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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.

I used to ask every new dialysis patient the same thing — "What was your A1C before your kidneys failed?" After 11,000 patients and the same answer every single time, I stopped asking. It was always "managed." It was always between 6.5 and 7.5. It was always someone who did everything their doctor told them to do. The chairs aren't full of people who ignored their blood sugar. They're full of people who trusted the wrong number. I need to tell you something I've been carrying for a long time. And I'm telling you now because last month I got my own prediabetes diagnosis — and I refuse to end up in one of my own chairs. I'm Sandra Keller. I've been a dialysis nurse for 14 years. Roughly 11,000 patients connected to machines. Let me tell you what that actually looks like — because most people only know the word. They don't know the room. Three days a week. Four hours a session. A needle goes into a fistula — a surgically created access point in the arm that leaves a scar most patients hide under long sleeves even in summer. The machine pulls their blood out, cleans it — does what their kidneys cannot anymore — and pushes it back in. For four hours. While they sit there. I've watched people cry during sessions — not from pain but from the weight of what their life became. I've watched a 61-year-old man read the same magazine in the waiting room every Tuesday and Thursday for three years while his wife was connected. I've watched patients stop traveling because they cannot miss a session. I've watched marriages buckle under the schedule. I've watched grandchildren learn to plan around Grandma's dialysis days — "we can't do Saturday, Grandma has her treatment." I've watched patients stop coming. And I know what that means. One of my long-term patients — a woman named Ruth, 63, three years in my unit — told me something I think about every single day. She said: "This isn't living. This is just not dying yet." And you know what every single one of them says when I ask how they got here? "I did everything right. My blood sugar was managed. Nobody told me my kidneys were dying." Every. Single. One. Last month I sat in my own doctor's office and heard the word "prediabetes" attached to my name. A1C: 6.4. Fasting glucose running 135 to 145. And here's the part that made my hands go cold — my creatinine had crept from 0.8 to 1.0 over ten months. My GFR — the number that tells you how well your kidneys are actually filtering — had dropped from 98 to 86. On paper, none of that is alarming. My doctor said "we'll keep an eye on it." But I've heard those exact words before. I've heard them from the charts of people who are now sitting in my chairs. I know what "keeping an eye on it" looks like from the other end. It looks like quarterly labs that document the decline in neat little rows while the kidneys quietly fall apart between appointments. I know what a creatinine of 1.0 looks like at the beginning. Because I've held the hands of people whose creatinine started at 1.0. And I felt something I'd never felt in 14 years of nursing — real, bone-deep terror. Not for my patients. For myself. Two weeks later, something happened that changed the direction of everything. A patient came into my unit for his session. Type 2 for twelve years. On dialysis for nineteen months. I'd known him the whole time. He pulled a bag out of his jacket and set it on the table next to his chair. "Sandra. Tell your people about this." I picked it up. Ceylon cinnamon. Concentrated extract. 7,200mg equivalent in MCT oil. Called Metabolae. "My brother-in-law started taking it four months ago. A1C was 7.2. Now it's 5.9. His kidneys haven't gone further down. He was headed where I am. Not anymore." He looked at me. "My brother-in-law is not sitting in one of these chairs. And he was supposed to be." I took the bag home that night. I did what I've done my whole career when something doesn't add up. I opened my laptop at 11:30 PM and started reading. Here is what I found. And here is the thing I should have learned years earlier. Your A1C measures one thing: the percentage of your red blood cells coated in glucose. It's a rolling 90-day average of how much sugar is floating in your blood. That is all it measures. It does not see what that sugar is doing while it circulates. It does not see the tiny capillaries threading through your kidney tissue. It does not see the small vessels feeding the nerves in your feet. It does not see the delicate blood supply behind your eyes. It sees the level of the flood. Not where the flood is going. A 6.4 can be called prediabetic and your kidney filters can still be quietly wearing down behind it. A 6.8 can be called "managed" and the decline keeps moving. Both things are completely true at the same time. Because the A1C is tracking the water level. Your kidneys are paying the price of the current underneath. This is what produces foam in your toilet. The tiny filters inside your kidneys — glomeruli — have been under sustained pressure from glucose circulating through their walls for years. They start to fail. Protein leaks out. It shows up in your urine as foam that sits there after you flush. That foam is not a warning sign that something might happen. It is evidence that something is already happening. Let me explain the mechanism underneath — because once you see it, you'll understand why "managed" doesn't mean "safe." Every cell in your body has tiny doors on its surface — protein transporters called GLUT4. Their job is to open up, grab glucose from the blood, and pull it inside the cell where it gets converted to energy. In a healthy body, insulin gives the signal, the doors open, glucose moves from blood into cell, and blood sugar comes down. In insulin resistance — the thing underneath type 2 diabetes — those doors stop responding. They're still there. They just stopped coming to the surface. Insulin gives the signal. Nothing happens. Your pancreas sends more insulin. Still nothing. The glucose has nowhere to go, so it stays in your blood and keeps circulating. Your cells are starving. Your blood is flooded. And the sugar floating through your bloodstream keeps passing through every small blood vessel in your body, hour after hour, year after year, wearing the walls down from the inside. Think of your kidneys like the finest mesh screen you've ever seen — millions of tiny filters. That excess sugar is like fine sand being forced through the mesh under pressure. Hour after hour. Day after day. Month after month. The mesh starts to tear. First it leaks a little protein — that foam. Then the tears get bigger. Then the filtration rate drops. Then the whole system starts to fail. Metformin slows the flow of sand a little. But the sand is still coming. And the mesh is still tearing. And the monitoring? The monitoring just measures how torn the mesh is getting. Nobody is stopping the sand. And it is not just the kidneys. That same sugar pileup strips the insulation off your nerves — that's why your feet burn and your hands tingle. It starves your brain of fuel — that's why the fog rolls in by 2pm and the words get lost. It wrecks the tiny blood vessels behind your eyes — that's why the floaters showed up. It locks your body in fat-storage mode — that's why the belly won't budge. It shatters your sleep — that's why you're up three times a night with a racing heart. And it damages the blood vessels responsible for intimacy — that's why that part of your life quietly disappeared and nobody connected it to blood sugar. All of it — kidneys, nerves, brain, eyes, sleep, weight, intimacy — traces back to the same closed doors. Your doctor monitors the headline number. The story underneath it is your organs falling apart. Now — your medications. Metformin works on the input side of this problem. It tells your liver to produce less glucose. It reduces the flood. That is a real, useful thing and your doctor is not wrong to prescribe it. But it does not touch the doors. The GLUT4 transporters are still not responding. The glucose that remains in your blood — even at a "managed" level — keeps circulating. Keeps passing through your kidney capillaries. Keeps grinding the mesh. Because the drug that reduced the flood did not open the drain. And here is what stopped me cold at 2 AM in my kitchen with 14 years of dialysis nursing behind me: The research on how to open those doors exists. It has been published. Peer-reviewed. Cited by the ADA's own journals. Sitting in databases that a 15-minute appointment leaves no time to read. There is a specific compound that triggers GLUT4 transporters directly. It bypasses the broken insulin signal entirely. It goes to the cell, speaks to the machinery inside it, and wakes the doors back up. A 2003 study in Diabetes Care — the ADA's own flagship journal — showed these compounds produced a 29% drop in fasting blood glucose. A study published in the Journal of the American College of Nutrition found that MHCP triggers the same internal chemical cascade that insulin is supposed to trigger, and was 20 times more effective at activating this pathway than any other natural compound tested. Twenty times. A second study in the Archives of Biochemistry and Biophysics confirmed that Ceylon extract physically increases the number of GLUT4 transporters at the cell surface. The doors do not just crack open. They multiply. A 2012 review in the Journal of Medicinal Food analyzed eight randomized controlled trials and found meaningful drops in both fasting glucose and A1C. Published. Replicated. Real. And in 14 years of working at the end of the road — watching thousands of patients get pulled into those chairs — not once had anyone put this in my hand. Not because doctors are hiding it. Because the pipeline that moves research from a journal into a treatment room runs on patent money. You cannot patent a plant. So no pharmaceutical company funds the trials that would land it on a sales representative's desk. No sales rep walks it into a primary care office. The studies stay in databases. The patients keep coming in with foam in their toilets and GFRs that drop another point each quarter. That is not your fault. You took the pills. You tracked the number. You kept every appointment. You were not failing the system. The system was only giving you half the answer and never telling you the other half existed. Now. You have probably tried cinnamon before. You sprinkled it on oatmeal. You found a bottle at the grocery store or on Amazon and took it faithfully for three months and watched your meter not move. I've watched patients bring supplement bottles to their dialysis sessions and ask me if they should keep taking them. I need you to understand exactly why most of them fail. They use the wrong plant. The cinnamon in your spice cabinet and in most capsules is Cassia. It looks the same. It smells similar. It is a completely different species with a completely different chemical makeup. At the doses required to move blood sugar, Cassia silently burdens your liver. The European Food Safety Authority documented that as little as a quarter teaspoon per day pushes daily coumarin intake past safe limits — and coumarin damages liver tissue at therapeutic doses. You were not taking the wrong amount. You were taking the wrong plant. True Ceylon cinnamon contains 250 times less coumarin. It is the only species appearing in the clinical research showing real metabolic results. They are catastrophically underdosed. Clinical trials used concentrated extract equivalent to 6,000 to 7,200mg daily. Most capsules contain 500 to 1,500mg of raw powder. That is not a small gap. That is the difference between a therapeutic dose and a decorative amount. They use the wrong delivery format. The active compounds in Ceylon — the ones that wake up GLUT4 transporters — are fat-soluble. Your cell walls are a double layer of fat molecules. Fat-soluble compounds need fat to pass through them. A dry powder capsule has no fat. So the compounds reach your gut, look for a fat carrier to cross the cell wall, find none, and pass straight through without ever reaching the cells that need them. Your cinnamon did not fail because cinnamon does not work. It failed because it was never delivered. The bag that my patient set down on the table next to his chair? He was taking Metabolae. True Ceylon cinnamon. Cinnamomum verum, sourced from a single estate in Sri Lanka's Central Province — the original home of true cinnamon, where the tree has been cultivated for over two thousand years. DNA-verified at the species level. An actual Certificate of Analysis, not a label claim. Dosed at 7,200mg equivalent per softgel. A 12:1 concentrated extract. The dosing range that corresponds directly to the published clinical trials. Suspended in MCT oil from coconuts. Not as a filler. As the delivery system — the fat bridge that carries the active compounds through your cell wall and into the cells where the GLUT4 transporters have been waiting for years to be told to surface. Third-party tested. GMP-certified. Every batch verified for purity, potency, and coumarin levels. Made in an FDA-registered facility. Zero fillers. I ordered a bag that night. Week 1, the fog lifted. Not managed — lifted. I finished a twelve-hour shift and still had thoughts left. My feet stopped aching after long days on the floor. I slept through the night for the first time in months. Week 2, my fasting readings — which had been running 135 to 145 — started showing up in the 110s. I checked three times the first morning I saw 108 because I didn't believe it. Week 4, the readings stabilized in the low 90s. Stable. Consistent. The kind of numbers I had not seen since before any of this started. Week 8, I pulled my own labs. Creatinine back to 0.8. GFR climbed from 86 to 91. Week 10, my doctor pulled up my full panel. A1C down from 6.4 to 5.4. Creatinine holding at 0.8. GFR at 94. Seven pounds gone without changing what I ate. She looked at the numbers. Looked at me. "What did you change?" I handed her the research I'd been reading at 11:30 PM for three weeks. She read for ten minutes. Closed the folder. "Your kidney function improved." I nodded. "Keep doing whatever you're doing." That patient who set the bag on the table? He's still on dialysis. That door closed for him a long time ago. But his brother-in-law — the one he told me about — came in with him to a follow-up visit two months later. I met him in the waiting room. A1C 5.9. Creatinine stable. GFR climbing. Not in a chair. Not going to be. He looked at me and said: "The drain opened." I've recommended Metabolae to eight patients now. Or to their family members in the monitoring window — the ones who still have a chance. Every single one has come back and reported the same pattern. Better sleep within the first week. Steady energy through the day. Lower fasting glucose within the first month. One woman — 58, A1C 6.9, protein spillage climbing for three years — came back at her 90-day follow-up with spillage down 45 percent. She cried when she told me the foam in her toilet was gone. Another patient's GFR went from 53 to 59 in four months. His nephrologist, who had been preparing him for the dialysis conversation, told him the trajectory had changed and asked what he had added. But the one I think about most is Ruth. I told her what I'd found. She looked at me with tears running down her face and said: "Tell everyone. Don't let them end up like me." That's why I'm writing this. If you are sitting in the monitoring window right now — if your A1C is between 6.0 and 7.5, if your doctor keeps saying "we'll keep an eye on it," if your creatinine is creeping up a tenth at a time, if your GFR is dropping a point or two each quarter, if there is foam in your toilet, if your feet tingle — try Metabolae risk-free. Ninety-day money-back guarantee. No questions asked. If your fasting glucose does not come down, if your kidney markers do not move, if you see no difference in 90 days, you pay nothing. The patients who see real movement in their kidney function are the ones who committed to at least three months. That is how long it takes to give your GFR a real chance to stabilize and shift. That is how long it takes to move A1C meaningfully. The 90-day guarantee means those three months cost you nothing if the numbers do not move. Here is what happens if they do. Your fasting glucose starts dropping between weeks 2 and 4. Your sleep improves within the first week — most people stop waking multiple times within 5 to 7 days. Your energy levels out through the day. And at your next lab draw — the one where your doctor has been saying "let's keep an eye on it" — she pauses. Looks at the numbers. Looks at you. Asks what you changed. You tell her. She uses a word you have not heard in years of appointments. "Improving." Not managed. Improving. The window stays open. The chair stays empty. One softgel daily with breakfast. That is the whole protocol. Metabolae is a small company sourcing verified Ceylon from a single estate in Sri Lanka's Central Province, testing every batch, using a fat-based delivery system that costs more to produce. When a batch sells out it waits on the next harvest. If you click and see out of stock, sign up for the notification. If it is available, order now. There is a promotion running currently. Three bottles at a significant discount — which is exactly the window for the kidney markers to actually move. If you are dealing with: Foam in the toilet that will not go away no matter how many times you flush. Tingling or burning in your feet that your doctor calls neuropathy. Fasting glucose that will not come below 130 no matter what you cut out. Creatinine climbing a tenth at a time every quarter. GFR dropping while your doctor "keeps an eye on it." An A1C your doctor calls "managed" or "prediabetic" while your body keeps sending signals that something is wrong. Give it 90 days. Track your fasting glucose every morning. Note your sleep, your energy, your feet. Go back for your next labs. If the numbers do not move, you get your money back. But if they do — if your kidney markers hold or climb, if the foam stops, if your doctor pauses over your labs and says the word you have been waiting to hear for years — you will understand why I now have a standing conversation with every patient who still has a chance to avoid my chairs. The doors are closed. The sand is still coming. But the window is still open. Don't let someone else tell your story with the words "I wish someone had told me sooner." I just did. Click below and get Metabolae while it is still available. ~ Sandra Keller, RN, Dialysis Unit, 14 years 👉 https://metabolae.com/products/ceylon-cinnamon-7200mg

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."

I caught my fiancé b*lls-deep in my younger sister at the family banquet… so I smiled, hit record. They had no idea I was about to burn their entire empire down. _________________________________ "Brother-in-law, kiss me more..." The heavy velvet curtains of the private salon barely muffled the sounds—low, guttural mo@ns and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin. I pressed my back to the wall just outside the half-open door, the silk of my mother's heirloom gown whispering against my th!ghs. The annual spring banquet of the North Harbor families swirled on in the main hall, crystal chandeliers casting golden light over power brokers and their glittering wives, but here, in this shadowed wing of the Rossetti estate, my world fractured. Matteo Rossetti—my fiancé, the man who had once tucked wildflowers into my hair and sworn I was the only woman he would ever marry—had Valentina bent over the antique mahogany desk. Her dress, a provocative red that screamed for attention, was bunched around her waist. His trousers were shoved down just enough, h!ps snapping forward with raw hunger. Valentina's younger face, flushed and triumphant, turned slightly as she gasped his name, her nails digging into the polished wood. She was the daughter of my father's old friend, the one he had taken in out of guilt. Now she was the "sister" who had stolen everything. I should have screamed. Instead, my hand moved with clinical precision. The phone slipped from my clutch, camera already recording. The lens captured it all: Matteo's slightly disheveled tie, the fresh hickey blooming on Valentina's neck that her makeup failed to fully hide, the way she arched back into him with practiced ecstasy. Audio caught every filthy word—"Fk, Val, you feel so much t!ghter than her"—and her breathy laugh in reply. How long has this been going on? My inner voice was ice. Months? Or since the first time Father brought her home? My shoulders trembled, tears pricking my eyes as any betrayed princess would. I let a soft, broken sound escape my lips. But inside, cold resolve settled like steel in my spine. Record it. Every second. Their smugness will be their undoing. I stepped back silently before they finished, melting into the corridor's shadows. The recording saved automatically to a encrypted cloud folder only I could access. Evidence. Leverage. The first thread in the web I would weave. By the time I re-entered the main hall, my face was the perfect mask of poised grief. The Morettis had always been the suits of the mafia on North Harbor—sharp, powerful, untouchable. I had been their beloved little princess: my father's warm gaze my shelter, my brother Dante carrying me on his shoulders through the gardens, Matteo whispering promises under blooming trees. Then Valentina arrived, and everything shifted. She became the favored one, the one who "deserved the Moretti name." Father stood at the head table, raising his glass. The hall fell silent. Hundreds of eyes turned. "I have an announcement," he declared, voice booming with authority. "The Moretti family heir will no longer be Alessia." Gasps rippled. I clutched my champagne flute tighter, knuckles whitening, letting my lower lip quiver visibly. Tears welled—real ones, born of the raw wound, but controlled. Play the part. Let them see the shattered girl. "From today, Valentina Vale will take her place. She has earned the Moretti name through loyalty and grace. Alessia… has not." Valentina lowered her eyes modestly beside him, but I caught the corner of her mouth curving in triumph. Her neck still bore the faint shadow of that hickey. Matteo rose next, his glass raised toward her, tie now perfectly straightened. He didn't glance at me once. "The engagement between the Rossettis and the Morettis will continue," he said calmly, voice carrying across the silent room. "But not with Alessia. Valentina is the future of both families." Smugness radiated from them. Dante smirked into his drink, Father's chest puffed with pride, Matteo's parents nodding approval. Valentina's hand brushed Dante's under the table—another "sisterly" touch that wasn't. The whispers started: "What did Alessia do?" "Jealous little thing." Outwardly, I swayed as if struck, a hand flying to my mouth, eyes wide with heartbreak. Inside, mockery bloomed. Look at you all, so pleased with your little coup. You have no idea I hold the proof of your rot. I tightened my grip on the glass until it nearly cracked, the cool liquid steadying me. No screams. No scene. Just the outward performance of a devastated daughter while my mind raced through contingencies. The rest of the dinner blurred into knives of humiliation. No one spoke to me. I sat like a ghost in my mother's dress, the silk now heavy with the scent of betrayal. When it ended, I walked home alone, heels clicking on cold streets, tears falling hot and silent. But they weren't only for the loss. They were fuel. Back in my room, I replayed the recording once. Then I made a call—