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On our third anniversary, I activated my plan to fake my own death. At dinner, he told his men in Italian: "She's so obedient, she won't cause trouble." He never knew I understood every single word. As the mafia don's "trophy wife," I had long discovered his mistress and the high heel she deliberately left in my home. I refused to endure it any longer. Ten days from now, only the gun he custom-made for me and a pool of blood will remain on the seaside cliff. Don, those ninety-nine times you said you loved me—I don't want them anymore. …… I was standing in the corridor outside the private dining room when I dialed the number. "Project Ash. Initiate now." The male voice on the other end was calm and steady. "Received. The faked-death protocol is ready to go. In ten days, you'll vanish from everyone's world." I ended the call, pried out the SIM card, and dropped it into the wastebasket beside the wall. From inside the room came a roar of laughter—familiar enough to turn my stomach. That was Dante Moretti. My husband. The godfather of the most powerful mafia family on the East Coast, surrounded by his loyal and oblivious men. Tonight was our third wedding anniversary. He had rented out the entire restaurant. The most expensive champagne. The most dishonest smiles. A performance called love, staged entirely for my benefit. I pushed open the door and walked in, wearing the same smile I always wore. "Finished your call?" Dante sat at the head of the long table and reached out to me. I crossed the room and placed my hand in his. He pulled me into his lap in one smooth motion, one arm circling my waist—tender and practiced, the kind of gesture that now made me want to be sick. "All done. The cleaning service confirmed they'll send someone to the apartment tomorrow." Dante nodded and turned back to his underboss, resuming a conversation in Italian. Fast, clipped, thick with a Sicilian accent—the private language of his bloodline, and the wall they'd always used to keep me out. I smiled along and took a sip of wine. I had taught myself Italian over the past three years. Dante didn't know that. He thought I only spoke English. His men thought so too. "So Scarlett's back in New York tomorrow?" That was Dante's cousin, Luca—second in command. Another man, Cesare, grinned. "Already here. Dante's headed over tonight." "Can't blame the boss. Keeps a respectable one at home, keeps an exciting one on the side." "Keep it down—his wife's right there." Cesare turned to me, switching to English, his eyes testing the water. "Vivian, good wine?" I smiled and nodded, my gaze perfectly clear. "Very good." They exchanged a look and cut back to Italian. She can't understand a word. Relax. Dante, you're really not going to tell her? What if she finds out— Dante finally spoke, his tone easy and indifferent: What is there to find out? She's mine. She'll always be mine. I need her where she needs to be, doing what she's supposed to do. The rest of it has nothing to do with her. I felt his hand give my waist a light, absentminded pat—the way you'd soothe a pet. Besides, he continued in Italian, she's so well-behaved. She won't make trouble. Low laughter rippled around the table. I looked down at the dark red liquid in my glass. Three years of marriage, and they had always looked at me that way. Pity threaded through contempt. I was the godfather's wife and had no real power. I was his companion and nothing more than a prop. What they didn't know was that the most dangerous hunter is the one who looks the most harmless. I set my glass down and stood up from Dante's lap. "Tired?" He looked up at me. "Mm. I'll head home." "I'll have someone drive you." "No need. I'll call a car." I picked up my bag and walked toward the door. As I pulled it open, I heard someone say one last thing in Italian behind me: Don't worry. She doesn't know a thing. I let the door close behind me. I knew everything. I knew who Scarlett was. I knew that woman had been living in the apartment Dante bought her for the past month. I knew the entire family had been laughing behind my back, calling me a fool who couldn't see what was in front of her. But I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't rage. I wouldn't ask him a single question. Ten days from now, they would all believe I was dead. And Dante Moretti would spend the rest of his life remembering every word he said tonight.

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✨🥵I'm the invisible, bookish nobody. He's the quarterback everyone screams for. Our fake dating was supposed to be simple.But yesterday, he cornered me in the empty locker room. His hand gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You flinch every time I look at you, Claire.” His breath was hot on my neck. "You say you hate men... but your body begs for me. I'm your exception." He was right. I was wet just from his touch. ============== Chapter 001 Claire’s POV What’s the worst thing that can happen to a person? Being born with freckles and braces? Sure. That’s embarrassing. Being bullied for years at school because you don’t fit in? Absolutely miserable. But worse? Having your mom barge into your room on a Monday morning and say, “Pack your bags. We’re leaving.” Yes. Leaving. I blinked at her from my desk where my history notes were spread out as I rushed through my homework. “I’m sorry, what?” She didn’t soften, not even a little. “We’re moving tonight. The council has decided. Since your father is gone, the law requires me to remarry. Fortunately the Alpha of Silvercrest has… stepped forward.” “Stepped forward”?. Like she was some prize cow at an auction. I laughed, but it came out sharp and broken. “You can’t be serious.” Her jaw tightened. “I am. And you’ll respect this decision.” My chest burned. “Dad’s barely been gone a year. And now you’re just…what…throwing yourself at some Alpha? Like his replacement?” Her eyes flashed. It was not anger or guilt. Which was somehow worse. “There are things you don’t understand, Claire. Your father left behind debts. More than I can pay. If I don’t do this, we lose everything. Our home, our place in this pack. Do you want that?” The words hit harder than a punch. Dad had been many things, but reckless with money? I never imagined. Tears stung my eyes, but I forced them back, not wanting to ruin the perfect memories I had of him. “So, what? He gets to die, and we get to pay the price? This isn’t fair.” “It’s survival,” she said, her voice softer now. “It’s the only way.” I shoved my chair back so hard it nearly toppled. “No. It’s the coward’s way.” And before she could say more, I bolted into the bathroom and locked the door. The mirror showed me a face that barely looked like mine. Pale, freckled, eyes red from holding back tears. My glasses slid down my nose. My braces glinted like a neon sign screaming loser. And underneath all of that? There was weakness. Always weakness. I pressed a hand to my chest, where the familiar ache pulsed. My useless heart was still beating like it mattered. Arrhythmogenic Right Ventricular Dysplasia (ARVD) The condition that’s haunted me since I was a kid makes my heart’s rhythm unstable, sending me into fainting spells without warning. While other kids were learning to run laps and shift early, I was stuck in hospitals, listening to doctors shake their heads. I still have no wolf. I’ve never shifted. My body has very little strength. Just a ticking reminder carved into my chest that I’ll always be behind everyone else. Sometimes I wondered if fate just enjoyed playing jokes on me. Once, I begged my parents to let me take a tiny job at a café—nothing wild, just wiping tables and carrying trays. I lasted all of two days before collapsing behind the counter and waking up in a hospital bed with tubes in my arm like some tragic science experiment. Mom cried. Dad looked like someone had carved a hole straight through him. They spent what little money we had left on more tests, only to hear the same lecture again: she can’t handle anything strenuous, don’t push her. Since then, I’ve basically been wrapped in bubble wrap, treated like I’m made of glass. Spoiler: glass still cracks. And me? I just keep proving them right. All I had left was the hope that I could get into college, study computer engineering, and land a job that didn’t require me to run or lift or fight. Something safe, something where my brain mattered more than my body. It was the only dream I had, the only thing that made me feel like maybe…just maybe…I wasn’t completely useless. I whispered to the empty bathroom, “If I wasn’t so useless, maybe Mom wouldn’t have to do this.” But I was useless. And the guilt suffocated me more than the news itself. I left the bathroom, forced myself into my uniform, and packed my bag with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. Ready or not, I had to face school that same day. By the time I walked through the gates, my two best friends noticed immediately. “Whoa, Claire, did somebody die?” Lily blurted before realizing her mistake. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God, I didn’t mean…” I shook my head. “It’s fine. But close enough.” June linked her arm through mine as we walked into the hallway. “Okay, spill. What happened?” I exhaled like the air itself hurt. “My mom’s getting remarried.” Both of them froze mid-step. “To who?” Lily demanded. “Some Alpha.” The word tasted bitter. “Apparently pack law says she has to. And apparently Dad left behind a mountain of debt we can’t pay. So guess who gets to move and play happy family?” June’s mouth fell open. “That’s insane. Claire, you can’t just let them…” “I don’t have a choice.” My voice cracked, and I hated it. “You always have a choice,” Lily shot back. “Run away. Stay with us. Anything is better than being stuck with some Alpha.” For a second, the idea lit a fire in my chest. But it burned out quickly. Where would I go? I had no money. No wolf. And with my stupid heart, I couldn’t even run half a mile without collapsing. I forced a shaky laugh. “Yeah, sure. Me, surviving on my own. That would last… what? Two hours?” Neither of them laughed. They just looked at me the way people look at stray puppies. And that made me feel even worse. “Don’t pity me,” I snapped, softer than I meant. June squeezed my hand. “We don’t. We just… wish you didn’t have to go through this.” “Yeah, well.” I shrugged, even though my chest felt like it was caving in. “Story of my life.” Everything that happened in school that day was a blur, my mind kept drifting to so many places, thoughts of what my life would be scared me. But I had to brace up for whatever was coming. Going home that afternoon felt like walking to my own execution. Every step closer made my stomach twist tighter. I thought about turning around, hiding at Lily’s, but what would that fix? The house looked the same from the outside. The same peeling paint, the same sagging porch. But the moment I stepped inside, the atmosphere felt… heavier. I froze in the hallway. Voices drifted from the living room. Mom’s nervous laugh. And then a man’s voice, it was low but confident in a way that didn’t need to shout. My pulse spiked. Who was it? Was the Alpha already here?. I clutched the strap of my backpack so tightly my knuckles hurt. “Claire?” Mom called. “Come in, sweetheart. There’s someone I want you to meet.” My legs turned to lead, but they carried me forward anyway. And then I saw him. The Alpha. I’d imagined some old, graying man with a cruel smile. Someone who’d sneer at me the second he saw my braces, my glasses, my freckles. Someone who’d look at me and see nothing but a burden. But the man standing in our living room wasn’t that at all. He was tall. Broad shoulders that filled the space. Dark hair, cut neatly but with a stubborn wave. His eyes lifted to mine—sharp, assessing me, but not in a cruel way. And his aura hit me like a wave: power, undeniable, but not suffocating. My breath caught. Wait this… was the Alpha?