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Mystical madness

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After I caught my husband Clark having an affair with his secretary in the office, I filed for divorce. Unexpectedly, the only condition he proposed was to sleep with him... ** "Nyla, are you sure you want me to draft a divorce agreement?" Valarie's voice crackled through the phone, hesitant and worried. "Think about it. Once you sign this, you and Clark will have nothing to do with each other anymore." Nyla stared at the amber liquid in her glass. The whiskey burned her throat, but nothing could burn away the images from last night. Her fingers tightened around the phone. "Yes," she said finally. "I'm leaving him." "Why?" Valarie's confusion bled through the speaker. "Clark's been so good to you. He loves you so much..." Nyla almost laughed. Love. What a joke. She pressed her lips together, fighting back the bitter taste rising in her throat. After hanging up, Nyla looked out the window. The massive LED screen on the skyscraper across the street was still playing that press conference. Clark stood there in his perfect suit, holding up that ridiculous jewelry piece. Using the world's finest diamonds and gemstones, he had created a one-of-a-kind piece for his wife. It was named "Love Nyla." He named it after Nyla, declaring to the world his eternal love for her. Upon its release, "Love Nyla" instantly ignited social media discussion, remaining a hot topic. The world was buzzing about their enviable love. Outside, the LED screens continued to replay the video, but Nyla chuckled self-deprecatingly. "Love me?" she muttered to herself. "Love me enough to sleep with another woman on our anniversary night?" Last night was their third wedding anniversary. Clark had said he wanted to surprise her and asked her to wait for him at home. Nyla wore Clark's favorite white dress, lit candles, and prepared his favorite dinner, waiting eagerly until late at night. She had waited. And waited. Midnight came and went. At one in the morning, her phone suddenly buzzed with a Facebook friend request. A strange profile picture with the note "A surprise for you." Nyla was about to reject the message outright, but then the person sent another message: [Are you still awake? Is it because your husband isn't with you?] Nyla's alarm bells went off. How did this person know Clark wasn't home? She didn't accept the friend request, but the messages kept coming: [Stop pretending, I know you're reading this.] [Your husband is with me now.] [I was scared of thunder, so he worried about me and came to keep me company.] [What a good man, but it's a shame he's not good for you alone.] Each message stabbed Nyla like a knife in the heart. Her hands trembled. Her mind told her it might be a prank, but deep down, a voice frantically questioned it. The last message completely broke her defenses: [If you don't believe me, I'll send you the address. The door lock code is your wedding anniversary.] Nyla couldn't sit still any longer. With trembling fingers, she accepted the friend request. The other party immediately sent an address and a password: 0823. It was indeed their anniversary. Nyla rushed out of the house like a madman and drove to the address. It was an upscale apartment. She stood in front of the door, her finger hovering over the combination lock, her heart pounding. She entered 0823, and the lock clicked and the door opened. A men's suit jacket lay scattered in the hallway. She recognized it as the three-year anniversary gift she had given Clark, which Clark had worn when he left that morning. A pair of black lace paanties lay on the sofa in the living room, and a wine glass with a woman's lipstick stain on it lay on the coffee table. From the hallway to the bedroom, men's and women's clothing was scattered everywhere. The most striking thing was a red lace nightgown, torn to shreds, lying by the bedroom door. Nyla's legs were so weak she could barely stand, but she still trembled as she pushed open the half-open bedroom door. On the bed, Clark, na-ked, embraced another woman. The woman knelt on the bed, her head buried between Clark's legs, licking Clark's pen.is. Clark's eyes were closed, his face a look of enjoyment, m0-aning, "Yes, that's it, great..." The woman asked proudly, "Am I better, or is Nyla better?" Clark replied, "You think you can compare with Nyla?" Then he spun the woman around, grabbed her h1ps from behind, and thrust wildly. The woman's m0-ans mingled with Clark's heavy gasps. The scene completely devastated Nyla. Eight years had passed, from their innocent college romance to their current marriage. Everyone had envied their love, saying they were a match made in hea-ven. But now, it all seemed so absurd. She covered her mouth, resisting the urge to vomit, and fled the nauseating place. She drove to a bar downtown and sat alone in a corner, drinking furiously. The sharp taste of the whiskey stung her throat, but it couldn't numb the pain in her heart. When Valarie received her call and rushed to the bar, Nyla was already completely drunk. "Nyla!" Valarie's voice cut through her memories as she slid into the booth across from her, face etched with worry. "Why are you so drunk? What happened? Did Clark make you mad?" Drunk Nyla looked at her with red eyes. "Val, I don't want to hear that name right now." Nyla took another swig of the whiskey in front of her, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. "Val, I saw him hooking up with that woman right in front of me. It's definitely not a misunderstanding." Valarie saw her friend's pained expression and held her hand with a heartache. "Nyla, maybe you two can talk it out..." "There's nothing to talk about," Nyla interrupted decisively. "Divorce. Every time I think about him hooking up with that woman, I feel sick." Chapter 2 Nyla returned home and sat on the living room sofa, staring at her phone. The number she had just dialed glowed on the screen. After calming down from her anger and pain, she had to face reality. A divorce required financial independence. Clark was covering all of her father's monthly medical expenses. The bills reached a staggering $100,000 each month. She simply couldn't afford it. Her fingers trembled as she scrolled through her contacts. She stopped at a familiar name. Professor Anderson. Her former research supervisor from graduate school. "Professor Anderson? This is Nyla. Nyla Jayston." She tried to sound calm, but her voice cracked slightly. A surprised voice came from the other end. "Nyla! Oh my god, are you okay? I haven't been in touch since you got married three years ago." Nyla bit her lip hard. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. "Professor, I want to return to research. I know this sounds sudden, but I need a job." "Of course!" Professor Anderson agreed without hesitation. "You're one of the best students I've ever taught. Your thesis on molecular biology was groundbreaking. I can contact you right now with a company that's looking for a senior researcher position. The salary is excellent." "Thank you," Nyla whispered. Relief flooded through her chest. "I really appreciate this." "Don't mention it. You have incredible talent. It's a shame you left research when you got married. When can you start?" "As soon as possible." After hanging up, Nyla felt a small spark of hope. She could do this. She could leave Clark and rebuild her life. She walked into their bedroom and began packing. Her hands moved mechanically, folding clothes and placing them in a suitcase. Hanging in the closet were the matching pajamas they'd bought on their honeymoon in Paris. On the dresser sat a small angel figurine they'd brought back from Italy. On the wall were photos of them at the beach, laughing and kissing under the sunset. Each item silently spoke of past sweetness. Yet now they stabbed her heart like knives. How had she been so blind? How had she missed the signs? She opened the dresser drawer to retrieve some personal belongings. Her wedding ring caught the light, mocking her. Then she saw it. The marriage certificate. With trembling hands, Nyla picked it up. She flipped to the first page, revealing two young, radiant faces. Her own smile was so bright it hurt to look at. Clark's eyes shone with pure joy. It was August 23rd, three years ago. To become the first couple to receive their marriage certificate that day, they had woken up at four in the morning to queue at the registry office. Clark had been as excited as a child. He spoke nervously throughout the entire ride. "Nyla, we're really getting married," he had said, bouncing in the passenger seat. "I feel like I'm eighteen again. Like the first time I saw you in Professor Wilson's chemistry class." When the staff handed them the marriage certificate, Clark's hands had trembled violently. He took it carefully, as if it were made of glass. Tears welled in his eyes. "Nyla, we're finally husband and wife," he had whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. "I swear I'll love and protect you for the rest of my life. You're everything to me." Nyla had believed every word. She had thought they were soulmates. Forever. But now... She stared at her beaming smile in the photo. Before she could shed a tear, she heard the familiar sound of a car engine downstairs. Her heart stopped. The garage door rumbled open. Footsteps on the stairs. "Honey, I'm back!" Clark's voice echoed from downstairs, cheerful and casual. Panic seized Nyla's chest. She hurriedly shoved the marriage certificate back into the drawer. She wiped her eyes frantically and tried to appear normal. The bedroom door was still open. She couldn't let him see the suitcase. Footsteps approached down the hallway. Clark pushed the door open, his face lighting up when he saw her. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around her from behind. His embrace had once been her safest haven. Now Nyla felt only nausea rising in her throat. She could smell an unfamiliar scent on his skin. Sweet vanilla shower gel. He had obviously showered somewhere else before coming home. "Did you miss me?" Clark whispered softly in her ear. His voice carried a lazy satisfaction, like a cat who'd just finished a meal. Nyla's muscles tensed. She resisted the urge to shove him away. Her body felt rigid as stone. "Where have you been?" "I'm sorry, babe." Clark's lie rolled off his tongue effortlessly. "I was so busy at work yesterday that I fell asleep at the office. I completely missed our anniversary." He pulled an exquisite jewelry box from his jacket pocket. "But look what I got you to make up for it." He opened the box with a flourish. Inside lay an exquisite diamond necklace. The stones caught the bedroom light, throwing rainbow patterns on the walls. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Clark's eyes sparkled with pride. "Turn around so I can put it on you." Nyla mechanically turned around. She felt like a puppet with cut strings. Clark's fingers traced her neck as he fastened the clasp. The cold metal pressed against her skin. The diamonds felt heavy. Suffocating. "Perfect," Clark stepped back to admire his handiwork. His satisfaction was obvious. "Tomorrow night is Grandpa's birthday party. The entire Summer family will be there. With this necklace, you'll definitely be the most beautiful woman in the room." "Do I need to go?" Nyla asked. Her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears. She just wanted to escape. To get away from everything connected to the Summer family. "Of course you need to go. You're my wife." Clark looked at her with what seemed like genuine affection. He leaned in to kiss her, but Nyla quickly pushed him away. "You should shower first," she said, turning her face away. Clark nodded, seemingly unbothered. "Good idea. I've been working all day." He grabbed some clothes and headed to the bathroom. The shower turned on. Steam began seeping under the door. Nyla's phone suddenly buzzed with a notification. She glanced at the screen. A Facebook message. Her blood turned to ice. On the screen was a photo. A woman wearing a necklace identical to the one around Nyla's neck. Hickeys and scratches covered the woman's pale skin. The photo was cropped to show only her slender neck and the curve of her breasts. Below the image was a message that made Nyla's world crumble: [Does the necklace look good? I picked it out especially for you. I wore it when we faking last night. Clark said it looked beautiful on me.] Chapter 3 Nyla felt a surge of nausea wash over her. She quickly removed the necklace from her neck. Without hesitation, she tossed it into the bedroom trash can. The diamonds clinked against the metal bin. She rushed into the guest bathroom and turned on the shower. The scalding water burned her skin, but she didn't care. She grabbed the shower gel and frantically scrubbed her neck and body. She needed to remove every trace of Clark. Every memory of his touch. Her skin turned red from the harsh scrubbing, but she still felt dirty. The thought of that necklace clinging to another woman's neck made her sick. She imagined it swaying as that woman moved beneath Clark. The mental image made her stomach lurch. The bathroom door suddenly opened. Clark stood in the doorway, his eyes fixed on Nyla through the glass shower door. His gaze traveled over her wet hair, down her shoulders, following the water droplets that traced her curves. Clark's breathing became heavy. His eyes burned with lust. "Nyla, you're so beautiful," he said, his voice thick with desire. Nyla heard his voice and immediately wrapped herself in a towel. She stepped out of the shower, but the thought that he might have looked at that other woman the same way made her nauseous. "Don't come near me." Nyla took several steps back, but Clark was already approaching. "Baby, what's wrong?" Clark reached out to touch her cheek, but Nyla quickly dodged his hand. Clark didn't give up. Instead, he pulled her into his arms. His hands began wandering over her body, caressing her back through the towel. Then they moved lower. "Nyla, I want you," he whispered in her ear. His breath was hot against her skin. Nyla's body went rigid. She tried to pull away, but Clark was much stronger. His hand moved to her breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin. His other hand slid down toward her inner th1gh. "Let's have a baby, okay?" Clark's voice was filled with longing. "We could have a beautiful child. A little girl with your eyes." Nyla felt ice water flood her veins. She thought of the photo that woman had sent. The same hands that were touching her now had been all over another woman's body just hours ago. Anger and disgust exploded inside her chest. "Get away from me!" Nyla pushed Clark with all her strength. "Clark, I'm tired! I don't want to do this right now!" Clark stumbled backward, startled by her sudden fury. He stared at Nyla's face, confusion clouding his features. "Honey, I'm sorry." His voice immediately filled with guilt. "I shouldn't have pushed you. I just want you so badly. I love you so much." He paused, searching her face. "If you don't want a child right now, we can wait." Watching Clark's apologetic expression, Nyla felt a mixture of emotions churning in her stomach. This man had been gentle and caring toward her for three years. She couldn't reconcile this version of him with the man who had been with another woman last night. But the facts were undeniable. Those photos. Those messages. The necklace in the trash can. That night, Nyla lay awake staring at the ceiling. Clark's breathing was even beside her. The painful images replayed in her mind over and over. She didn't sleep until dawn. The next morning, Nyla woke with dark circles under her eyes. Her reflection in the mirror looked hollow and tired. "Honey, are you feeling okay?" Clark asked with concern. "You look exhausted. Maybe you should rest today." Nyla shook her head. "I'm fine. We need to get ready for your grandfather's birthday party." As they drove through the gates of the Summer family estate, a black car suddenly roared past them. It stopped directly in front of the main entrance. The license plate read "DAMON-1." Clark's hands tightened on the steering wheel. His face darkened instantly. "Uncle Damon," he muttered under his breath. Damon Summer was Clark's uncle, Richard's youngest son. Despite being only six years older than Clark, Damon had always intimidated his nephew. He had refused to join the family business, starting his own company instead. That company was now worth five times more than Summer Group. Damon was known for being brilliant, ruthless, and vindictive. Last year, he had overheard Clark making disparaging comments about him at a business dinner. As punishment, Damon had refused a potential partnership that would have brought Summer Group hundreds of millions in revenue. Clark parked behind the car. As Nyla stepped out of the car, her high heel caught in the gravel driveway. She wobbled, about to fall backward. Suddenly, a pair of strong hands caught her waist, steadying her against a solid chest. Nyla looked up into a pair of deep, dark eyes. The man was tall and imposing, probably around twenty-nine. His features were sharp and perfectly sculpted. High cheekbones, a straight nose, a strong jawline. He wore a tailored dark gray suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and lean build. This was Damon Summer. "Careful," Damon said. His voice was deep and magnetic, with a hint of genuine concern. For a moment, Nyla found herself caught in his gaze. Clark appeared beside them, his face flushed with jealousy. He roughly grabbed Nyla's hand and pulled her away from Damon. "Thank you, Uncle," Clark said tersely. His voice was tight with barely controlled anger. He dragged Nyla toward the manor entrance. After they'd walked a few steps, he leaned close to her ear. "Nyla, you know I don't like you getting too close to other men," he whispered harshly. "Not even my uncle." Nyla almost laughed at the irony. Here was Clark, who had been with another woman just last night, acting possessive about her talking to his uncle. "So you'd rather have your wife fall flat on her face in front of the Summer family estate?" she replied coldly. Clark immediately backed down. "Honey, that's not what I meant. I just don't want people to get the wrong idea." Nyla ignored him and continued walking toward the entrance. The Summer family manor was impressive, with its grand foyer and crystal chandeliers. But Nyla felt no joy at being here. In the living room, Clark's grandmother Marie immediately called out with a beaming smile. "Nyla, Clark, you're here! Come sit down!" Nyla took a deep breath and forced a polite smile. Whatever her feelings about Clark, she still respected his grandparents. Richard had always treated her kindly. "Hello, Grandpa. Hello, Grandma," she greeted them warmly. Marie's eyes lit up as she watched Clark and Nyla approach. She had been trying to convince Damon to settle down for years. "Come, sit here next to me," Marie patted the sofa beside her. As they settled in, Damon entered the living room. Marie's expression immediately shifted to disapproval. "Look at Clark," she said pointedly to Damon. "He's got his company running smoothly, and his wife is absolutely beautiful. They might be giving us a great-grandchild soon." Her voice grew stern. "And you? You're almost thirty and still single. If you don't bring a girlfriend to the next family gathering, don't bother coming at all!" Damon's gaze flicked to Clark, then settled on Nyla. His lips curved into a half-smile. "Yes," he said quietly. "Really beautiful." Chapter 4 Marie's headache intensified at Damon's nonchalant attitude. She shook her head and turned her attention to Clark and Nyla. "You've been married for three years now. When are you planning on having kids? I'm looking forward to having great-grandchildren." The moment this topic came up, the atmosphere in the living room suddenly became tense. Nyla's fingers gripped her teacup so tightly her knuckles turned white. This was her most sensitive topic, the one that pierced her heart every time it was mentioned. Clark's aunt Anne immediately seized the opportunity. She leaned forward with a sneer. "Nyla, you and Clark have been married for three years. What will it look like if you don't have a child? What will others think of our Summer family?" She paused, malice glinting in her eyes. "And if Clark hadn't insisted on marrying you, do you think you could have married into our Summer family with your background? Don't be so ungrateful. You don't want to have children for Clark, but there are plenty of women out there who would." Anne spoke with mock concern, but her gaze was filled with contempt. She had always looked down on this niece-in-law. Talking about children made Nyla's chest tighten with pain. Of course she wanted a child. She had given up her promising career in scientific research to be a good wife. But she couldn't conceive. She had secretly visited doctors who said nothing was wrong with her body. Perhaps it was stress. But the Summer family often mocked her, calling her barren and useless. Just as Nyla was drowning in humiliation, Clark suddenly took her hand. He smiled at his grandmother. "Grandma, we're trying! There's no rushing these things. We have to let nature take its course." Then he turned to Anne, his voice stern. "Anne, watch your words. Nyla is my wife, and I won't tolerate anyone speaking to her like that." Anne's face flushed red at being publicly rebuked. "I'm doing this for your own good. You've been married for so long without any progress..." "That's enough," Clark interrupted sharply. "You don't need to worry about Nyla and me. And I want to make it clear that I'm honored to have Nyla as my wife. She didn't marry up." Nyla felt a confusing mix of emotions as she listened to Clark's defense. The love they had shared over the years was genuine. Clark's protection of her had always felt real. He consistently stood between her and his family's criticism. But at the same time, his betrayal was also real. Those photos, that necklace in the trash can, the woman's taunting messages. All of it reminded her that this man had deceived her completely. Anne was clearly unwilling to let this go. She continued with false sweetness. "I'm just telling the truth. No pre-gnancy in three years? Maybe there's something wrong with her body. With all the medical advances these days, she should get checked out. There are treatments for these things." "Anne!" Clark's voice turned dangerously cold. "I'm warning you for the last time. Whether or when we have children is between Nyla and me. It's not your business to interfere." In the past, Nyla would have been grateful for Clark's protection. She would have seen it as proof of his love. But today, hearing these words felt hollow. She knew that the moment Clark cheated, everything changed. No amount of public defense could erase what he had done in private. Midway through the banquet, Clark's phone suddenly rang. "Sorry, everyone," Clark said with an apologetic smile. "There's an emergency at work. I need to handle this right away." He turned to Nyla, his expression softening. "Honey, can you have Grandma's driver take you home? I'll be back as soon as I can." Marie waved dismissively. "Clark, go ahead. Don't worry about Nyla." Clark kissed Nyla's forehead quickly. "I'll make this up to you, I promise." As soon as Clark's car disappeared down the driveway, Marie's polite mask slipped completely. She looked at Nyla with open displeasure. "Well, now that Clark's gone," Marie said coolly, "I suppose you'll be wanting to leave too." The temperature in the room seemed to drop. "Nyla's not some delicate flower," Anne chimed in with renewed confidence. "She can find her own way home, can't she?" Nyla felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She had been dismissed like a servant. Without Clark's protection, she meant nothing to these people. "I think that's my cue to leave," Nyla said. She stood up. "Thank you for your hospitality." The butler, following Marie's subtle nod, escorted Nyla only to the manor gate. He immediately turned back toward the house, leaving her standing alone on the roadside. That's when the rain started. Fat droplets fell from the dark sky, quickly soaking through Nyla's silk dress. She pulled out her phone to call a taxi, but the app showed no available drivers in this remote area. The Summer estate was far from the city center. The rain intensified rapidly. Within minutes, Nyla was completely drenched. Her carefully styled hair hung in wet strands around her face. Her dress clung uncomfortably to her skin. Just when she thought things couldn't get worse, headlights cut through the darkness. A black car slowed to a stop beside her. The window rolled down, revealing Damon's sharp features. Chapter 5 As Damon prepared to leave the manor, he glanced out the car window. Through the rain, he could see Nyla huddled against the stone wall near the gate. Her dress was completely soaked, clinging to her body and outlining her curves. Her long hair hung in wet strands around her face, making her look fragile and abandoned. Damon understood immediately what had happened. He knew Marie and Anne's personalities well. They would never be kind enough to arrange transportation for the niece-in-law they had always disliked. He turned to his assistant Spencer, who was sitting in the passenger seat. "Get out and hold an umbrella for her." Spencer immediately grabbed the black umbrella from the floor and stepped out into the rain. He walked quickly toward Nyla while Damon rolled down his window. "Get in," Damon said to Nyla. His voice was characteristically cold and commanding. "I'll take you home." Nyla looked up, startled to see it was Damon. She instinctively took a step back, shaking her head. "Uncle Damon, it's okay. The rain will stop soon. I can wait." She remembered Clark's warnings about how dangerous Damon could be. Clark had specifically told her to keep her distance from his uncle. She didn't want to cause herself any more trouble, especially not tonight. Damon's brow furrowed when he saw Nyla clearly trying to avoid him. His tone grew deeper and more commanding. "Get in the car. Don't make me repeat myself." His natural dominance was overwhelming. The way he spoke made it nearly impossible to refuse. Nyla felt her resolve weakening under his intense gaze. Before she could refuse again, Spencer appeared beside her with the umbrella. He gently took her damp clutch from her trembling hands. "Ms. Nyla, please get in the car," Spencer said kindly. "This rain will continue for at least another hour. It's very windy out here, and you're not dressed warmly enough. You'll catch pneumonia." Spencer's tone was gentle and concerned. Nyla glanced up at the dark storm clouds, then down at her completely soaked dress. Water was still dripping from her hair. She was starting to shiver uncontrollably. Finally, biting her lip, she opened the car door and slid inside. The interior of the car was warm and luxurious. Soft leather seats and the faint scent of expensive cologne filled the space. Nyla immediately felt the temperature difference. Damon glanced at her wet dress, which was now clinging even more tightly to her body. The fabric had become almost transparent. He could see the outline of her undergarments. His throat tightened involuntarily. Without a word, he took off his dark gray suit jacket and tossed it to her. "Thank you," Nyla murmured, quickly pulling the jacket around her shoulders. It was still warm from his body heat and smelled like his cologne. The scent was surprisingly comforting. "I'll have it cleaned and return it to you." "Just throw it away," Damon replied coldly. His tone carried casual arrogance, as if the expensive jacket meant nothing to him. The car pulled away from the manor and drove smoothly through the rainy night. Silence settled between them. Nyla huddled in the corner of the backseat, not daring to look at the powerful man beside her. She could feel an oppressive aura radiating from him. It made her unconsciously nervous. She stole a glance at his profile. His jaw was sharp and perfectly defined. His dark hair was styled impeccably despite the rain. Everything about him screamed wealth and power. He was nothing like Clark, who was gentle and approachable. Damon seemed dangerous. Twenty minutes later, the car stopped in front of Nyla's house. She quickly gathered herself and reached for the door handle. "Thank you so much for the ride," she said hurriedly, leaving his jacket on the seat. "I really appreciate it." Damon watched her disappear inside the house. The faint scent of jasmine perfume still lingered in the car where she had been sitting. He found himself breathing it in deeply. His body reacted involuntarily to her proximity. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "She's your nephew's wife," he warned himself silently. "Control yourself." As soon as Nyla entered her house, she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. Her body began to feel hot despite her wet clothes. Her head felt heavy and confused. Before she could even change out of her soaked dress, everything went black. She collapsed in the living room. When Nyla woke up, she found herself lying in a hospital bed. The room smelled strongly of disinfectant, but the bedside table was covered with familiar treats. Strawberry shortcake, colorful macarons, handmade chocolates, and a large bouquet of pink roses. "Ma'am, you're finally awake!" A nurse appeared beside her bed, looking relieved. "You've had a high fever for over twenty-four hours. Mr. Summer was so worried. He stayed by your bedside the entire time. He only left an hour ago because of an emergency call." The nurse checked Nyla's temperature with a digital thermometer. "Do you want me to call him? He'll be so happy to know you're conscious." Looking at the familiar arrangement of gifts, Nyla felt her heart soften despite everything. She had always been prone to illness and had a terrible fear of injections and medication. Whenever she was sick, Clark would do exactly this. He would buy all her favorite treats and flowers, hoping to cheer her up and speed her recovery. It had become their tradition over the years. These sweet memories made her chest ache with confusion. How could the man who cheated on her be the same person who spent the night worried beside her hospital bed? "Where is he now?" Nyla asked, pushing herself up in bed. "I want to find him myself." The nurse smiled. "He's somewhere in the hospital taking care of business." She left her room and walked down the sterile hospital corridor. As she rounded the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks. There was Clark, coming out of the obstetrics and gynecology department. But he wasn't alone. A woman walked beside him, her hand resting protectively on her belly. Chapter 6 Clark gently helped the young woman out of the obstetrics clinic. Both of them were smiling, their faces glowing with happiness. Nyla immediately recognized her. This was the woman from the photos in those anonymous messages. Just then, the woman spotted Nyla standing frozen in the hallway. Her eyes lit up with surprise and something that looked like malicious delight. "Oh wow, isn't that Mrs. Summer?" she exclaimed loudly. "What a coincidence running into you at the hospital!" At the sound of her voice, Clark looked up. His eyes met Nyla's across the corridor. His entire body went rigid. He quickly dropped his hand from the woman's arm, panic flooding his features. "Nyla!" Clark hurried toward her, his voice high with nervousness. "Why are you here? You should be resting in your room!" He reached her side, speaking rapidly. "I was just downstairs getting your medicine when I accidentally bumped into Jordyn here. She's my new secretary, and she's pre-gnant. I was worried she might fall, so I helped steady her." His explanation tumbled out in a rush. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the air conditioning. Nyla's gaze moved to the woman's slightly swollen belly. She felt her breathing become shallow and labored. But she forced herself to remain outwardly calm. "Miss Jordyn," Nyla said slowly, "when did you get pre-gnant? Where's the father? Shouldn't he be here with you for such an important appointment?" Jordyn caressed her belly with obvious pride. A sweet, satisfied smile spread across her face. "I just found out I'm two months along. The father couldn't be here because he's so busy with work, but he was absolutely thrilled when I told him." She practically glowed as she spoke. "He said he wants to give me and the baby the best life possible. He's already bought me a beautiful apartment downtown and promised to make everything official after the baby arrives." Every word felt like a knife twisting in Nyla's chest. Jordyn continued, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Mrs. Summer, you're so lucky to have such a wonderful husband. But I think my boyfriend is just as amazing. He tells me I've become even more beautiful since getting pre-gnant. He can barely stand to leave my side." She paused, tilting her head with feigned innocence. "Mrs. Summer, do you have time? I'm free today. Would you like to have dinner together? I could invite the baby's father to join us." The challenge in her eyes was unmistakable. Clark's expression darkened. He shot Jordyn a warning look. "My wife doesn't have time. Miss Jordyn, I'm sure your boyfriend is waiting for you. Don't keep him worried." His voice carried clear dismissal and irritation. Then he wrapped his arm around Nyla's shoulders, his touch gentle and concerned. "Honey, you're still recovering. You shouldn't be walking around the hospital. Let me take you back to your room." He spoke in the same caring tone. "She's just a secretary. Don't worry about her." Jordyn's face crumpled at the cold dismissal in Clark's voice. Her eyes filled with tears, making her look young and vulnerable. "You're right. I got too excited. I'm not worthy of having dinner with Mrs. Summer." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, looking genuinely hurt. "I should go. My boyfriend will be wondering where I am." With that, she turned and walked away, her shoulders shaking slightly. Clark's expression flickered. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to follow her. But when he noticed Nyla watching him carefully, he stayed put. He turned back to Nyla and patted her head affectionately. "Be good, okay? I have some urgent things to handle at the company. I'll have James drive you home. Get some rest, and I'll be back tonight to check on you." His voice was warm and loving, the same tone he had used for three years of marriage. As soon as Nyla returned to her hospital room, her phone buzzed with a new message. It was from Jordyn. The first image was a pre-gnancy test showing two clear pink lines. Then came a series of messages that made Nyla's hands shake: [Nyla, I know you figured it out today. The baby is Clark's. Don't think he loves you as much as you believe. If he truly loves you, then what am I doing in his life?] [Do you know how obsessed he is with me? Every year on your birthday and your anniversary, after he puts you to sleep, he comes to spend the night with me. He's so passionate with me, so wild. We go through boxes of c0n-doms, and I can barely walk the next day.] [We've faking in his car, his office, even in your bedroom when you were away. He's done things with me that I bet he's never done with you. Has he ever been truly passionate with you, Nyla? Or does he save all his fire for me?] Reading these brutal messages, Nyla felt something break inside her chest. Her hands trembled as she set down the phone. She took deep, measured breaths, trying to suppress the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. That evening, Clark returned with an elegant white box. Inside was a strawberry mousse cake from the city's most expensive French pastry shop. It had once been Nyla's absolute favorite dessert. "Baby, I brought your favorite cake," Clark said carefully, watching her face for a reaction. "The doctor said you're still weak and need to eat more sweets to build up your energy." He opened the box with a flourish, revealing the delicate pink confection. In the past, Nyla would have clapped her hands with delight at seeing this cake. She used to say it was almost too beautiful to eat. But now, looking at it made her stomach turn. She picked up the small silver fork and took a mechanical bite. The overly sweet flavor sat in her mouth like paste. She couldn't swallow it. Without a word, Nyla stood up and threw the entire cake box into the trash can. The beautiful dessert landed with a dull thud. Clark stared at her in shock. "Nyla, what's wrong with you? " Chapter 7 Nyla turned to face Clark, her eyes completely devoid of their usual warmth. "It doesn't taste the same anymore." Her voice was eerily calm, but it sent a chill through Clark's entire body. He rushed to her side and pulled her into his arms. "Baby, maybe this bakery changed their recipe," he said. "I'll call them tomorrow and find out. No matter how much it costs, I'll make sure they get the taste exactly right again." Nyla's body remained rigid in his embrace. "Things change, Clark. Once they change, you can't go back." Her voice was still calm, but each word felt like an icicle piercing Clark's heart. He sensed she wasn't just talking about the cake anymore. She was talking about them. Clark felt panic rising in his chest. That was when his phone rang. The ringtone cut through the tension. Clark glanced at the caller ID and his face went pale. Nyla caught the shift in his expression, and her disappointment deepened. "I... I need to take this call," Clark stammered. "There's an emergency at work." Nyla turned away from him completely. "Go ahead. Work is important." Clark stood frozen for several seconds, torn between answering the phone and staying with his wife. Finally, he made his choice and headed for the door. As he stepped into the hallway, Nyla could hear his voice through the thin walls: "Jordyn, what's wrong? Are you feeling sick? I'll be right there..." His voice faded as he moved further away, leaving Nyla alone in their living room. The silence felt suffocating. Nyla stared at the white walls, feeling like they were closing in on her. Twenty minutes after Clark left, Nyla's phone buzzed with an incoming call. She didn't recognize the number, but she answered anyway. "Mrs. Summer, I hope I'm not interrupting," came Jordyn's sweet voice. "I'm not feeling well, so I borrowed Clark from you tonight. He came without hesitation when I called. He said nothing was more important than making sure I was okay." Nyla's grip tightened on the phone, but she said nothing. Jordyn continued with obvious satisfaction. "You know what Clark told me today? He said I'm younger and prettier than you. He said I can give him something you never could - a child. He mentioned that you haven't been able to conceive in three years. He's worried there might be something wrong with your body." "Oh, and that strawberry mousse cake you threw away today?" Jordyn's voice turned mocking. "Clark buys me that same cake all the time. He says sweet treats are perfect for sweet girls. Don't you think it tastes sweet, Mrs. Summer?" The call ended with Jordyn's cruel laughter. Nyla sat in the darkness, feeling something fundamental shift inside her. The pain was so intense it took her breath away. Then slowly, mercifully, numbness began to set in. From that day forward, Nyla began quietly packing her belongings. She folded her clothes carefully and placed them in suitcases. She packed her books, her makeup, her jewelry. Each item felt heavy with memories she no longer wanted to keep. Clark became even busier during this time. He came home later and later, sometimes not at all. When he did return, he was distant and distracted. Meanwhile, Jordyn's messages never stopped. Photos of her growing belly, pictures of expensive gifts, taunting words designed to twist the knife deeper. Nyla's best friend Valarie came over to help with the divorce paperwork. "Given that Clark committed adultery and got another woman pre-gnant, you could definitely ask for substantial compensation," Valarie said seriously. "Plus, you gave up your career for this marriage. That's worth a lot in court." Valarie spread the legal documents across the coffee table. "You sacrificed your research position at the university. You could have been earning six figures by now." But before proceeding with anything official, Nyla felt she should tell her father. She drove to the hospital where he was still recovering from his recent surgery. Her father looked better than he had in weeks. His color was returning, and he was sitting up reading the newspaper. "Dad," Nyla began carefully, "if... hypothetically... if I wanted to get divorced, what would you think?" Her father set down his newspaper and studied his daughter's face intently. "Nyla, is something wrong between you and Clark?" Nyla forced herself to maintain eye contact. "I'm just curious. If that day ever came..." "Absolutely not!" Her father's voice rose sharply. "Nyla, do you understand what the Summer family has done for us? When my factory had that terrible accident, they provided the money that saved us from bankruptcy. They've been paying my medical bills for three years. Without them, we would have lost everything." Her father's face was flushed with emotion. "Clark has been nothing but good to you. How could you even think such thoughts? Has someone been filling your head with ideas?" Nyla realized she couldn't continue this conversation. Her father had no idea about Clark's betrayal. She couldn't bear to put her sick father through that kind of shock and disappointment. She was about to change the subject when her father's phone chimed with a text message. He glanced at the screen and his face went completely white. The message was from Jordyn. It contained a photo of her and Clark kissing passionately in what looked like a hotel room. Below the image was a message that read: "Thought you should know - I'm pre-gnant with your son-in-law Clark's baby." Chapter 8 Harrison suddenly developed a violent coughing fit. His body convulsed as he struggled to breathe. His face turned an alarming shade of blue, and his hands clawed at his chest. The phone slipped from his trembling fingers and clattered to the floor. Nyla saw the message on the fallen phone and immediately understood what had triggered his condition. Rage flooded through her veins, but her father's health took priority over confronting Jordyn. She frantically pressed the call button for the nurses. "Help! I need a doctor now!" she shouted into the hallway. A team of medical staff rushed into the room. They immediately began checking her father's vital signs while Nyla stood helplessly in the corner, watching his condition deteriorate before her eyes. The lead doctor emerged from the examination looking grave. He pulled off his mask and shook his head slowly. "Mr. Jayston's condition has suddenly worsened," he said wearily. "His kid ney failure has progressed rapidly. We need to transfer him to the ICU immediately for intensive monitoring and treatment." Nyla felt her legs go weak. "How serious is this?" "It's critical," the doctor replied bluntly. "But I'm afraid we have a problem. Our ICU is completely full. Every bed is occupied, and there's a waiting list. All the hospitals in the city are experiencing the same shortage of resources." "Wait?" Nyla could barely comprehend what she was hearing. "Doctor, my father can't wait. Look at him!" Her father was still struggling to breathe normally. His skin had a grayish pallor that terrified her. "I understand your concern, Mrs. Summer, but we're doing everything we can," the doctor said helplessly. "All we can do right now is stabilize his condition with medication and hope a bed opens up soon." Desperation clawed at Nyla's chest. She thought immediately of Clark. As the heir to Summer Group, he had connections throughout the medical community. He could pull strings and get her father the care he needed. With shaking hands, she dialed Clark's number. After several rings, someone picked up. But it wasn't Clark's voice that greeted her. "Hello, who's calling?" came Jordyn's sickeningly sweet voice. Nyla's blood turned to ice. "This is Nyla. I need to speak to Clark immediately. It's an emergency." "Oh, Mrs. Summer!" Jordyn's voice was dripping with false concern. "Clark is in the shower right now. He's been taking such good care of me all day that he's completely exhausted. Poor thing needs to rest." Nyla bit back her fury and forced herself to stay focused. "This is about my father. He's dying and needs an ICU bed. Please put Clark on the phone right now." "Oh my, what terrible timing," Jordyn said with obvious fake sympathy. "I wasn't feeling well this afternoon either. Just some pre-gnancy nausea and dizziness, you know how it is. But Clark was so worried about me and the baby that he immediately called in the best medical team in the city. They're all on standby right now, just in case something happens to us." Nyla's hands were shaking so violently she could barely hold the phone. Her father was dying, and her husband was playing house with his pre-gnant mistress. "Can you please just-" Nyla began, but Jordyn cut her off. "Oh, I hear the shower turning off. Clark will be so tired after everything we've been through today. I should probably let him rest. You understand, don't you?" The line went dead. Nyla stood in the hospital hallway, feeling like the world was collapsing around her. She closed her eyes and tried to think of alternatives. Then suddenly, an image flashed through her mind - a figure handing her a coat in the rain. Damon's cold but decisive voice echoing in the car. Without allowing herself to second-guess the decision, she dialed his number. "Mr. Damon, this is Nyla," she said when he answered. "I'm sorry to bother you, but my father is critically ill. He needs an ICU bed urgently, but the hospital says they don't have any available. I know this is a lot to ask..." "Send me the hospital address," Damon's voice cut through her rambling. It was sharp and authoritative. "I'll handle it. Ten minutes." The line went dead, but his words carried more reassurance than Clark's empty promises ever had. Exactly ten minutes later, the hospital director personally arrived at her father's ward. Behind him came a full medical team, including specialists Nyla recognized from medical journals. They moved with efficient precision. "Mr. Jayston will be transferred to our premium ICU immediately," the director told Nyla respectfully. "We're bringing in the city's leading kid-ney specialists for consultation. He'll receive the absolute best care available." Within an hour, her father was settled in a private ICU room with round-the-clock monitoring. That evening, after her father's condition had finally stabilized, Nyla returned to the house she had shared with Clark. She sat in their living room, surrounded by three years of memories that now felt like lies. She opened her phone and began forwarding every single message and photo Jordyn had sent her to Clark's email address. The videos of Jordyn showing off expensive jewelry. Photos of their intimate moments in the apartment Clark had bought her. Recordings of Jordyn rubbing her belly and cooing, "Daddy loves us so much. He's going to give us everything." After sending all these, Nyla typed a final message: "Clark, these are from your girlfriend Jordyn. Since you two love each other so much, I'll step aside and let you be together." Then she photographed the divorce papers Valarie had prepared and attached them to another email: "The divorce agreement is ready. Have your lawyer contact Valarie tomorrow to finalize everything." After hitting send, Nyla stood up and began dismantling their life together. She pulled their wedding photos off the walls and threw them directly into the trash. The jewelry Clark had given her, the clothes he had bought, the makeup he had surprised her with - everything went into garbage bags. She called a moving company and worked through the night to clear out her belongings. By dawn, the house looked exactly as it had before she had moved in - empty and cold. Nyla took one final look around the space that had once felt like home. She dragged her suitcase to the door and walked out without looking back.

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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."

InactiveJun 28, 26
2000 readers are reading now

plotaranovel.com

2000 readers are reading now

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I tricked my mafia husband into signing our divorce papers—right in front of his mistress. For eight years, I was the Maynard family's ghost. Decoding enemy intel. Forging untraceable documents. Keeping their heir alive from the shadows. Then one bloody night turned me into Orion Maynard's wife. He called it a "strategic alliance." I was naive enough to call it destiny. Destiny, it turns out, has a cruel sense of humor. For four years, I warmed his bed, bled for his empire, and waited for a man who once pinned me against walls whispering, "You're mine, tesoro." Then Sabrina DeLuca waltzed back from London—and I stopped existing. The night he held me close, drunk and desperate, he moaned her name against my lips. I finally understood: I was never his wife. Just a placeholder. So I did what shadows do best. I vanished on my own terms. First, I let sunflowers swallow the crescent moon on my collarbone—a foolish tribute to his promise that I was his eternal light. Then I tucked divorce papers between routine forms and handed him a pen. He scrawled his name without a second glance. Orion Maynard can keep his throne and his precious Sabrina. But when the most dangerous man in New York realizes his ghost is gone for good, he'll learn something new:Some women don't come back. 

 Erasing the past is satisfying, but it always comes at a price. I sat in the leather chair at the tattoo parlor, the mirror directly in front of me. I could see myself—knuckles white from gripping the armrests, jaw clenched tight, and that crescent moon below my collarbone being devoured inch by inch by the needle. Four years ago, I got this moon tattooed in this exact spot. A foolish tribute to a reckless young godfather who once whispered that I was his eternal light. Always be my moon. You're the only light I need. I believed him. Believed him so completely that I carved his words into my flesh, then willingly lived as the shadow behind his empire. Now, golden petals were swallowing that moon, one bite at a time. Sunflowers. I chose them deliberately—flowers that chase the sun, that refuse to stay in darkness. If the moon was him, then the sun was me. I was choosing to turn toward my own light. The tattoo artist offered me a bite guard. I shook my head. I needed this pain. Needed every searing stroke to remind me of the price of blind faith—the cost of trusting a man who never intended to keep his promises. When the needle ground over the deepest curve of the crescent, the pain shot through my skin like red-hot wire. My nails dug into my palms. Sweat beaded along my hairline. My jaw ached from clenching, temples throbbing. But I didn't make a sound. I kept my eyes fixed on the mirror, watching the old design disappear beneath the gold. When it was done, my collarbone burned and throbbed, the skin red and swollen. But beneath the new design, that crescent moon was completely gone. I had no regrets. That promise no longer existed on my body. I was erasing Orion Maynard from my world, piece by piece. My phone buzzed. A text from my lawyer: Divorce papers finalized. Signatures needed. I replied: Proceed as planned. When I returned to the Maynard estate, the security at the gate didn't even make eye contact. Four years, and within these walls, my presence still hovered somewhere between furniture and hired help. I walked straight to his study. The mahogany door stood half-open, and from inside came the sound of a woman's laughter. Then the scent hit me. Orion despised strong fragrances—that was his rule. No perfume in his private spaces, no lingering scents of any kind. He liked his territory clean and controlled. But tonight, the air was cloyingly sweet. A woman's perfume, rich and unapologetic in its possessiveness. Sabrina DeLuca's scent. I pushed open the door. Orion sat behind his desk, shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, radiating that cold authority that made powerful men nervous. Sabrina was perched on the arm of his chair, leaning close, her lips nearly brushing his jaw as she murmured something. Orion's hand rested on her knee, his thumb tracing slow circles, inching toward the hem of her skirt. She laughed—seductive, suggestive. Orion reached up to brush a strand of golden hair from her face, his eyes darkening. Just like those nights when he had me pinned beneath him. My stomach turned to ice. His gaze landed on me, his voice still carrying a trace of roughness. "You're here." Sabrina turned, her wine-red lips curving. "Helia! We were just discussing some family matters." Her fingers still lingered on his collar, stroking lazily. "But I'm sure you understand, don't you?" I understood perfectly. "I need a signature." I crossed the threshold and set the folder on the mahogany desktop. Orion's brow furrowed slightly, his gaze assessing. "What is it?" "Lab authorization forms. The emergency contact field—you insisted on having your name there." He reached to flip through the documents. "Let me see—" My heart rate spiked. He never looked. In four years, every document I'd handed him, his pen had touched paper while his eyes stayed elsewhere. Why now, of all times. "Oh, Orion." Sabrina laughed, her fingertip grazing his arm. "Since when do you care about these little things? Just sign it so she can get back to her little experiments." Little experiments. Eight years. I had synthesized compounds that federal labs couldn't trace, built half his arsenal, forged documents that fooled customs in three different countries. And she called them little experiments. Orion hesitated for a moment, then picked up the pen. He didn't look at the documents again. The tip touched paper, his signature flowing out in one swift stroke—clean and decisive, exactly like when he signed execution orders. Sabrina tilted her head, studying me like an outdated ornament. "You know, Orion, sometimes I forget she's your wife. The way you two interact is more like... employer and employee." Orion said nothing. The silence was answer enough. I took the documents and turned to leave before they could see my composure crack. The door clicked shut behind me. I let out a long breath. The divorce papers in my hand were light as a feather, but this marriage had collapsed under its own weight long ago. It wasn't always like this. He used to corner me at family gatherings—one hand braced on the wall beside my head, the other tilting my chin up, his lips pressing down with urgent hunger. "You're mine, tesoro. Don't forget it." Now his gaze swept past me like I was wallpaper. When I was sixteen, an ambush targeting the Maynard family killed my parents. The old godfather, Don Maynard, took me in—repaying an old debt. My father had once taken a bullet meant for him. In the years that followed, I hid in this family's shadows, making myself into the most useful tool—quiet, efficient, unobtrusive. Until that night on the docks four years ago. A bullet came from the flank, aimed at the back of Orion's head. I threw myself in front of him, and it tore through the flesh below my ribs. I woke in the estate's medical wing with him sitting beside the bed, still wearing the shirt stained with my blood. He leaned in to check the wound, lifting the gauze, his fingertips brushing the skin along my ribs—slow, too slow to be just examining an injury. I held my breath. He looked up at me—his gaze deep, scorching, like something was coiling to strike. I should have looked away. But my fingers clutched the front of his shirt and pulled him down. When his lips crashed into mine, they tasted of blood and gunpowder, rough, burning, like something held back too long finally breaking free. Two weeks later, we stood before a priest. His official explanation was "strategic arrangement"—protection for me, legitimacy for him. I swallowed that lie, naive enough to think I could make him love me. After Sabrina DeLuca returned from London, my delusions shattered piece by piece. Her marriage in England had fallen apart, and she wound herself around Orion's life like a vine—on his arm at charity galas, at his right hand during closed-door negotiations, present at every smoke-filled transfer of power. Wherever the godfather was, she was beside him. I kept telling myself it was just business, until our anniversary last month. I waited seven hours on the rooftop terrace of The Peninsula Hotel, watching candles burn down stub by stub, watching the carefully prepared dinner grow cold in the night wind. He never called. Not once. The next morning, I saw the photos on social media: Orion and Sabrina at a private charity auction. She wore a backless gown, and his palm pressed against her bare lower back. They were both laughing. That was when I started planning my exit. I looked at the document in my hand—the one he'd just signed without a second glance. In fourteen days, this paper would become my one-way ticket out. I was about to pursue what he had never given me. A life of my own.

InactiveJun 28, 26
Your Dentist Won't Tell You About The Nerve That Runs Through Your Back Teeth
4

florusrelief.com

Your Dentist Won't Tell You About The Nerve That Runs Through Your Back Teeth

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It started seventeen days after my root canal. It runs through my temple, behind my eye, into my upper jaw. It is the nerve nobody connected to my dental procedure for three years and twelve specialists. I am 52 years old. I am a retired second-grade teacher. I taught at the same elementary school in northeast Ohio for twenty-nine years before I hung it up at the end of the 2020 school year. My husband Bill and I have been married for twenty-seven years. We have two grown kids and one granddaughter named Hazel who is in kindergarten. I had a root canal on my upper right second molar on a Tuesday afternoon in March 2021. The dentist was young. He had just opened in the strip mall across from the Kroger. He was professional. He was friendly. He told me I might have some soreness for a few days. Seventeen days later I woke up with pressure behind my right eye and I never woke up without it again until last spring. I am writing this because I have been reading comments under other Migraine ads on this exact platform and I have seen, in the last month, twelve different women describe what happened to me. A woman named Bobbi said her trigeminal nerve had been damaged by a young dentist filling a tooth and she had been to twelve doctors for 3.5 years. A woman named Shannon said hers started right after a tooth was pulled. A woman named Helen said hers started with a tooth implant. A woman named Melinda said hers started after her wisdom teeth came out — and now flares for weeks every time she gets a regular cleaning. A woman named Angela had a root-canaled tooth extracted last year and her daily headaches stopped after twenty years. I see all of you. I have been one of you for three years and ten months. I am going to tell you what I learned at 2 a.m. on a Tuesday in February of this year that changed everything for me. But first I want to walk you through what those three years looked like, because I think there is a woman reading this who is somewhere inside that walk right now. Months 1 to 3: I went to my primary care doctor. She thought it was a sinus infection. Antibiotic. Steroid nasal spray. CT scan came back clear. ENT referral. ENT looked in my nose, my ears, my throat. Sinuses perfect. Months 4 to 12: I went to my dentist twice asking if the root canal could be related. Both times he told me root canals do not cause Migraines. He showed me the X-ray. He told me the tooth was healing well. My primary care referred me to a neurologist. The neurologist diagnosed me with chronic Migraine and tried Topamax. I forgot the names of authors I had been recommending to my second graders for fifteen years. I came off it. Months 13 to 24: Propranolol. My blood pressure dropped so low I almost fainted in the Wegmans dairy aisle. Amitriptyline. I gained twenty-two pounds and slept fourteen hours a night. TMJ specialist who told me my jaw alignment was "unremarkable." Chiropractor. Oral surgeon who told me there was no nerve damage visible on imaging. Months 25 to 36: A headache specialist at a major teaching hospital put me on Botox at thirty-one injection sites every twelve weeks. Bill drove me to every appointment. Five rounds. Nothing changed. A CGRP inhibitor at $720 a month before insurance. My copay was $35. My Migraine days dropped from twenty a month to fifteen. He called that a meaningful clinical response. He did not ask me about my root canal. Months 37 to 46: A psychiatrist. He told me kindly that some of what I was describing sounded like somatic anxiety. He started me on a low-dose SSRI. I came off it after eight weeks because it made me feel like I was floating an inch above my own body. A second neurologist who told me I had "migraine brain." Just like that. As if my brain itself was the problem. Twelve doctors over the four years. Close to $14,000 out of pocket on copays, specialists, imaging, and medications. Bill and I had stopped taking vacations. I had stopped my retired-teacher tutoring. I had stopped reading for more than ten minutes before the pressure forced me to put the book down. And nobody, not one of the twelve, ever once said the word "trigeminal" to me. I want to tell you what happened in February. I was scrolling Facebook on a Tuesday evening. I came across a Migraine ad. I almost scrolled past it. I scroll past Migraine ads constantly. What stopped me was the comments underneath. I read Bobbi's. I read Shannon's. I read Tiffany's. I read Angela Place Williams' comment about the daily headaches stopping after she had her root-canaled tooth removed. I read Melinda's about the wisdom teeth and the cleanings every three months. I sat on my couch and I cried for the first time in months. Then I read the ad those comments were under. It was a long story about a woman who had been having Migraines for fourteen years and who had finally learned about a nerve called the trigeminal. The largest cranial nerve in the face. Three branches. V1 ran through the forehead and the eye area. V2 ran through the cheekbones — and this is the part where I stopped breathing — the upper jaw and the upper teeth. V3 ran through the lower jaw, the lower teeth, and the temple. The upper second molar that had been root-canaled in March 2021 sits in the V2 maxillary branch territory of the trigeminal nerve. I went down a research rabbit hole that lasted until 2 a.m. Here is what I learned. The trigeminal nerve is the largest cranial nerve in your face. It has three main branches. V1 runs through the forehead and the sinuses. V2 runs across the cheekbones and innervates the upper teeth. V3 runs along the lower jaw and the temple and innervates the lower teeth. All three branches converge at the brainstem. Dental procedures — root canals, extractions, wisdom teeth removal, implants, and in some chronic cases even routine cleanings — can cause or trigger sensitization of the V2 or V3 branch nearest the affected tooth. Once that nerve becomes sensitized, it begins firing 20 to 40 minutes before you ever feel pain. That is called the prodrome window. The aura. The pressure starting behind one eye. The faint nausea. The mood drop. All of it is the nerve cascade beginning to fire. By the time you feel pain, the nerve has been firing for almost an hour. And here is what made me sit on my kitchen floor at 1 a.m. with my hands over my face — every single medication I had been on for three years worked downstream of that cascade. Triptans constrict blood vessels AFTER the cascade has triggered them. CGRP blockers neutralize a signaling protein AFTER it has been released. Beta blockers slow the whole nervous system to dampen reactivity but don't touch the cascade itself. Botox interrupts pain signal transmission, not nerve initiation. Topamax sedates the entire central nervous system into firing less, at the cost of my cognition. Excedrin and Sumatriptan? Both have to be swallowed, absorbed through the stomach, cross into the bloodstream, and reach the trigeminal pathway. That process takes about 45 minutes. By the time the pill has finished its journey, the storm has already arrived. And worse — and this is the part nobody told me — using Triptans more than ten days a month, or Excedrin more than fifteen days a month, trains the trigeminal nerve to fire more easily, more often, with smaller triggers. It is called Medication Overuse Headache. It is in the International Classification of Headache Disorders. It is real, it is documented, and I had been doing it for three years. The medications I had been taking to stop my Migraines were the reason I had been having more of them. I kept reading. I needed to find what actually addresses the trigeminal nerve in the prodrome window — and specifically what reaches a nerve that has been sensitized by a dental procedure. That's how I found Dr. Fiora Laurent. She is a neurologist who has Migraines herself. She has been writing for years about something almost no other neurologist talks about — and almost no dentist will mention. Topical access to the trigeminal nerve at the three points where it sits closest to the skin. The temples. Behind the ears. The base of the skull. At those three points, the nerve sits roughly 2 millimeters below the surface. A topical compound can reach it in seconds. It doesn't pass through the stomach. It doesn't enter the bloodstream. It calms the nerve at the source, in the prodrome window, before the storm becomes the storm. She had built a roll-on around five ingredients chosen specifically for trigeminal calming. Magnesium glycinate. Wild peppermint. Menthol crystals. Chamomile. Feverfew extract. It was called Florus. I want to be honest with you about something. Florus is not going to reverse whatever happened to the V2 branch of my trigeminal nerve in March 2021. The dental trauma is years behind me. What Florus does is calm the chronically sensitized nerve at the three surface application points. It addresses the cascade. Not the original injury. For a nerve that has been firing in a sensitized state for three years, that calming is what I had been looking for. I ordered a bottle on my phone before Bill went to bed that night. I want to tell you what happened next without exaggerating. The bottle arrived two days later. That Saturday morning I felt the familiar pressure starting behind my right eye around 10. Three years of muscle memory said reach for the Sumatriptan. I reached for Florus instead. Temples. Behind both ears. Base of the skull. Sat down at my kitchen table. Within 90 seconds I felt the cooling reach somewhere deeper than skin. The pressure stopped escalating. The shimmer faded. I sat there for forty minutes waiting for the storm. It never came. That had never happened to me in three years. Week 1: three prodromes, all caught at the first sign, none developed into full Migraines. Week 2: two prodromes, both caught, both stopped. Week 3: one Migraine broke through during a barometric drop. Caught it at a 4 instead of an 8. Week 4: I stopped carrying Sumatriptan in my purse for the first time since 2021. Week 8: I had two Migraine days that month. Both managed. Neither destroyed a day. Hazel had her end-of-year kindergarten program on a Tuesday morning and I sat in the third row and watched her sing. It has now been six months. My Migraines this month: one. Caught in the prodrome. Worked through the afternoon. I went to a regular dental cleaning two weeks ago — the first one since I had started Florus. Old me would have braced for a week of flares afterward. I had a one-day low-grade headache that I caught at the first sign. It never developed. I want to tell you one more thing. Last week I went back to my headache specialist for a follow-up. He pulled up my Migraine log. He asked what changed. I told him. About the root canal. About the seventeen days. About reading the comments. About the trigeminal nerve. About the V2 branch that runs through the upper jaw. About the prodrome window. About the 45-minute absorption gap. About the Medication Overuse cycle. About the topical formula. He sat there for a long moment. Then he said "Janet. I'm going to make a note in your chart. I want to start asking my new intake patients about recent dental procedures." He closed my chart. If you are reading this and you have been on the rotation for years. If your neurologist has stacked four medications on top of each other. If you have tried Botox or are about to. If you have started a CGRP inhibitor and are not sure it's working. If you have been quietly using Excedrin or Triptans more often than you tell your doctor. If your Migraines or your daily headaches or your unexplained jaw pain started after a root canal — or after a tooth extraction, or after wisdom teeth, or after a tooth implant, or after a filling, or for some of you, after a routine cleaning. If a doctor has told you that you have "migraine brain." If you have been told it might be anxiety. If you are just so over it already. I am not going to tell you to stop your medications. I am not your doctor. I am not your dentist. I am going to tell you the trigeminal nerve is real. The V2 and V3 branches that innervate your teeth are real. The chronic sensitization that can follow dental trauma is real. The 2-millimeter skin-to-nerve distance at the three application points is real. The article below walks through the mechanism in detail — with the research and the 5 reasons the neurologist who built this recommends it for the exact pattern I had. 7,405 five-star reviews. 90-day money-back guarantee. If it doesn't work for you, you send it back. You lose nothing except, hopefully, the Sumatriptan subscription you have been on too long. 👉 https://florusrelief.com/blogs/news/every-migraine-tool-you-have-works-downstream-of-the-source-here-is-what-works-at-it P.S. I went back to the original Facebook ad I read in February. I scrolled down to Bobbi's comment — the one with the 34 reactions. I wrote a reply telling her she was the reason I had finally figured out what was happening to me. She replied four days later. She had ordered her bottle the same week I had. She is six weeks in. Her trigeminal pain has dropped from a 7 most days to a 2. She told me she has been on the verge for two years of asking a biological dentist to extract the tooth her young dentist filled. She is going to wait a little longer before she decides. P.P.S. There are cheap roll-ons on Amazon that look almost identical to Florus. They use synthetic peppermint fragrance oil and call it Migraine relief. They don't contain therapeutic-grade magnesium glycinate or real feverfew. They smell nice and do nothing for the nerve. Several of us in the original comment thread have warned each other about them. The real Florus is only sold on the official site. The link above is the right one. I just checked it before I posted this.

InactiveJun 28, 26
What My Nursing School Flash Card Said About My Mom's Migraines
2

florusrelief.com

What My Nursing School Flash Card Said About My Mom's Migraines

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I came home from nursing school clinicals on a Tuesday afternoon with a flash card, a quiz the next morning, and the answer my mother had been looking for since I was three years old. My name is Megan. I am studying nursing at the University of Pittsburgh. I am also the daughter of a woman who has spent the last nineteen years of her life — most of which has been my life — pressing her fingers at the same three points on her face every time a Migraine started. My mom Linda is 52. She teaches AP English at the high school I went to. She started having Migraines a few months after I turned two. I do not have a memory of her without them. I want to tell you the medication list my mother has been through, because if you have been through anything close to it I want you to know somebody is reading it and feeling the same way I did when I finally sat down and wrote it out. Excedrin Migraine, four to five times a week, for years. Until her neurologist told her she had Medication Overuse Headache and the painkillers themselves were part of the cycle. Topamax for twelve years. She forgot the names of her own students. She forgot the title of a Shakespeare play she had been teaching for a decade. She came off it. Propranolol. Her blood pressure dropped so low she fainted at my high school graduation in 2022. She came off it. Amitriptyline. She gained thirty pounds and slept fourteen hours a day. She came off it. Triptans worked for a few years and then stopped. Botox at thirty-one injection sites across her forehead, temples, and neck every twelve weeks. Eight rounds. My dad drove her to the appointments because she could not drive afterward. And as of fourteen months ago, a CGRP inhibitor that costs $720 a month before insurance. Her copay is $35. Her insurance pays the rest. The CGRP brought her Migraine days down from twelve a month to eight. Her neurologist called that a "meaningful clinical response." Eight Migraine days a month was the response they were calling meaningful. I came home for spring break in March. I had a clinical anatomy exam on Tuesday morning of that week. I was on my mom and dad's back porch with my flash cards on Wednesday at 4 p.m. My mom was in the chair across from me reading the New York Times and pressing her right temple absently. I was holding up a card with the trigeminal nerve on it. V1, V2, V3. The three branches. The diagram showed the nerve running through the temples, behind the ears, and down to the base of the skull. My mom looked over at the card. She said "What's that nerve called." I told her. Trigeminal. Largest cranial nerve in the face. Three main branches. Runs through the temples, behind the ears, base of the skull. She said "I have never heard that word before in my life." I am going to say what I said next exactly as I said it because I have replayed it in my head a hundred times. I said "Mom. That is the nerve causing your Migraines. That is literally the first thing they teach us about Migraine in school." She set down the newspaper. I want you to understand what was happening in my chest right then. I am a second-year nursing student. My mother had been to four neurologists in nineteen years. Each one of them had spent years and around $200,000 of training to learn what to call that nerve. Not one of them had said it to her. I pulled out my laptop and I sat on the back porch with my mother for the next three hours and I walked her through what I had been learning in clinicals. The trigeminal nerve becomes sensitized in Migraine sufferers. It begins firing 20 to 40 minutes before any pain. That is what nursing school calls the prodrome window. The aura. The slight pressure. The strange smell. The mood drop my dad had been telling me about for years. By the time my mom felt the pain, the nerve had been firing for almost an hour. By the time she took an Excedrin or a Sumatriptan, the pill needed another 45 minutes to absorb through her stomach, cross her bloodstream, and reach the trigeminal pathway. By the time the medication arrived, the storm was already over the house. I told her every medication she had been on worked downstream of that cascade. Triptans constrict blood vessels after the cascade has already triggered them. CGRP blockers neutralize a signaling protein after it has been released. Botox interrupts pain signal transmission, not nerve initiation. Topamax sedates the central nervous system at the cost of cognition. Then I told her about Medication Overuse Headache. Taking Triptans more than ten days a month, or Excedrin more than fifteen, trains the trigeminal nerve to fire more easily. My mom said "Megan. I was on Excedrin three to four times a week for six years." I said "I know, Mom." My dad came out onto the porch around 7 p.m. He had been making us dinner. He saw both of us sitting there with our hands in our laps. He said "What happened." My mom said "Our daughter knew the answer." That night after dinner, I showed my mom a paper my anatomy professor had referenced in lecture two weeks earlier. A research letter by a neurologist named Dr. Fiora Laurent. Dr. Laurent has been writing for years about topical access to the trigeminal nerve at the three points where it surfaces closest to the skin. Temples. Behind the ears. Base of the skull. 2 millimeters under the surface. Topical reaches the nerve in 90 seconds — no 45-minute stomach detour. Dr. Laurent had built a roll-on around five ingredients. Magnesium glycinate. Wild peppermint. Menthol crystals. Chamomile. Feverfew extract. It was called Florus. I ordered a bottle for my mom on her phone that night before I went back to school. I have been getting weekly updates from her since. Week 1: she caught two prodromes with it. Neither became a full Migraine. She said the cooling "reached deeper than skin." Week 2: she caught three. All three stopped. Week 4: she stopped carrying Excedrin in her purse for the first time since 2009. Week 8: my mom went to her own school's spring concert. She had been the AP English teacher who sat in the back near the door for the last seven years because she always assumed she would have to leave halfway through. She sat in the third row this time. She stayed for the whole concert. Last week she called me at school. She had been to her neurologist follow-up. The neurologist had pulled up her log, looked at the numbers, and asked her what she had changed. My mom told her — about the trigeminal nerve, the prodrome window, the application points, the topical formula. The neurologist closed the chart and said "keep doing what you are doing." My mom said she did not bring up the fact that this neurologist had been treating her for seven years without saying the word trigeminal. She said she did not have the heart for it. I am writing this because there is somebody reading this whose mother has been on the same medication carousel mine has and has also never heard the word. I am not your nurse. I am not anybody's nurse yet. I am a 21-year-old in my second year of school who happened to be on my mom's back porch with the right flash card. I am going to tell you what I told my mom. The trigeminal nerve is real. The prodrome window is real. The application points are real. The mechanism is in every nursing school curriculum in the country and somehow it is not in most of the neurology appointments my mom has sat in. 7,405 five-star reviews. 90-day money-back guarantee. If it does not work, you send it back. Your mother loses nothing. 👉 https://florusrelief.com/blogs/news/every-migraine-tool-you-have-works-downstream-of-the-source-here-is-what-works-at-it P.S. I passed my anatomy exam on the Tuesday morning. My professor wrote "keep going, you're a natural" at the top of the exam. I am going to be a nurse in two years. My mother does not have to wait that long anymore. P.P.S. I want to warn you about something my pharmacology professor mentioned in lecture last week. There are knockoffs of Florus on Amazon that look almost identical to the real bottle. They use synthetic peppermint fragrance oil. They do not contain therapeutic-grade magnesium glycinate or real feverfew extract. My professor said two of his own family members had tried the cheap version, decided it did not work, and almost did not try the real one. The real Florus is only sold on the official site. The link above is the right one, I just checked it before posting.

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