her hand. "That's not going to the library gear. That's I'm trying to get arrested gear." "I'm going out," I say vaguely. "Celebrating. I got into the finance program." "By wearing three inches of fabric?" Rae snorts, her eyes narrowing. "Mom and Dad would lose their minds if they saw you. Dad would probably put the clubhouse on lockdown." "Which is why they aren't going to see me. You going to cover for me?" Rae reaches out and grabs a loose thread on my duvet. She's the baby of the three of us, the one most desperate to prove she's as tough as any prospect. But beneath the bravado, she's my sister. "Always," she says, her voice softening for a second. "But be careful, Ives. Seriously." "I will be." Once she leaves, I pull the secret weapon out of my drawer: a deep, blood-red wig. I've always wondered what I'd look like with red hair-bold, fiery, someone who doesn't blend into the background. I tuck my dark hair under the cap and settle the wig in place. It changes my entire face. I look older. Dangerous. I grab the final piece-an elegant black Venetian ball mask-and put it in my purse. It's lace and silk, and it will cover the upper half of my face and obscuring the shape of my eyes. The drive to the outskirts of Seaview feels like a countdown. Onyx is tucked into a converted warehouse, discreet and intimidating. The bass from inside thumps against the pavement, a rhythmic heartbeat that matches my own. I show my ID, the bouncer barely glancing at it before waving me through. Once inside, the atmosphere shifts. It's dim, lit by deep purple and red neon. The air is heavy with expensive perfume and the faint, sharp scent of leather. Masks are everywhere-feathers, leather, lace. At the entrance station, I pick up a small tag. Submissive - open to chat. It's a lie. I'm not submissive. I'm a control freak who wants to manage a hedge fund. But tonight, I want to see what happens when I let a man like Bear take the lead. I spot him almost immediately. He's at the far end of the bar, and even in a room full of masked strangers, he's a god among men. He's wearing a dark mask that only makes his hazel eyes pop, but I'd know that silhouette in a blackout. Those shoulders, that height-he's a mountain. He's wearing a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up, revealing the ink on his forearms. My stomach flips. I'm terrified. I'm ecstatic. I make a beeline for him, my heels clicking rhythmically on the concrete floor. I have to be careful. If I speak, he'll recognize me. He'll recognize the girl who's lived in his peripheral vision for a decade. And he will sooner call my dad than fk me. So silence is my only shield. I reach him just as he's taking a sip of something amber. I don't hesitate. I reach out and place my hand on his bicep. The muscle is rock hard beneath my palm, and the heat of him radiates through the fabric. He freezes for a split second, then turns his head. A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face-the visible part of it, anyway. "Well, he1lo there," he rumbles. The sound of his voice this close makes my toes curl. He looks down at my tag, his eyes lingering on the word Submissive. "So you're open to talk," he says, his gaze returning to my masked face. I nod enthusiastically, keeping my lips sealed. "But you're a quiet one?" He chuckles, and there they are-the dimples. He has no right to have dimples when he looks like he could snap a man's neck with his bare hands. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue, or are you just playing hard to get?" I shake my head, my eyes locked on his. I hope the mask hides the sheer panic and lust warring in my expression. "Have you been here before?" I shake my head again. He leans back against the bar, his eyes raking over my red hair and the curve of my neck. "A first-timer. You picked a he1l of a night to start." He gestures to his glass. "Want a drink?" I look at his glass, then tap it with one finger. I'll have what you're having. "Confident," he muses, signaling the bartender for another neat bourbon. "You're very bold with your hands, little one. Why so shy with the voice?" I don't answer. Instead, I decide to stop the interrogation. I reach up, curl my hand into the hair at the nape of his neck, and pull him down. I k1ss him. It's not a soft k1ss. It's a collision. He groans into my mouth, a low, guttural sound that vibrates in my chest. Before I can even register the shock of it, he's taking control. He plunges his tongue into my mouth, tasting of expensive bourbon and heat. He tastes like a man who knows exactly what he wants and has never been told no. He pulls back just an inch, his breathing heavy. "Well, fk," he rasps, his eyes burning. "I do like a challenge." I smile broadly, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "What am I supposed to call you?" he asks, his hand sliding down to grip my waist, his thumb tracing the bone. "I need something to call out now... and something to scream later when I've got you where I want you." I tap my chin, pretending to think. Then I tap the strands of my red wig. "Red?" he guesses, a dark glint in his eye. I nod. "Alright, Red." He leans in close, his lips brushing against the she1l of my ear. "Do you want to find a private room with me? Somewhere I can find out if you're still quiet once I'm inside you." My knees nearly give out. I nod, my head bobbing with an enthusiasm that borders on desperate. He doesn't say another word. He just grabs my hand, his massive palm swallowing mine, and begins to lead me through the crowd. Every step toward the private hallway feels like a step closer to the life I'm running from. I'm nervous-my hands are shaking-but the adrenaline is a flood. I might be leaving the MC life soon, but tonight, I'm going to let it devour me. ... Ivy The world is a blur of red velvet and the ringing in my ears. Every nerve ending in my body is firing at once, a chaotic symphony of pleasure that has me feeling untethered from the earth. Bear is a force of nature. He didn't just fk me; he dismantled me. I barely register the sound of the metal buckles clinking as he unfastens my wrists and ankles. My limbs feel like lead, heavy and buzzing. Before I can even attempt to find my footing, his massive hands are under my arms. He hoists me up like I weigh nothing, carrying me the three steps to the low, wide bed in the corner of the room. "I'm not done with you yet, Red," he rumbles. The sound of his voice against the she1l of my ear sends a fresh wave of heat straight to my core. I sink into the mattress, my head lolling back. I've never felt like this-utterly spent but desperate for more. Bear was everything I expected and a thousand things I wasn't prepared for. He's an animal, but an observant one. Every touch is deliberate. I want him again. I want to feel the scrape of his beard against my skin and the taste of him on my tongue. I reach up, my fingers curling toward his neck to pull him back down to me, but he clicks his tongue. "Ah-ah," he murmurs, catching my wrists and pinning them lightly above my head. "You won the game, didn't you? Ten spanks and not a peep. You were a very good girl, taking me like that." I look up at him, my chest heaving. His eyes are dark, predatory, and satisfied. "I think you deserve a reward," he says, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. "What's it going to be? What does my good girl want from me?" I can't speak-partially because of the mask, partially because my throat feels tight with need. I look at his lips, then back to his eyes. I lift my head slightly, reaching for him again. "A k1ss?" he asks, a dark smirk playing on his mouth. I nod frantically. "Alright then." He drops his weight onto me, his chest a solid wall against my breasts, and captures my mouth. This isn't like the first k1ss at the bar. His tongue explores my mouth like he's trying to map out every inch of me, trying to memorize the flavor of my surrender. He's devouring me, and I'm letting him. How am I ever supposed to let him go? How am I supposed to see him in the clubhouse next week and act like he hasn't seen the most vulnerable parts of me? The thought is fleeting, drowned out by the sensation of his fingers sliding back between my thighs. I'm so sensitive that the mere touch makes my back arch off the bed. I push myself up to my knees, refusing to break the k1ss even as I shift my weight. I find his hand and guide him, sinking myself onto his fingers. I begin to ride them, bumping my hips up and down in a frantic, needy rhythm. "Look at you," he rasps against my lips, his voice thick with gravel. "So greedy for it. You like being filled, don't you? You like knowing you're mine for the night." I whimper into his mouth, my movements becoming more erratic. "That's it, Red. Take it. Take every bit of it. You're dripping for me. You're so godd@mn wet." The friction is too much. The pressure builds behind my eyes, and suddenly, my body gives way. I squirt again, the fluid soaking into the sheets and my own thighs. A flash of embarrassment hits me-the sheer lack of control-but it's immediately scorched away by the look in his eyes. He looks proud. "Do you want to ride my c0ck like that too?" he whispers, his breath hot against my neck. I nod, my hair-or rather, the red wig-tangling around my face. He moves back, laying flat on the bed with his hands tucked behind his neck. He looks like a king waiting for his tribute. I reach for the small bedside table, my fingers trembling as I find a foil packet. I tear it open and slide the cond0m onto him. I didn't even notice if he used one the first time-I was too far gone, too caught up in the storm. But a man like Bear wouldn't be that reckless. He definitely had one on. I straddle him, sinking down slowly until he's buried deep inside me. I gasp, the fullness of him stretching me in the best possible way. I start to move, rolling my hips in slow, agonizingly deliberate figure-eights. Bear lets out a long, low groan, his abdominal muscles rippling beneath my hands. "fk, Red... you're trying to kill me." I lean forward, my hair brushing his chest, watching the way his hazel eyes track my every movement. I feel powerful. I feel dangerous. After a few minutes of the slow torture, Bear's patience snaps. He grabs my waist, his fingers digging into my skin, and flips us in one fluid motion. Now I'm beneath him, the mattress dipping under his weight. "Are you going to be a good girl for me, Red?" he asks, his voice dropping to a command. "A really good girl?" I nod eagerly-embarrassingly eagerly. I'd do anything he asked right now. I'm a slave to the chemistry between us. He moves up my body, his knees sliding on either side of my shoulders until he's straddling my chest, his shadow looming over my face. He reaches down and peels the cond0m off, tossing it aside. "Open," he orders. I obey instantly. I part my lips, looking up at him. He reaches down, his large fingers sinking into the soft flesh of my cheeks, pulling my mouth wide, his grip firm enough that it's impossible for me to close it. He's framing my face, holding me in place like a prize. He begins to stroke himself, his eyes locked on mine. I can see the tension in his jaw, the way the veins in his neck stand out. He's close. "Don't fking move," he growls. A moment later, he groans, his body tensing as he comes. I feel the warmth of him hitting the back of my throat, pouring into my mouth. It's intense, primal, and completely overwhelming. Before I can even think to pull away, he uses his hand to force my mouth shut. "Swallow it," he commands. I do. The taste of him is salty and hot, a final mark of his dominance. He lets out a long, ragged breath, his grip on my face softening. He pulls back slightly and, with a casual, devastating flick, slaps his c0ck against my cheek. "Good girl," he murmurs. I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm. I am mortified by how much I loved that. The embarrassment starts to catch up with the adrenaline. I've done it. I got under him. I got exactly what I came for, and it was better than anything I'd ever imagined. Bear stands up, his undressed body a masterpiece of ink and muscle in the dim light. "I'm going to clean up," he says, nodding toward the small bathroom attached to the room. "Don't go anywhere." He disappears behind the door, the sound of the shower starting a second later. As soon as the door clicks shut, the spell breaks. Panic, sharp and cold, replaces the heat. What am I doing? If he stays, he'll start asking questions. He'll want the mask off. He'll hear my voice eventually. He'll see through the red hair. And if Bear figures out who I am... I can't let that happen. I scramble off the bed, my legs shaking so hard I nearly trip. I grab my black dress from the floor, shrugging it on with frantic, clumsy movements. I don't look for my heels-I find them by the door on my way out, clutching them in one hand. I check my mask; it's still secure. My wig is a mess, but it's still on. I don't look back. I slip out of the room, the heavy door clicking shut behind me, and practically run down the hallway. I weave through the crowd of masked strangers, my heart in my throat, until I burst through the front doors of Onyx. The cool Seaview air hits me like a slap to the face. I don't stop until I'm inside my car, the doors locked, the engine roaring to life. I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles white, and catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. My makeup is smeared, the red hair is wild, and I have a look in my eyes I don't recognize. I got under Bear. But as I pull away from the curb and head toward the clubhouse, I realize I might have made a catastrophic mistake. Because I didn't just get under him. I think I let him into my head. And I have no idea how I'm going to look him in the eye tomorrow morning without screaming. ... Ivy Two pink lines. Two tiny, horizontal slashes that have just decimated every plan I've ever made for my life. I'm sitting on the closed lid of the toilet in the clubhouse bathroom, the plastic stick trembling in my hand. I stare at it until my vision blurs, praying for the lines to fade, to rearrange themselves, to tell me I'm just stressed out. But they stay. Bold. Defiant. Fuuuuuuuuck. It's been three weeks since Onyx. Three weeks of me replaying every second of that night in high-definition loops while I lay in bed at night. I thought the late period was just my body reacting to the adrenaline crash, or maybe the shame of running out of that room like a thief. But the math doesn't lie. How is this even possible? I rack my brain, trying to find another candidate, but there isn't one. I haven't been with anyone else in months. I was so focused on the transition to college that my social life was a desert-until I decided to scale Mount Bear. I think back to the room. I remember putting the cond0m on him for the second round. I remember him taking it off for... the finish. But the first round. My mind flashes to him behind me on that bench, the primal growl in his chest, and the sheer heat of him. I was too far gone, too intoxicated by him and the sting of his palm to call him on it. I just assumed a man like him wouldn't be so fking reckless. I was wrong. We both were. What the he1l am I going to do? If I tell him, I have to admit it was me. I have to admit I wore a wig and a mask and used a fake ID to trick him into fking me. The fallout wouldn't just be a scandal; it would be a nuclear winter. My dad is a fair man, but he is a father first. He would kill Bear. Not beat him up, not kick him out of the club. He would put a bullet in his head for touching his daughter, mask or no mask. And Bear? He's almost forty years old and lives for the Broken Halos. If I tell him I'm carrying his child, he won't see a miracle. He'll see a trap. He'll look at me and see the girl who ruined his life, who cost him his patch and his brothers. He'd probably offer to marry me out of some sick sense of obligation to my father, but he'd hate me every single day we spent together. He'd be with me by force, a prisoner to a mistake. But the alternative... I look down at the stick again. I can't keep him from his kid. I grew up with the best parents in the world; I know what it means to have a father who would move mountains for you. Bear is a good man, in his own dark way. He deserves to know. My baby deserves to know him. But this baby... this baby keeps me here. It anchors me to the grease and the leather and the sound of Harleys at three in the morning. The finance degree, the glass office-it's all slipping away. I have to know if there's even a spark of me in his head. Not Red. Ivy. If he's at least a little bit interested in me as a person, maybe-just maybe-there's a path through this that doesn't end in a funeral or a forced marriage. I'll go to him. I'll confess I have a crush, see if he looks at me like a woman instead of a kid. If he does, I'll tell him the truth. I'll tell him I was the girl in the red wig. I stand up and walk to the mirror, splashing cold water on my face. Gone is the black dress and the Venetian mask. Today, I'm back in my armor: a charcoal gray hoodie two sizes too big, skinny black jeans, and my round Harry Potter-like glasses. I only really need them when I'm in front of my computer, but between the applications and the spreadsheets, I've been wearing them constantly. They make me feel small. Safe. Invisible. I leave the bathroom, my hands shoved deep into the front pocket of my hoodie, clutching the pregnancy test like a live grenade. I head toward the residential wing, toward his room, but it's silent. I check the common areas, my heart thumping a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I find him in the game room. Bear is leaning over the pool table, his massive frame casting a shadow over the green felt. Ghost and Cross are with him, leaning against the bar with beers in hand. I stop in the doorway, my breath catching. He looks so much like he did that night-the same broad shoulders, the same focused intensity. But here, in the daylight, he's just Bear. I walk forward, my boots feeling like they're made of lead. All three men look up as I approach. Ghost offers a lopsided grin, and Cross nods, but Bear's gaze is level. Unreadable. "Bear?" my voice is smaller than I want it to be. "Do you have a minute?" He stands up straight, resting his cue against his hip. He wipes his hands on a rag, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly. "Sure, Ivy. What's up? Your car acting up again?" I keep my eyes on the floor, staring at the scuff marks on the hardwood. I can't look at him. If I look at him, I'll see the man who had me on that bench, and I'll lose my mind. "It'll only take a minute," I mutter. "Can we... somewhere private?" I can feel Ghost and Cross's eyebrows shooting up. The silence in the room stretches, heavy and awkward. Bear sighs, a low rumble of irritation. "O-kay." I turn and lead the way toward the residential hall, headed straight for his room. I can hear his heavy footsteps behind me, a steady, rhythmic thud that feels like a countdown. "Why the he1l are we going into my room, Ivy?" he asks, his voice sharpening as I reach for his door handle. I ignore him and push the door open, stepping into the space that smells exactly like him-sandalwood and tobacco. He follows me in, looking thoroughly annoyed. He doesn't sit. He stands by the door, arms crossed over that massive chest, waiting. I turn to face him, my hands still buried in my hoodie pocket, my fingers tracing the plastic edges of the test. I've never been so terrified in my life. "I... I wanted to talk to you," I start, my voice trembling. "About something personal." He raises an eyebrow. "Right." "I have feelings for you," I blurt out, the words tripping over each other. I finally force myself to look up, though I keep my chin tucked. "And I was wondering... if you'd like to go on a date with me? Sometime?" I hold my breath. I wait for the shift in his eyes, for the realization that I'm a woman, for the spark of interest that would give me the courage to tell him about Onyx. I wait for him to see me. For a long, agonizing moment, Bear just stares at me. His mouth is slightly agape, his hazel eyes wide with pure, unadulterated shock. Then, his chest begins to heave. A low sound rumbles in his throat, growing louder until it breaks into a full-blown bark of a laugh. He leans back against the doorframe, shaking his head, his face splitting into a grin that feels like a slap. "You're joking, right?" he asks, his voice breathless with amusement. "Ivy, honey... look at you. You're a kid. You're Stone's little girl." He laughs again, a dry, dismissive sound that echoes in the small room. "A date? With you? I don't know what kind of schoolgirl crush you've got going on, but you need to go find some boy your own age to play with. I'm old enough to be your father, and I've got work to do." Hot, stinging tears well in my eyes, blurring the image of the man I thought I knew. I'm standing there, pregnant with his child, and he's laughing at me.

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Love’s Last Novel-ff-1

InactiveJun 29, 26

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Prologue Broken promises ache as badly as hunger. Humiliation stings like getting lemon juice in a paper cut. This goes beyond that. This betrayal goes beyond the lies and expectations of what we are and what we've been raised to believe. It goes against everything that makes us what we are. No matter our rank. I watch from the terrace of the apartment I got for my mate and me when he returned from his alpha training last year. I had been so excited to see him after we spent our senior year apart. I gave up going to my dream school to stay here with him. Santiago Romano held me in his arms, sold me pretty lies, and loved me the way he had promised before leaving. A part of me knew that I would be discarded after the full moon fell on my sixteenth birthday, and I didn't shift. I spent days avoiding him, trying to deny that someone from a Beta bloodline as strong as mine would be reduced to nothing but a lowly omega. Everything had been perfect before that. We had met the day we both started at Artume Academy—two years after one of the cruellest rogue attacks in werewolf history. There were six hundred and eighty-seven casualties that night. I barely survived. I shouldn't have, but I did. I've never wished to have died there more than I wish it now. My goddess-given mate has chosen his Luna. It's being televised for the world to see that I wasn't anywhere near enough to stand beside him. His parents hand-picked his Luna to carry his name, his legacy, and his heirs. Poppy Turner is wearing my dream dress with a huge smile plastered on her face. Her arm is looped through my mate's, and the two of them look like the perfect match as they walk into the moon goddess temple for their official mating ceremony. I turn the TV off and look down at my phone to see the message he sent me just before arriving at the temple. Three little words that don't mean shit to me anymore. This is for the pack, he said. You'll be better protected. You can now study to be a surgeon without the responsibilities of a Luna. I'll never leave you. You're the one I love—my true mate. Lies. The sick part is that there's a part of me that would accept this. I'd be his mistress, watching him build that life that should be ours with her. There's a darker side that looks back to the night of the attack. The night I saved her from the rogues, while my family was fighting. While they were dying. I should have left her there to be torn apart. I want to leave here. Run away and never look back. I have the means for it. All I'd have to do is call my grandmother to tell her I've had enough. She'd come for me in an instant. I know she would. But it wouldn't solve anything, and I'd be leaving everything I've worked so hard to obtain behind. There are three months left until the end of the semester. I'd lose all my credits, and my GPA would drop if I left now. It's all I have left. This career is the only thing that is going to keep me going for a while because this wound, like the loss of my family, it's going to take some time to heal. I spend the rest of my night reviewing my notes for my upcoming exam. It's almost eight when my phone rings. I reach for it to see my Grandmother's name and a picture of the two of us at my graduation last year. "Hey, GG," I answer. "Don't hey, GG, me young lady," she says in her thick Swedish accent. "What is the meaning of this, Sophia?" "I don't know," I answer honestly. "Did he reject you properly?" she demands. "No, he doesn't want to. He said that she'd be his Luna only in name." "I want you to come live with me, Sophia. You need not be where you are not welcome. Why haven't you called to let me know what's happening? I would have sent for you immediately," her tone is urgent. "Because you were on business for the King. I didn't want to bother you with something so trivial," I shut my laptop and close my notebook. "Trivial? My love, this is not something to be taken lightly. You are in pain. It will get worse once you reject him. It'll feel like a part of your soul is being torn away." "Please, don't make me feel worse than I already do," I sigh. "I can't just gather my things to leave. I have school and work. I'm not just his discarded mate. I'm more than just a floormat. This is why I didn't call you: I knew you'd want to come here immediately, and I don't want to lose myself over this. Leaving is a last resort." "Leaving?" I look up to see Santiago standing in the doorway of my home office, still dressed in his ceremonial suit. "GG, I have to go." I look away. "I love you." "Sophia-" I hang up before she can say anything else. "What do you mean you're leaving as a last resort?" he storms into the room and pulls my chair away from the desk to make me look up at him. I don't meet his gaze. "I told you that she means nothing to me. You're my mate. You're not going anywhere." I don't answer him. I push him away when her scent hits me. It's all over him. "I don't want you here right now. You're tainting my space with her scent. I can barely stand to look at you," I say calmly. "You're being so fucking dramatic, right now. I didn't have a choice, Soph. I'm not doing this to hurt you. I came home to you. You're my mate. You're the one I'm in love with. This is for our pack. You're turning your back on me to hurt me. You're acting as if I were the one at fault here," he growls. I cry out when he grabs my arm and spins me around to face him. "You're not leaving me. There is not a single fucking place in this world you can go where I won't find you. "You run, and you're only going to be making things worse for me," he grips both my arms with too much force. "You're hurting me," I try to pull away. He shoves me hard. Stumble back, hitting my head on the doorknob. The sting blinds me for a moment, but I don't have enough time to process it. "Look what you made me do," he says, dropping to the floor beside me. His hand presses on the spot I just banged against the doorknob. "Soph, I didn't mean to. I panicked." "Get away from me," I manage to cry out. His hand tightens around my throat. "You're not leaving me," he pulls me into him. His eyes are bright red, and his canines are out. "Say it. Say you're going to stay, Sophia." He leans into me, and for a second, my heart races when his teeth graze the curve where my neck and shoulder meet. The place he's told me wants to mark me. But he pulls away to cup my face to make sure I'm looking back at him. I've been in love with this boy since the first time I set eyes on him when I was fourteen years old. I thought I knew him. All of him. But the person in front of me is not the man I thought he was becoming. I don't recognise him at all. All I can do is stare back at him, fear and disbelief in my eyes. "Say it!" he shouts at the top of his lungs, making me jump. "I'm going to stay," I choke out. The lie tastes rancid on my tongue. "You can't leave," his wolf retreats, and I stare at his baby blue eyes as they fill with tears. "You can't leave me. I need you. I need you, Sophia. And you need me. Only I can protect you. You're mine." 1 Everyone is staring at me when I walk into my office after my classes are done. I can feel their gazes on my skin as I hurry over to the elevator. When I get to the maternity floor, I rush into the locker room to get ready for my shift. "Soph?" I look back at my best friend, Poppy's half sister. She's the last person I want to see right now, but there's not much I can do about it since we have the same shift. "Hey, Lieza," I greet her. The pitiful expression on her face hurts. "Don't." "This is awkward," she says, scratching the back of her ear nervously. "But the alpha sent roses." "What?" I ask, confused. I locked myself in the home office and slept on my giant bean bag last night. When I woke up, he was gone. He slept in the apartment. The bed had been undone, and his suit was on the floor, where he took it off, expecting me to clean it up. I would have left it there if I didn't hate having a messy room. I threw it away on my way out of the building. I finish putting my things away and follow her out. On the reception desk are five massive bouquets of roses and sunflowers. The nurses are all cooing over them. "Here, they came with this," Lieza says, holding up a hot-pink envelope. He wrote my name on it by hand. "These are so beautiful," Layla, one of the ultrasound techs, smiles at me. "You guys can have them," I say, going over to my computer. "I don't care for flowers." "They were a gift from your mate," Kennedy reminds me. "I don't have a mate," I say. Putting it out there hits me hard like getting mauled by a rogue after having watched it tear my brother to pieces seconds before. They don't say anything, but they understand, and the flowers disappear. I go about my day as usual, then head home after my shift. His car is here when I arrive. I don't park; I head back out right away. I need some time away from him—time to piece together my thoughts. Artume General Hospital is located near the main strip, where tourists frequently gather. The restaurants and stores are all open late. I have dinner at my favorite Korean BBQ spot and keep to myself, not wanting to draw any attention. As I have my dinner, I can't help but think about the night I found out I wasn't worthy of having a wolf. It was a night a lot like this one. My grandmother was sitting behind me in our backyard as the sun came up. It marked the night of the full moon in my birth month, and nothing happened. I didn't feel any different, and I didn't hear the sound of my wolf's spirit. "It could be late because of the trauma from the attack," she said, crouching down in front of me. I couldn't bring myself to look up at her. "Go back to school on Monday, and we'll meet again next month. I'll book an appointment for you later today. Go to bed." There's never been an omega in my bloodline. Ever. It was why the Helvigs were accepted into the city ranking system. My father had made a name for himself before he met my mother, who is from here. My grandmother encouraged him to relocate so he would have better opportunities. My body was shaking. All I could think was, what am I going to say to Santiago? How will his family react to me being what I am? They don't have to say it for me to know what was happening. I knew what was happening. I have been deemed an unworthy vessel. My phone pinged as if my thoughts summoned him. His name and our picture pop up on the screen with the voice memo. "I'm looking forward to seeing you on Monday. I love you." There is a tiny chance that my wolf is late because of the surgeries I had after the attack. I was twelve. That was almost seven years ago. I couldn't bring myself to open the following message, let alone reply. I dry my hair and curl up under the blankets. Sleep didn't come, but after a few hours, my grandmother came in to tell me that I have an appointment to get checked out. I got dressed, and we headed over to the clinic. I'm sure she's paid the doctor and the staff to keep all of this quiet. "Hey, Sophie," Dr. Valkrie greeted me the way she used to when I first met her. We all thought I was going to die then, and being an omega in my family has felt just like that. "Hey," I greeted her quietly. "Okay," she took a deep breath and smiled. She glanced over at my Grandmother, and it's all it took for her to leave the two of us alone. "There are a lot of reasons why your wolf is a little late. Have you been stressed lately? Anything you want to tell me before I start probing?" "A little," I nodded. "I found my mate, or rather, he found me." "Congratulations," she smiled. "Why would this be stressful for you? This is a good thing." "He's the next alpha of the city," I whisper. She tensed up, and I knew exactly what she was thinking. I had been thinking about it all night. Alpha and Luna Romano are not going to like that. Luna Romano is Alpha Romano's chosen mate. No one really knows what happened to their true mates or if they ever had one at all. Dr. Valkrie leans forward to hug me. She sniffs me and then sits back. "You've mated with him," she states knowingly. I nod. "We can start there, but I have to be honest with you. If being with your mate doesn't bring her out, the possibility that you are an omega is high. It can be due to all the damage that was done in the attack-" "That's not what I want to hear," I cried. "I know. I know, Soph. The only way that this can move forward is probably if he marks you, but even then, the chances of the wolf you turn into being a higher rank are low. You have to drop combat training. "You have to tell him because if you lie, it's going to look very bad on you. I'm going to take some blood samples to ensure everything is okay. But I don't want you to get your hopes up. Okay?" I couldn't answer her. I swallow the knot in my throat and let her take the blood sample. I spent the rest of my weekend alone in my room. "Come down," my grandmother ordered on Sunday afternoon. She has her luggage ready, which means she'll be going back to Blackstone—lycan domain. "Thank you for coming, Grandma," I said. She let out a heavy sigh and tilted my head up. "You survived one of the most gruesome attacks in our history, little one. You gave up a part of you to ensure that justice was served to avenge your family. Don't let anyone take that from you. Do you understand?" "Yes," I choked out, but I didn't believe it. "Come," she opened the door that led into the garage. I walk in with her. Inside is a cobalt blue Volkswagen Beetle convertible. "You mother had this arranged from the moment she found out she was having a girl. "Helvig women are rare. Unfortunately, it has always been the men who have taken the glory in our bloodline. So, we were very excited when you were born. Finally, a little girl we can all dote on. Take care of it. Yes?" "Thank you," I nodded and wrapped my arms around her. Grandma has always had an icy aura about her. I was under the impression that she hated my mother and me. Perhaps it's not hate, but the lingering coldness of having to serve under the Lycan King. Grandma Zaraphine is about four or five inches shorter than I am. Her hair is black, highlighted by the grays and whites growing out. She doesn't look old, but her eyes give away her age. She's always been very elegant and refined. I wanted to be just like her. It was why I gave up on the medical program and joined the combat team at the start of my training. I started to cry again, and for the first time, she tightened her hold on me. I don't know how long we stayed this way, but when she finally pulled away, she wiped away my tears. She stared at me for a bit before letting me go. "Things will change for you, Little one. Drastically. If you need me to pick you up, call me. Do not hesitate. Do you understand? You are still a Helvig, and I will not allow you to be disrespected in any way. If I am unable to come personally, I will send someone on my behalf. Okay?" "Okay," I nodded. "I must be going. Try to keep this to yourself for as long as you can." "I can't," I inform her. "Why not?" "Santiago is my mate," I confessed. She inhaled deeply and pulled me into her again. "You call me immediately if you need me, Sophia. Do you understand?" "Yes," "I must go. I promised my general I'd be back before sundown. My heart stays here with you, Granddaughter. As always." "Be safe," I nod. I unlocked the car and climbed inside. It smelled brand new. Like that night, I sit here not knowing what to do. I can feel my phone buzzing in my pocket, but I don't have the energy to reach for it. I shut my eyes, needing a moment of peace. Anything to get my head out of the thoughts attacking the very essence of my soul. I am unworthy. There was no wolf spirit for me and no mate. 2 The smell of freshly made food greets me when I arrive at my apartment. I walk in to find Luna Romano in my kitchen and Santiago setting up the table. I look between the two of them, knowing that they're going to ambush me over what happened last night. I didn't think that my mate was a little bitch boy that needed his mommy to fix his life for him, but then again, he ended up marrying the woman she picked for him. "Sophia," she beams with way too much enthusiasm for my liking. "It's a little late for you to be out and about on your own, isn't it?" I stare at her, not knowing how to answer that. How dare she come into my home and say anything against me? She has no right, not even as the Luna of the City. I hold my tongue this once because, despite the shit show she's turned my life into, I once respected this woman almost the same way I respected my own mother. I kick my shoes off, and I head to my room. "Dinner will be ready in a bit," Santiago blocks me. "I already had dinner, thank you," I say, rolling my eyes and trying to get past him. He grips my arm in the same spot he had last night, pressing his fingers into the bruises I already have. I try to pull my arm out of his grip, but he only tightens it. I look up at him, wishing I had the strength to hurt him back with my entire existence. "Get cleaned up for dinner, Baby. My mom made us dinner. Take this off," he says sternly, motioning my scrubs. The two of us stare at one another for a long time before he releases me. I glance back at his mother to see her smiling proudly at his actions. She doesn't meet my gaze, and I don't argue. I rush into my bathroom as my heart beats faster than it ever has. I reach for my phone immediately and turn on the water. "I've been so worried about you," my Grandmother answers right away. "GG, Luna Romano is here," I try my best not to cry. "I don't feel safe." "All right," she says calmly. "Just do as you're told, I'm on my way." "Hurry," I try to calm myself. "Sophie," I almost jump out of my skin when Santiago bangs on the door. "I can at least have a moment to shower, can't I?" I call back and stuff my phone between the towels beside me. The door swings open, and I back away as he storms towards me. He's pissed. His eyes are dark, and the veins on his forehead are visible. "What did you just say to me?" he demands. "I just got off work. I want to take a shower. You don't need to be here for that," I hold his gaze. I know that he'll get suspicious if I become complacent. I've never been one to keep my thoughts to myself. His expression softens, and he reaches for a strand of my hair. "Shit, I'm sorry," he says, placing his hands on my waist and lifting me to sit on the sink. This isn't the first time he's done this, but it is the first time I feel repulsed by it. It's killing me, but I'm repulsed by the man I thought was everything to me. He reaches for the hem of my scrubs and pulls the top over my head. I'm trapped, and he doesn't see that this is wrong or that I don't want him touching me. I stay still, not knowing what to do. "I'm sorry," he leans into me. He buries his hand in my hair to pull my head back enough, so I'm looking up at him. "I keep fucking this up," He brushes his lips to mine, weaponizing our bond against me. My body reacts to his because of it. Tears slip from my eyes as he kisses me. He catches one on his tongue and lifts me enough to reach between us to get my scrubs off. "Please," I cry, not wanting to do this. "I don't-" "It's okay," he wraps my legs around his waist and covers my mouth to keep me from making a sound. "Stop," I mumble into his hand, trying to push him off me. His lips crash against mine, and he reaches between us. My omega traits are alive and well. He takes my reaction to our bond as an opening. Panic starts to set in because no matter what I do or say, he's not going to stop. It's in this moment that I realize too late that maybe I was never a person to him. Just an object no better than the shiny car his parents got him for his birthday this year. "It's only you, Soph," he mumbles into my mouth. "You're the only one I want." My mind blanks when he enters me. My body screams in protest, but he doesn't stop, and he's taking my struggling as fuel to get rougher. He presses his hand over my mouth again to keep him silent. "You're mine, Sophia," he repeats over and over until he's finished. I sit here for a while once he's done processing what just happened. When he knocks again, it's gently this time as if everything that's happened is now behind us. I didn't answer, but I ended up taking a quick shower mindlessly. He's not going to leave me alone. This woman is only going to make this a whole lot harder. She's standing in front of the dining table, her hands folded neatly over her belly. The smile on her face is one I'm all too familiar with. Before now, I used to take solace in it. Luna Romano has been like a mother to me since my mother passed. She would tell anyone who would listen that I, Sophia Helvig, was her only son's fated mate. Things changed when Santiago told them that I was an omega. They sent him away, and I was no longer invited to Sunday dinners in the main house. I was no longer a part of their family. If I'm such a disgrace on her family's bloodline, then why the hell does she want me here? I could just leave when the semester is over. I wouldn't make a fuss, and I wouldn't ask for a single thing in return. No one in their right mind would allow this humiliation, even if I am simply a lowly omega. "Why don't you come take a seat, Sophia?" She takes a step to her right and pulls out the chair to Santiago's left. She looks down at the chair and then at me. The action is almost threatening. "I think we need to have a serious talk." 3 Santiago is sitting there without meeting my gaze. I cautiously go around the table to sit where Luna Romano wants me to sit. I stay still as she reaches over me for the bread knife. I sit back as she cuts the freshly made loaf of bread in front of me. She places a slice on my plate and then another on his. I watch her hands as she moves to put other things on our plates, never setting the knife down. She walks around the table and sets it down beside her plate. "I understand that you are having some trouble with the new arrangement," she says as she takes a fork off the table. "I don't have to remind you that you are Santiago's mate." "No, you don't, and I don't think it's any of your business," I answer honestly—the two of us jump when Santiago slams his hand on the table. "Don't talk to my mother like that, Sophia," he growls. "It's alright, son," she says and continues to eat as if nothing were out of place. "Sophia, you shouldn't be making this harder than it has to be. You are Santiago's mate, and that comes with certain responsibilities." "No, it doesn't. You legally found a replacement for these so-called responsibilities-" "Of course, I did," she stops me. "Do you think you, an omega. A wolfless girl who is practically mortal could ever hold a candle to what a beta-ranked female can?" "I can do everything the beta-ranked female you chose and better. I have proven that over and over. In training and my studies. She wouldn't be able to hold the highest credentials in medicine, the way I can run circles around her studies in pack economics. The comparison isn't fair if you're basing this on genetics." "Is that what this is?" she laughs humorlessly. "You're jealous of Poppy?" "Poppy has nothing I need to be jealous about," I sneer. "Except you do. She is the new Luna of the City, whether you like it or not," she says flatly. "Do you know how many Lunas die a year because other alphas or rogues target them. You know, the very same rogues who took your family from us. You will never be in any danger with Luna Romano taking the lead." I stare at her, letting what she just said sink in. She just called Poppy Luna Romano. My hand twitches over the fork beside my plate. It would be so easy for me to get over this table with it to show her exactly what this little omega can do. I may be the lowest rank of my kind, but I was raised like one of them. My grandmother would rather kill me than let me walk around unable to protect myself. As one of the Lycan King's most trusted Major Generals, my training started long before theirs did. I was raised to be a soldier, and it was only by fate that I am now a healer. "Mom," Santiago says gently. "I think you should leave." "Excuse me?" she laughs, looking over at him. "I think you should go so that I can talk to Sophia alone," he adds. "You brought me here," she reminds him. "I know, and she knows how serious this is now. Get out," he growls. The two of them face off for a moment before she nods and stands up to leave. Neither of us moves as she gathers her belongings. She kisses the side of his head. He knows exactly what I would do to his mother, even though she outranks me. I'd spend the rest of my life in a prison cell here, and I wouldn't regret it. "I suggest you understand your position and soon, Sophia," she says, pausing at the end of the table. "We want to move forward doing things pleasantly. You can be a part of this family the easy way, or you can be a part of this family the hard way. The choice is up to you, but leaving is not an option." "Go," Santiago growls at her again. I sit here waiting for the weight of her words to break the silence between us. He expects me to stay here while he parades his chosen around for all to see simply because I'm an omega. Tears fill my eyes as the realization hits me like a slap across the face. They're all going to make my life a living hell, and he expects me to take it. "You swore you'd never let anything hurt me when I told you I didn't shift," I whisper. "I would never let anything hurt you, Sophia. You know that I would do anything for you." "Except this, right? You'd never stand up to your mother for us even if it killed me," I stand up. "She made us dinner, Sophia. The least you can do is try it," he says calmly. I suck in the mucus in my nose from crying and hack it up into my mouth before spitting it on the food she made for us. He stares at me in disbelief. I've never done anything so ill-mannered before. My grandmother would have never let me hear the end of it, but I think this is an exception she might be willing to overlook. "That's what I think about your mother's food, Santiago." I kiss him on the opposite side of his head. "It's going to take some time for us to get used to this. Sophie," he continues. "I'd reject you now if I thought you'd accept it. But I'm looking forward to doing everything in my power to make you do it. By the time this is over, you're going to hate me with every ounce of your soul the way I do you now." He reacts this time. His hand lashes out and grabs my wrist. He spins me around, pulling me into him hard. My chest smacks against his, hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs. "You hate me?" he laughs and pushes against me until my back hits the wall. My body is trembling, and I can't bring myself to look up at him because if he looks into my eyes, he'll know I'm lying. I want to hate him. I should. But our world is on fire. The flames are closing in around us, with nowhere to run. He did this. He did this to us, and instead of letting me go so that he may do his so-called duty, he wants me to stick around to watch him destroy everything we could have built together. "Reject me. Please," I beg him. "I don't want this. I don't want you like this." "Not a chance, Sophia. You said you'd help me make sure the City prospers," he says, burying his face in the crook of my neck. "This is it, Baby. As soon as we have an heir, it's over. It'll be just you and me. You'll bear my mark, and we can put it all behind us." 4 It's been a long time since I've been plagued with nightmares of the attack. I lay here beside my so-called mate, reliving the moment in silence. It's the final quarter. There are forty seconds on the board and six yards to a touchdown. My arms are tightly around the iron bars as I watch my oldest brother, Gavin, toss the ball to our brother Oliver. The two of them position themselves as the next play begins. All I can hear is the roar of my blood racing as I watch the final moments of the game. My brothers have been working so hard to get here, and winning this game will make them champions of this year's Packlands Championship league. "Let's go, Helvig!" someone shouts, and the crowd starts chanting our last name. The timer restarts, and the team delays the throw. The other teams are unaware of what's happening. Their eyes are locked on Oliver. Ten seconds. Oliver pushes off the ground, and the other team moves with him. Gavin rushes forward, pushing off the ground with all his might. The crowd erupts with joy as he jumps over the other quarterback, clearing the last yards. The stadium goes crazy. I scream, gripping the metal divider, and jump down along with a whole lot of other people. They did it. I cross the field and jump into my brother's arms. Oliver swings me around laughing, and then tosses me up, only for Gavin to catch me. The team and the others in the pack surround us. The older wolves howl while we, the juveniles, can only scream with joy. I have never been more proud of my brothers. I've watched them day in and day out train until they could barely stand to get here. I know it's one of the happiest days in their lives, and I get to be a part of it. "Where's Dad?" Oliver asks. I stare back at him, not knowing how to answer without ruining the win. I think he sees it in my eyes because he nods. "It's cool." "I'm here," I take his hand, and his smile returns. I jump on him again. "You did it!" "We did it," Gavin comes over with some of the other older boys and his mate. Joclyn. Joclyn is the prettiest girl I've ever seen in my life, and she complements my brother perfectly. The ideal beta couple is coming into power. I hear all the whispers about them, how they're going to make the pack stronger. The best thing that could have happened to the Artume Pack was the alpha bringing in my father when he was seventeen years old. No one has anything bad to say about any of us. "Hey," I point at Dad. We all turn to see him running to us. "He came!" I beam, patting Oliver's arm. "He's here." Ollie has always tried his best to please our dad. To walk in Gavin's footsteps to show him that he's worthy of being an official Beta. I know our father is as proud as the rest of our family, but he works a lot. Being the Pack's acting Beta is a full-time job, and sometimes he misses things. Gavin tries to explain, but it's hard to listen when there's a vacant spot in every event or ceremony. "Something's wrong." Gavin takes my hand and pushes me towards Joclyn. She immediately pulls me to her. Dad waves his hands. "Run," Oliver shouts at us. "Sophie," Joclyn pulls me, and I lose my grip on my brother's arm. A loud howl echoes in the darkness in the treeline. Joclyn's hold on my hand tightens as a massive wolves come out of the darkness like demonic shadows—one after the other in every direction. "Gavin!" I cry out, but he's nowhere in sight. "Sophie, stay with me," Joclyn shouts. I follow. The two of us run towards the crowd. She's smart, she's ducking under the crowd with me in tow, not trying to go through them. I scream when someone hits the floor beside me. It's Ms. Harper, my Algebra one teacher. Her eyes are looking back at me, but there's nothing in them. I scramble away from her to get closer to Joclyn. The two of us managed to get under the bleachers with a couple of other girls from my class. "Stay behind me," Joclyn growls. Two big wolves appear up ahead. We turn around to find two more at the other end. "The tunnel," I cry out. "Go," Joclyn shoves me, and she shifts. I take the hands of two of the other girls, and we make a run for it as some of the other pack wolves back Joclyn out. I push the girls to the left, keeping us tight against the wall. Two rogues run past us. I glance back at the others, knowing that they have no idea what to do. Not any more than I do. Think. Think, Soph. What would Ollie do? I poke my head out to see that people are dying everywhere. I see an opening to the parking lot. "Okay," I look over at the girl behind me. She's in my PE class. "Okay, do you remember when we did all four exercises?" "Yes," she nods, along with some of the other girls. "Don't stop until you get out of the gate. Head towards the main building," I order. "What about you?" she cries. "I'm right behind you," I promise. She steps forward. "The gate and then the main building. Hide anywhere." The four of them take off running the way we practiced. I look back and see no one. I don't want to leave Joclyn behind, but there's really nothing I can do. I turn around and run after them. I repeat it in my head over and over. The gate. The main building. The gate. The main building. The gate. The main building. My body screams when my hands reach the gate. I try to catch my breath, and as I prepare to break for the parking lot, I hear a howl, and my body freezes. I turn around to see my father's wolf trying to fight off the wolves, but I lock on to the dark brown wolf behind him. Gavin. My blood runs cold. Another howl echoes in the distance. I see the pretty sand colored wolf sprint across the field and clash against the group of rogues my father is trying to fend off. I step back, unable to believe what I'm seeing. My eyes scan the crowd, trying to find Oliver. I don't see him anywhere. He wouldn't want me to get in the way. If I run out there, I can risk getting hurt or distracting them more. I turn around only to come face-to-face with two wolves. Everything happens so fast. The pain blurs a lot of what's happening. I scream as I'm dragged towards the treeline. I kick and claw, calling out for help. I hear it then, Oliver's howl. The teeth embedded in my shoulder are pulled away, and I cry out as my brother's black wolf runs past me. "Oliver!" I cry out. But it's no use. I can't move. Everything feels hot, and all I can do is watch as those monsters rip my sixteen-year-old, newly shifted brother apart. I can't breathe. All I can taste is the metal in my mouth. I turn slowly, searching the chaos for my Dad. "Daddy!" I call out. I repeat it over and over as I pull myself towards the light of the parking lot. I reach the border and pull myself closer to the light. Two growls come from behind me. I look back to see the two rogues stalking towards me. The bigger one barks, and I cry out. It pounces forward, biting at my leg. With what little strength I have, I kick him. He whines, and the other one pounces on me. Its paw lands on the wound on my shoulder, and all I can do is scream. There's a howl, and the wolves pause. The look in the direction it came from. One of them runs off, but the other one keeps its eyes on me. The howl turns into a roar just as he's about to bite me again. He freezes mid-attack and turns his attention to the darkness behind him. More wolves rush out of the darkness. One in particular stands out. A massive silverback jumps out of the darkness of the clearing. His silver fur was almost luminescent in the full moon's light. He tears those other wolves apart without mercy. The one hovering over me lowers his body and turns around to escape. I scream and reach for it. The wolf is startled, and it bites me. I cry out again and again, refusing to let go. I can feel it tearing at my stomach, but if I'm dying, he's coming with me. Silver comes in my direction, and the wolf latched onto me let's go. I keep my arms around its leg the same way I had when my brothers won tonight. I feel the hit of the young King taking the wolf off me. I fall onto my back. Water or maybe blood fills my lungs, and I can't breathe at all. I try to gasp for air, but relief never comes. All I can see are the stadium lights that illuminate the football field I've grown to love. I lay here thinking that was probably the worst thing that could have ever happened to me. The man at my back, who swore his love and devotion, sleeps peacefully, not caring that he's tearing me apart. 5 I sit up when my alarm goes off and turn it off before it can wake him. I shower, trying my best to get his scent off my skin. To erase what he did to me until he was satisfied. My skin is raw by the time I'm ready for my first class today. I make a quick breakfast for us. I take my coffee and try to escape before he wakes up. I almost jump out of my skin when I turn around to see him standing behind me. He's never hidden his presence from me before. His smile is one I'm very familiar with. I have woken up to it every morning since his return. It was a testament to the happy life I thought we were building. It comes off sinister now that I've seen the beast he'd been hiding from me after all these years. I look at him, and I only see a stranger now. A stranger in my mate's skin. "You were going to leave without saying goodbye?" he asks, stepping closer. "I didn't want to wake you, and I'm already running late," I lie, taking my cup off the counter. He steps with me and takes the cup. "Okay," he says, putting it back on the counter. "I made a reservation for us at-" "Do you really think going out in public would sit well with the pack days after your wedding?" I ask, stopping him. He tenses up. He's never been one for rejection, and up until now, I've never had a reason to say no. I'm questioning everything, and all I feel is emptiness. "I'm trying to make it up to you," he sighs. "I didn't want this either, Sophia." "I understand, which is why I'm telling you now that going out in public wouldn't be right. It would reflect poorly on the two of us. It'll be disrespectful to your wife," I see him visibly tense up as I take my cup from the counter again. "I'll see you tonight. Here, where no one can see." "I'm sorry," he blocks my path again. "Tell me how to make this right again." I stare at him to see if he looks genuine. He seems to think this is a tiny little obstacle in our path, but he doesn't understand the rules of choosing a mate. He's not going to get anything he wants without marking Poppy. What we had was over the moment he allowed his parents to dictate what would happen as he moved forward as the alpha of Artume City. Hell will freeze over before I ever forgive him. Not just for the wedding or not being able to stand up for us, but because of his actions. I don't want him anywhere near me, and he doesn't seem to care. He doesn't see that he's hurting me and making things worse. "I just need some space," I step back. "You didn't even warn me, Santiago. I knew your parents stopped caring for me the moment you told them I was an omega. I didn't think you would ever buy into it. You accepting this only proves to me that you think the same thing they do." "I don't. Sophie, you mean everything to me. You are the love of my life. From the moment I laid eyes on you," he grabs my wrist. "You have to know that." "I did," I pull my arm out of his grip. "But I find it very hard to believe it's the truth anymore." He stares at me, and I can see the war he's in with his wolf. His expression blanks, and I look away to go for the door. "Do you still love me, Soph?" he asks as I step out of the apartment. I take a deep breath and leave without saying a word because that's a stupid question. I hurry into my car and leave before he decides that he wants me to stay with him for the day. Sitting in class is not something I want to be doing right now. I'm in agony, and I have nowhere to go to let it out. Everyone is staring at me. I may not have a wolf, but I can still hear them whispering about me. Those who have hated me from the moment Santiago made our relationship known think I have finally been put in my place. As if being Santiago's mate was the only thing I was ever good at. It's such a shallow notion, and it's an odd feeling when I think that I was no better until the day I didn't shift. I complete the pop quiz and take it to the front. I'm still the first one done. I'm probably the only one in this class who's going to ace it. None of them is going to see that simply because my misery is more exciting. They want something to make me smaller. Envy is ugly when power is involved. I never wanted any of it. I fell in love with the idea of mates, especially after I lost my family. Before I went to Artume Academy, my grandmother had to stay here with me. We were both miserable. She was stuck here babysitting a twelve-year-old who couldn't even move after the attack—two years of surgeries and physical training. It was lonely, so when I met the boy with the pretty sea glass colored eyes and sly smirk, I didn't even question it. It was comforting to be vulnerable around him. To have someone to share my small world with. He was my best friend, but he was gone for a whole year, and things can change during a big stretch of time. I was stupid to think I'd get the same person back. "Ms Helvig," Professor Harrington greets me. She takes my test and sets it down on her desk. "If you need some time to-" "I don't. I'm fine," I reassure her. Her pity stings. I gather my things, wanting nothing more than to go back to my apartment and sleep for the rest of the day. "Omega bitch," someone growls as I make my way over to the exit. I pause and see an eraser on the desk beside me. Using my knee, I knock the table up and round-house kick the eraser at her. She turns back to look at me right on time, and I get her right in the center of her forehead. The class laughs at her when she stands up and screams. "I may be some omega bitch, but I can still end you. Then you'd be the stupid bitch that some omega nobody killed," I remind her. Her eyes are glowing amber with rage. I stand my ground, waiting for her to give me an excuse to beat the shit out of her. She stares at me long enough for it to be embarrassing for her. She takes a seat without saying another word. Some of the others laugh at her. I walk out satisfied. I slam against a brick wall, dropping all of my things. I look up to see a smirk aimed back at me. "Bullying the little girls, Little Omega?" he grins. "Some things never change, huh?" 6 It's been about three years since the last time I've been around the second crown prince of the Lycans. My grandmother used to bring him and his older brother here when the Lycan King and Queen were away on business. Ivar Axel is five years older than me and was best friends with my eldest brother, Gavin. Growing up, he and Gavin made it their life's purpose to infuriate me and my brother Oliver. "My prince," I step back and bow. "Don't even do that," he laughs. I smile at him and crouch down to pick up my things. "Are you okay?" Professor Harrington comes out of the classroom to check on me. I stand up, looking between the two of them. Ivar hands me my belongings. "I'm sorry for the interruption, Professor. I ran into an old friend. This is Ivar Axel. The second crown prince," I introduce him so that she can just go back inside and leave me the hell alone. Is everyone going to ask me if I'm okay? That's the last thing I need. Maybe leaving school early and having to work twice as hard in the upcoming term, so I'm not set back, isn't as bad as I think it might be. Then again, the perfectionist in me would riot. "My prince," she bows to him. She looks up at me. For a moment, she considers reaching for me, but she hesitates, then nods. "Be careful." "What was that?" Ivar laughs when she goes back into her classroom. "Don't ask," I shake my head. "It's been a long time, your highness." "I know. I'm sorry, but it's been a long two-" "Three years," I correct him. I was sixteen the last time I saw him. Not long after, I found out I was an omega. I chalked it up to the exact reason why everyone else pulled away. When others heard I didn't shift, they recoiled as if I had suddenly become contagious. "Shit, it's really been that long?" he laughs. "I'm going to the cafeteria for breakfast. Want to come?" "Lead the way. You know I love to eat." "What brings you to Artume City?" I ask. He takes a deep breath and lets out the heaviest sigh ever. I laugh at how dramatic he still is. That hasn't changed at all. "I got in trouble," he admits. "The night before a huge summit, I went out with some of the alphas in the North, and we got plastered. I didn't show, and Ragnar benched me for the rest of the year." "Ivar," I say his name, disappointedly. The alphas of the North are known for their wild parties. They're all a bunch of cowboys. "I know. I know," he shrugs. "But honestly, I don't even care. I'm tired. I hate politics, and my dad wants me to be beta. That means I'd have to walk beside Ragnar for the rest of my life, and I can't think of anything worse." "I thought you guys were close. Did something happen?" I ask. "Nah, I just hate how planned out his life is. He doesn't know how to have fun. He's devoted to sucking up to our dad and training to be the new Lycan King. I don't have that responsibility, and we have an amazing up-and-coming Beta. I don't see why he's pushing this so hard." "I can think of one thing. You'd be the King's most trusted. There would be no one better to watch his back than his own brother," I shrug. He takes two trays off the belt and hands me one. "Okay, when you put it like that, it makes me sound like I'm entitled," he smirks. "Just a little," I laugh. "So, what? You decided to come slum it with us civilians?" "Actually, I'm here on guard duty." "Oh yeah? Who?" I ask, interested. "You," he says. "Me?" I ask, glancing back at him as I reach for a slice of pizza. I snort as I take a few other items. "Why would I need guarding?" "You tell me. Major General Helvig set the order. My orders are to stay with you until your move to Blackstone. She didn't specify any details," he says, glancing at me as if I were hiding some grand secret. I grab a couple of drinks and get in line for the cash register. My stomach tightens as I play what he said over and over in my head. She couldn't make it, so she sent Ivar to make sure I made it back in one piece. Santiago is not going to like it one bit. Shit. "Ms Helvig," the girl at the register greets me kindly. "Hey, Steph," I say. "The two lunches, please." "Of course," she says and rings us up. We take a seat somewhere away from the big crowds. "Is there something you want to tell me?" he asks. I reach for my lemonade. The sleeve of my hoodie pulls up. I try not to make it evident that I'm hiding it, but I know he saw it. His playful demeanor instantly fades. He stares at me as I reach for my breakfast pizza slice and take a bite. What am I supposed to do in this situation? Lie? To the crown prince? And then what? I tell him the truth, and he confronts Santiago. This is not going to end well. "Some shit happened," I shrug it off. "Who did that to you?" he asks. "I mostly did it to myself," ugh. I just said that. "Did Santiago hurt you?" he asks, his voice low, and leans forward to hear my answer. I don't know how to answer him. I don't know how to explain what is happening to me. I'm scared. Anything I do or say will be evaluated. Santiago made a choice, and I wasn't it. Yet things aren't as black-and-white as that. He sits back without pushing it, and I feel like an idiot for feeling this relieved. "Can we talk about this later? Where are you staying?" I ask him. "At the Helvig Estate. There are instructions for you," he says, reaching into his jacket pocket. He places the envelope with the royal seal wax stamp on it. I wipe my hands and my mouth before reaching for it. There are envelopes—one for me and one for Santiago. I shut my eyes, already exhausted with where this is headed. I open my letter to see it written on the page. By order of Major General Zaraphine Helvig, Sophia Marie Anne Helvig is to return to the Helvig estate for the remainder of her school term to liquidate all Helvig properties and ensure the safety of all valuables so they may be returned to her in Blackstone. It's specified that no outsiders are to enter the house during this time to protect said valuables. It goes on to say that Ivar is here to ensure that everything listed is completed in accordance with the provided schedule. It's not only signed by my grandmother, but the Lycan King himself. If anyone were to question it, they would have to ask the two of them directly. "Fuck my life," I toss the envelope onto the other one. He'll know exactly what's going to happen when the term ends in three months. There will be no hiding it, even if I'm able to convince him for a while. We'll both know. I wonder if we're going to make it out of this. If anything will ever be okay again. "You promise to tell me what's going on when we get home?" he asks. "I'm going to have to keep him off you, aren't I?" "I'd like to think he's above that, but it's a probability," I whisper. "Okay," he nods, his expression softening. "I'll try not to kill him. Although I doubt my brother would hate it when I tell him I mistakenly started a war because someone is hurting you."

Mariet Rustin Tuschinski

InactiveJun 29, 26

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ARIA The key turns the lock with a soft click that sounds too loud in the quiet hallway. I'm practically vibrating with excitement as I push open the door to Marcus's apartment, my heels clicking against the hardwood floor. The promotion letter is still warm in my purse—Senior Director of Marketing at twenty-six. After years of caffeine-fueled nights, endless presentations, and fighting twice as hard to be taken seriously, I finally made it. And I can't wait to celebrate with Marcus. He’ll be proud. I know he will. He’ll kiss me, spin me around, and whisper that he always knew I could do it. The apartment is dark when I step inside, the faint scent of cedar and cologne wrapping around me. A single sliver of light leaks from beneath the bedroom door. My smile deepens. He’s home. I slip off my heels, tiptoeing across the hardwood floor. The diamond on my finger catches a ghost of light. two carats of carefully selected princess-cut diamonds. We chose it together three months ago. Our wedding is in eight weeks. Eight weeks until everything I’ve ever dreamed of becomes real. I reach for the bedroom door, with my heart full, and my mind already painting the moment I tell him. The feeling of his arms around me. His deep, throaty chuckle that does wonders in my body. The champagne we’ll open... A sound cuts through my thoughts. Low, rhythmic, and sexy. I stop breathing. It takes a second for my mind to catch up to my body to process what my ears already know but refuse to accept. No. No, it can’t be... My hand trembles as I reach for the doorknob. A voice inside me begs to turn around, to leave before everything changes. But my fingers keep moving, like they belong to someone else, pushing the door open. The scene before me moves in slow motion and all at once. Marcus... My Marcus is behind a woman bent over the edge of our bed. His hands grip her hips, hard and possessive, dragging her back against him with brutal rhythm. The air fills with the sound of skin meeting skin, obscene and unmistakable. My vision blurs, and my mind refuses to believe what my eyes see. The woman’s hair falls in long, dark waves, and it's a familiar wave, for a fact. No. Please, God—no. She turns her head. And I see my own face. Or rather...my twin sister’s. Vivienne. Her green eyes lock on mine. And then she smiles. Slow, deliberate, cruel smiles, that vicious curve of lips I've seen a thousand times when she's won something, taken something, or destroyed something that belongs to me. “Fuck me harder, baby,” she moans, voice dripping with mockery, not even bothering to look away from me or trying to act shocked. She's performing for me now. The sound pierces through me, and my lungs seize. I can’t move, think, or speak. Marcus doesn't stop. Not immediately. It takes him several more thrusts before he follows her gaze and sees me standing in the doorway. "Aria." His voice is flat. Not shocked or apologetic. Just... flat. Like I was a curious child who walked in on her parents going at it, and now they are disappointed in me for not playing elsewhere. The engagement ring suddenly feels like a chain that weighs a thousand pounds on my finger. "How long?" The words scrape out of my throat like broken glass. Vivienne laughs as she pushes herself up, completely shameless in her nakedness. Marcus pulls out of her and reaches for his pants, but there's no urgency or panic in his movements. Because this isn't a mistake. This isn't a moment of weakness. This is something else entirely. "How long?" I repeat, my voice breaking. "Does it matter?" Marcus asks, buttoning his pants with steady hands. Yes. Yes, it fucking matters. But I can't seem to make my mouth form the words. Vivienne wraps herself in Marcus's robe, the one I bought him for his birthday, and walks toward me. Every step is deliberate and calculated. She's always been like this. Always knew exactly how to wound me in the places that hurt most. "Want the truth, sister?" Her voice drips with false sweetness. I should leave, run. But I'm rooted to the spot, watching my life implode in real-time. Vivienne leans against the doorframe, so close I can smell her perfume. The same one I wear. The same one our mother bought us for our sixteenth birthday. "He was mine first." The words hit me like a physical blow. "What?" "Marcus." She gestures lazily toward him. "He was my boyfriend for eight months before you ever met him." No. That's not possible. We met at a networking event two years ago. He pursued me. He said... "The conference in Boston," Marcus says, and his voice is far gone from the sexy, throaty voice that pulled me to him. He sounds like he's presenting at a board meeting. "Where we 'met'? Vivienne told me you'd be there. Told me exactly where to stand so I'd 'accidentally' bump into you." The room tilts. I grab the doorframe for support. "She gave me everything," he continues. "Your favorite flowers. Your coffee order. The way you twist your hair when you're nervous. How you always wanted to wait for marriage because you thought it would mean something." The virgin comment lands like he knew it would. Heat floods my cheeks. Vivienne's smile sharpens. "You're so predictable, Aria. You always have been. The good daughter. The responsible one. The one who does everything right." "Why?" My voice breaks completely now. "Why would you..." "Because I'm sick of watching you have everything I deserve!" The words explode out of her. "You got the job I wanted. The respect I should have. Everyone loves perfect Aria, so smart, so accomplished, so genuine." She spits the last word like it's poison. "I'm your sister," I whisper. "Exactly." Her eyes flash. "My twin. We're supposed to be equal. But you've always had more. Not prettier...we're identical. Not smarter...I'm not stupid. But somehow, you always win." "So you decided to destroy me." "So I decided to bring you down from your high horse for once." She straightens, crossing her arms. "And it was so easy. God, Aria, you fell for every line. Every carefully crafted text message. Every manufactured 'spontaneous' date. Marcus played you perfectly." I look at Marcus, searching for any sign of the man I thought I knew. The man I thought I loved. "You were a job," he says simply. "A very lucrative job. You had the connections I needed. The respect in the industry. Dating you, getting engaged to you...it opened doors." "And destroying me?" I force the words out. "What did that open?" Vivienne answers instead. "My satisfaction. Finally, watching perfect Aria lose something. Watching you hurt the way I've hurt every time Mom and Dad praised your accomplishments while barely noticing mine." This isn't happening. This can't be happening. "The sex would have been decent," Marcus adds, and I want to vomit. "But you were always so hesitant. So worried about being perfect. Your sister, on the other hand..." Vivienne preens under his attention. Three years. Three years of my life with a man who was my sister's puppet. Who never loved me. Who was actively plotting my destruction while I was picking out wedding invitations and dreaming about our future? The promotion letter in my purse feels meaningless now. Everything feels meaningless. "Get out," Vivienne says, like this is her apartment. Like she has any right. I should say something cutting. Something that puts them both in their place. But my throat is closed and my eyes are burning, and all I can think is that I need to leave before I completely fall apart in front of them. So I do. I turn and walk out of the apartment on numb legs. Behind me, I hear Vivienne's laughter follow me down the hall.

Claire Maddie Kusters

InactiveJun 29, 26 · 1d

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I signed the rejection papers while my mate kissed another woman on our bed. The pen didn't even shake in my hand. Three years of marriage—and this was how it ended. Not with a fight. Not with tears. Just the quiet scratch of ink on paper while she moaned his name in the next room. I placed the signed documents on the kitchen counter, right next to the breakfast I'd made him—his favorite, eggs Benedict with smoked salmon. The plate was still warm. Then I picked up my bag and walked toward the door. I didn't slam it. I closed it gently, the way I'd done everything in this marriage—quietly, carefully, making sure I never disturbed anyone. The morning air hit my face. Cold. Sharp. January in New York. My wolf stirred inside me, weak but restless. *"We need to tell him,"* she whispered. I pressed my hand against my stomach—still flat, but not for long. Six weeks pregnant. With the child of an Alpha who just rejected me for his childhood sweetheart. No. He didn't need to know. He'd made his choice. And I'd made mine. I pulled out my phone and dialed the only number I had left. "Aunt Harper? It's Elara." "Elara? Oh my God, sweetheart—what's wrong? It's six in the morning." "I need a place to stay. Can I come to you?" A pause. Then, softly: "What did he do?" My throat tightened. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to sound unbothered. But when someone asks you *what happened* with genuine care in their voice—after three years of no one asking at all—something inside you just... breaks. "He chose her," I whispered. "He's been choosing her for months. I just... I didn't want to see it." "I'm booking your train ticket right now. Don't argue." "Okay." "And Elara?" "Yeah?" "You're never going back to that man. Do you hear me?" I ended the call and stood on the sidewalk, watching the city wake up around me. Somewhere behind me, in the penthouse I'd called home for three years, my husband—no, my *ex*-husband—was tangled in sheets with Megan Cross, the woman he told me was "just a colleague." Funny thing was, I'd believed him. Every single time. When she called at midnight, I believed him. When her perfume clung to his collar, I believed him. When she showed up at our anniversary dinner "by coincidence," I smiled and offered her a seat. Because that's what Luna Elara did. She trusted. She forgave. She stayed. But Luna Elara was gone now. My phone buzzed. Aunt Harper had sent the ticket. The train left in two hours. I didn't look back—not once. But my wolf did. And the last thing she felt through the bond, before I shut it down completely, was this: He was laughing. He was laughing with her in our bed—and he hadn't even noticed I was gone.

Sydney Ryan Yerger

InactiveJun 29, 26 · 1d

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Twenty minutes. That’s how long it took for me to change grooms. Right there, at the marriage license bureau in Las Vegas. Garrett, my fiancé of three years, had left me standing there alone to go deal with his childhood friend, who had supposedly taken a fall. He thought I’d wait, just like I always did. He thought I’d swallow the text he sent: *Don’t make a scene. We’ll sign when I get back.* But he didn’t know. This time, I called someone else. And twenty minutes after I sent my own text, another man walked through the door, holding a ring and his ID. His name was Noah. A lawyer who, as it turned out, had been in love with me for six years. He told me that for him, this wasn’t an impulse. It was a wish, finally granted. … My phone buzzed again. Another text from Garrett. *Sloane’s condition is worse than I thought. She refuses to go to the hospital, so I need to stay and watch over her. Baby, go back to Charleston without me. Don’t wait.* I stared at the screen, a laugh bubbling up in my throat, sharp and bitter. Don’t wait. Those two words were a perfect, painful summary of the last three years. Don’t wait for him to get off the phone with Sloane. Don’t wait for him to tear himself away from one of Sloane’s endless “emergencies.” Don’t wait for him to keep a single promise that didn’t get derailed by someone who always, always came before me. Today was the day we were supposed to get married in Las Vegas. And he was telling me not to wait. “Next, Ms. Bennett?” Behind the counter, a clerk with tired eyes and smudged glasses raised her voice. It cut through the thick air of cheap perfume and secondhand excitement, impossibly clear. Heads turned. I felt the curious glances of other couples prickle my skin, all of them staring at the lone bride-to-be, clutching her wedding paperwork. A hot wave of humiliation washed over me. I took a deep breath, stood, and walked to the counter. “Yes,” I said, my voice so calm it felt like it belonged to someone else. “I’m still getting married today.” The clerk blinked, her gaze dropping to the documents I’d handed her. Garrett Whitaker’s name was printed in bold. I ignored her confusion and pulled out my phone. I didn’t have to search my contacts; the name was already seared into my memory. Noah Caldwell. Six years ago, during a hurricane evacuation in Savannah, my car had broken down. He was a stranger who’d stopped to help me change a tire, then pressed a case of water and a box of emergency rations into my hands to make sure I got out safely. We’d only exchanged names and numbers. He’d said he was a lawyer, and to call him if I ever needed anything. In six years, I’d only called him once, to ask a question about a business contract for my floral studio. Now, I was calling in the favor. My fingers flew across the screen, no hesitation at all. *Are you in Las Vegas?* Sent. His reply was almost instantaneous. *Yes.* My heart gave a sharp, painful thud. *Clark County Marriage License Bureau. Bring your ID. Get here in twenty minutes and marry me.* The “read” receipt appeared. For a moment, the three little dots bounced at the top of the screen as he typed, deleted, and typed again, no doubt trying to process the sheer insanity of my request. Then the dots vanished. A short reply took their place. *On my way.* I set my phone face down on the cool laminate counter and let out a long, shaky breath. All right, Maya Bennett. You’ve finally done something completely, utterly crazy. But strangely, I wasn’t scared. All I felt was the quiet relief of someone who had just burned their last bridge to the ground. My screen lit up with a video call from my best friend, Jenna. I hesitated for a second, then answered. “Let me see it! Let me see the brand-new Mrs. Whitaker’s marriage certificate!” Jenna’s grin filled the screen, her Charleston living room bright behind her. “Not yet,” I said, my voice flat. “What? They......

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