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Letting my sister’s 18-year-old best friend live in my house was the biggest mistake of my life. I promised to protect her. But this morning, she stood in my kitchen wearing nothing but my oversized shirt. The collar slipped, exposing her bare shoulder and long legs. My body reacted instantly. She’s too young and completely off-limits. But watching her walk away, I threw my promise in the trash, grabbed her waist, and... ---------- Chapter 1: Rock Bottom The email came at 9:47 AM. *Subject: Termination of Employment - Effective Immediately* Leighton Hayes stared at her phone screen, reading the words three times before they actually sank in. Fired. They were letting her go. Budget cuts, the email said. Last hired, first fired. She'd only been at the startup for eight months. Her hands shook as she shoved her few personal items into her bag. A coffee mug Chloe had given her. The succulent plant was already half dead. Her backup phone charger. The other designers wouldn't even look at her as security walked her out. Twenty-three years old and unemployed. Great. She sat in her car in the parking lot for ten minutes, just breathing. Trying not to cry. Failing. Her phone buzzed. A text from her landlord. *The rent is 5 days late. Please make the payment by 5 PM today, or I will have to start the eviction process.* Leighton let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. Of course. Of course, this was happening on the same day. She checked her bank account. $847.32. Rent was $1,200. Even if she paid everything she had, she'd still be short. And she'd just lost her income. Her finger hovered over Chloe's contact for a full minute before she finally pressed call. "Leigh! I was just thinking about you. Want to grab lunch?" The sound of her best friend's cheerful voice made something crack open in Leighton's chest. "I got fired," she said, and then the tears came for real. "What? Those assholes! Leigh, oh my god. Where are you?" "In the parking lot. And my landlord just texted. I'm being evicted." "Today? Everything's happening today?" "Apparently the universe thinks I can handle it." Leighton wiped her face with the back of her hand. Her mascara was definitely everywhere. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called and dumped this on you." "Don't be stupid. I'm coming to get you. Where are you?" "Chloe, you're at work." "And? This is an emergency. Send me your location." Forty minutes later, Leighton was sitting in Chloe's car, clutching a coffee she couldn't afford but Chloe had insisted on buying anyway. "You're moving in with me," Chloe announced. "I can't ask you to do that." "You're not asking. I'm telling you." Chloe turned to face her, dark eyes serious. "You're my best friend. You've been my best friend since we were eight years old. You really think I'm going to let you be homeless?" "I'll figure something out. I just need a few days to..." "To what? Sleep in your car? Leigh, be real." Chloe grabbed her hand. "You're coming home with me. End of discussion." "But your place is tiny. Where would I even sleep?" Chloe bit her lip, a tell-tale sign she was about to say something Leighton wouldn't like. "Okay, so technically, I don't live in my apartment anymore." "What?" "I moved in with Noah two months ago." Leighton's stomach dropped. "Noah. Your brother Noah." "Do I have another brother I don't know about?" Noah Knight. Even thinking his name made her feel like she was sixteen again, watching him from across the room at Chloe's birthday party, too nervous to say more than two words to him. She'd had a crush on him since she was eight years old. The first time Chloe brought her home for a playdate, eleven-year-old Noah had helped her reach a glass from the top shelf. He'd smiled at her, and she'd been done for. Fifteen years later, and she still got butterflies thinking about him. Which was pathetic. He probably didn't even remember her. "I can't live with your brother." "Why not? The place is huge. Like, stupid huge. He won't even notice you're there." Chloe started the car. "He's barely home anyway. Always working or traveling or whatever billionaires do." "Chloe..." "Two weeks. Just give me two weeks to help you find a job and get back on your feet. Please?" Leighton closed her eyes. She had $847 to her name. No job. No apartment. Pride was a luxury she couldn't afford right now. "Two weeks," she agreed quietly. "Yes! Okay, we need to get your stuff from your apartment before your psycho landlord throws it all out." It took less than an hour to pack up Leighton's entire life. One suitcase of clothes. A box of art supplies. Her laptop. That was it. Everything she owned fit in Chloe's trunk with room to spare. "Travel light, live free," Chloe said cheerfully, but Leighton could see the pity in her eyes. The drive to Noah's house took thirty minutes, moving from the city into an area where the houses got bigger and farther apart. When Chloe finally turned through an iron gate, Leighton's mouth fell open. "This isn't a house. This is a compound." "I told you it was big." Big didn't cover it. The mansion was all modern lines and huge windows, surrounded by perfectly landscaped gardens. There was a fountain. An actual fountain in the driveway. "Chloe, I can't stay here." "Too late. We're already here." Chloe parked and popped the trunk. "Come on. I'll give you the tour." Leighton grabbed her suitcase with shaking hands. This was a mistake. A huge mistake. But what choice did she have? The inside was even more intimidating than the outside. Everything was white, chrome, and appeared very expensive. The kind of place where you were afraid to touch anything in case you broke it. "Noah?" Chloe called out. "You home?" Please say no, Leighton thought. Please don't be home. Footsteps on the stairs. And then there he was. Noah Knight looked exactly like she remembered, except somehow more. Taller. Broader. Those same dark eyes, sharp jawline, the kind of face that made you forget how to form sentences. He wore a black t-shirt and jeans, barefoot, his dark hair tousled as if he had been running his hands through it. He looked at Chloe first, then his gaze moved to Leighton. She waited for recognition. A smile. Something. His eyes passed over her like she was part of the furniture. "Who's this?" he asked Chloe. Something twisted in Leighton's chest. She'd known he probably wouldn't remember her. She'd been nobody. Just his little sister's friend. But it still hurt. "This is Leighton. My best friend? She's been over like a thousand times growing up?" "Right." Noah's expression didn't change. Still blank. Still uninterested. "And she's here because...?" "She's moving in for a bit. Just temporarily." "Excuse me?" The temperature in the room dropped about twenty degrees. "You're doing what?" "She lost her job and her apartment today. She needs a place to crash." Chloe's voice had that stubborn edge that Leighton knew well. "We have like fifteen guest rooms. She can take one." "Did it occur to you to ask me first?" "It's my house too." "That you live rent-free." Noah crossed his arms. "You can't just move people in without discussing it with me." Leighton wanted to disappear. To melt into the expensive floor and never exist again. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. Both of them looked at her like they'd forgotten she could speak. "Chloe, this was a bad idea. Can you just take me to a motel or something?" "No," Chloe said firmly. "Yes," Noah said at the same time. They glared at each other. Leighton had seen them do this a hundred times growing up. Knight sibling standoffs that could last for hours. "Two weeks," Chloe said. "That's all I'm asking. Two weeks for her to get back on her feet. Then she'll be gone." Noah's jaw clenched. He looked at Leighton again, really looked at her this time. She probably looked like a mess. Mascara-stained face. Wrinkled clothes. Holding a suitcase like a shield. "Two weeks," he said finally. "Maximum. And she stays out of my way." "Thank you," Leighton said, even though everything in her screamed to run. He didn't respond. Just turned and walked back up the stairs without another word. "Well," Chloe said brightly. "That went better than expected." "He hates me." "He doesn't hate you. He's just... Noah. He'll warm up." Chloe grabbed her suitcase. "Come on. Let me show you to your room." The guest room was bigger than Leighton's entire apartment had been. King-size bed. Private bathroom. A view of the gardens. It was beautiful. And it made her want to cry all over again. "I'm going to fix this," Chloe promised. "Two weeks from now, you'll have a new job and a new place, and this will all just be a bad memory." After Chloe left, Leighton sat on the edge of the bed and looked around the room. This morning she'd woken up with a job and an apartment. Now she had neither. Now she was living in Noah Knight's house. The boy she'd loved from a distance for fifteen years. The man who didn't even remember her name. Her phone buzzed. A notification from LinkedIn. Someone had viewed her profile. She opened it and started updating her resume. Two weeks. She could do this. She'd stay invisible. Stay out of Noah's way. Find a new job. Get out. She could definitely do this. Probably. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn't eaten since breakfast. She should probably find the kitchen. But that meant risking running into Noah again. Seeing that cold, blank expression when he looked at her. Later, she decided. She'd explore later. When she was sure he wasn't around. Leighton lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Day one in Noah Knight's house. This was going to be the longest two weeks of her life. Chapter 2: The Ice King Leighton spent the next morning hiding in her room like a coward. She updated her resume. Applied to twelve jobs. Scrolled through apartment listings she couldn't afford. Anything to avoid going downstairs and risking another encounter with Noah. Her phone rang just after noon. Chloe. "Hey, want to grab lunch? I'm off early today." "Sure. Where should I meet you?" "I'm literally downstairs. Come down." Right. Because Chloe lived here too. Leighton had almost forgotten in her panic to avoid Noah. She changed out of her pajamas into jeans and a sweater, then made her way downstairs. This time in daylight, the house was even more impressive. And intimidating. Huge windows let in natural light that made everything gleam. The art on the walls probably cost more than she'd make in a year. She found Chloe in the kitchen, rifling through the fridge. "Finally! I'm starving. Want to go to that Thai place you love?" "I can't really afford to eat out right now." "My treat. Don't argue." Chloe grabbed her purse. "Come on." They were halfway to the door when Noah appeared at the top of the stairs. He was on his phone, talking in a clipped tone about quarterly reports and market projections. He wore a suit today, all sharp lines and expensive fabric. He glanced down at them. His eyes passed over Leighton without a flicker of recognition. Again. "We're going out," Chloe called up. "Want anything?" He shook his head, already walking away, still talking into his phone. "See?" Chloe said once they were in her car. "He's barely aware you exist. This is going to be fine." Leighton forced a smile. "Yeah. Fine." Lunch helped. Chloe always knew how to make her laugh, and for an hour, she almost forgot about the disaster her life had become. Almost forgot about living in a mansion with a man who looked at her like she was invisible. When they got back, Chloe had to run to a meeting. "I'll be back around seven. We can watch a movie or something." She squeezed Leighton's hand. "It's going to work out. I promise." Leighton nodded and headed back to her room. But somewhere on the second floor, she took a wrong turn. The hallway looked the same as the one her room was in. Same carpet, same lights, same closed doors. But when she tried the door she thought was hers, it didn't open. She tried the handle again. Locked. Wait. Her door didn't lock from the outside. Did it? She stepped back and looked around. This wasn't the right hallway at all. Nothing looked familiar. "Great," she muttered. "Lost in a house. That's a new low." She backtracked, trying to retrace her steps. Took another turn. This hallway had different art on the walls. Still wrong. How did anyone navigate this place? She tried another direction. The hallway opened into a sitting area she didn't recognize. More wrong turns. A bathroom. A linen closet. Another locked door. Twenty minutes later, she was completely turned around. Nothing looked familiar. Every hallway seemed identical. She pulled out her phone to text Chloe, then remembered she was in her meeting. Leighton stared at her contacts. She could call someone. Except she didn't know anyone else here. Her only other option was... No. Absolutely not. She was not texting Noah Knight to ask for directions in his own house. She'd figure it out herself. Another wrong turn led her to a set of double doors. Maybe they led to a wing she recognized? She pushed one open carefully. It was an office. A massive office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the gardens, a huge desk covered in monitors, and bookshelves lining the walls. And Noah, sitting at the desk, watching her. "I'm sorry," she said immediately. "I didn't mean to... I got lost." He leaned back in his chair. "Lost." "Your house is really big." "You've been here for less than twenty-four hours and you're already wandering into rooms you shouldn't be in." Her face burned. "I wasn't wandering. I was trying to find my room. All the hallways look the same." He stood up, and even from across the room, she could feel the weight of his irritation. He walked around the desk toward her, and she had to resist the urge to step back. Up close, he was even more overwhelming. Tall enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. Those dark eyes that were currently looking at her like she was the world's biggest inconvenience. "Which room did Chloe put you in?" "The one with the blue bedding? And the view of the gardens?" "East wing, third door on the right." "Okay. Thanks. I'll just..." She gestured vaguely behind her. "You're going the wrong way." Of course, she was. He moved past her into the hallway, and she had no choice but to follow. He walked quickly, taking turns without hesitation. She tried to memorize the route, but it was hopeless. Everything still looked identical to her. They passed a slightly open door. Through it, she glimpsed a huge bedroom. King-size bed, dark furniture, everything perfectly neat. His room, probably. "That's my room," he said without looking back, like he knew where her eyes had gone. "Don't go in there." "I wouldn't." "You got lost trying to find your own room. I'm not confident in your sense of direction." Was he making fun of her? She couldn't tell. His voice was flat, emotionless. He stopped at a door. "This one." It was her room. She recognized the blue bedding through the open door. "Thank you." He nodded once, already turning away. "Noah?" He stopped but didn't turn around. It was becoming a pattern with him. Never fully facing her. Always ready to leave. "I really am sorry. For being here. For being in the way. I know you didn't want me here." Now he did turn, his dark eyes meeting hers. "It's not personal." "It feels pretty personal." "I don't know you. You're Chloe's friend. That's all." The words shouldn't have stung. She barely knew him either. But they did. Because she'd spent fifteen years knowing exactly who he was. Watching him. Wanting him to look at her the way he was looking at her now. Except now that he was looking, there was nothing in his eyes but cold disinterest. "Two weeks," she said quietly. "Then I'll be gone and you can have your house back." Something flickered across his face. She couldn't read it. Then it was gone, and his expression was smooth again. "See that you do." He walked away, and this time she didn't call after him. She went into her room and closed the door, leaning against it. Her hands were shaking. From embarrassment, from anger, from something else she didn't want to name. This version of Noah was nothing like the one she'd built up in her head. That Noah had been kind. Warm. Someone who would smile at her and make her feel like she mattered. Real Noah was ice. Sharp edges and closed doors and eyes that looked through her instead of at her. She needed to let go of the fantasy. The childhood crush. All of it. He didn't want her here. He'd made that perfectly clear. Her phone buzzed. A text from Chloe. *Meeting ran late. Won't be back until 9. You okay?* *I'm fine. Got lost trying to find my room but I figured it out* *LOL this house is ridiculous. Noah gave me a map when I first moved in* *There's a MAP?* *I'll find it for you tomorrow. Hang in there* Leighton set her phone down and looked around the room. Beautiful. Perfect. Everything she'd never have on her own. And she'd never felt more out of place in her life. She pulled up her laptop and applied to more jobs. Anything to speed up her exit. Graphic designer positions. Junior art director roles. Even a few administrative jobs that had nothing to do with her degree. She didn't care. She just needed out. Two weeks felt like a lifetime. Later that night, her stomach growled. She'd skipped dinner, too anxious about navigating the house to risk going downstairs. But she couldn't hide in her room forever. It was past ten. Maybe Noah would be asleep. Or working in his office with the door closed. She crept downstairs, following the route he'd shown her earlier. Or what she thought was the route. Everything looked different in the dark. But she found the kitchen. Small victory. The fridge was still packed with food. She grabbed some leftover pasta from one of the containers and heated it up, eating quickly while standing at the counter. "You really like sneaking around at night." She jumped, nearly dropping her fork. Noah stood in the doorway. No shirt again. Just pajama pants riding low on his hips. Why did he keep doing this to her? "I'm not sneaking. I'm eating." "In the dark. In my kitchen." "I turned the light on." He moved into the room, and she tried very hard not to stare at his chest. In the muscles in his arms. At the tattoo she hadn't noticed before, black ink winding around his ribcage. "You should eat actual meals," he said. "Not just bread and leftovers." "I'm fine." "You're avoiding me." She set her fork down. "You told me to stay out of your way. That's what I'm doing." "By getting lost in my house and breaking into my office?" "I didn't break in. The door was open." "It was closed." "It was open a crack!" The corner of his mouth twitched. For a second, she thought he might smile. But then his expression went flat again. "Two weeks," he said. "Try to stay found until then." He left, taking all the oxygen in the room with him. Leighton dumped the rest of her pasta in the trash, her appetite gone. She trudged back upstairs, somehow finding her room on the first try. She climbed into bed and pulled the covers over her head. Thirteen more days. She could do this. Probably. Chapter 3: Midnight Collision Day three, and Leighton still couldn't sleep. She'd applied to twenty-seven jobs. Had one phone screen scheduled for tomorrow. Spent most of her time in her room, venturing out only when she was certain Noah was locked in his office or gone entirely. The avoidance strategy was working. She'd barely seen him since the kitchen incident last night. But now it was 1 AM, and her stomach was staging a revolt. The protein bar she'd eaten for dinner wasn't cutting it. She pulled on her sleep shorts and a thin camisole, too tired to bother with the hoodie. The house was always warm anyway. Noah probably had some fancy heating system that cost more per month than her old rent. This time, she knew the way to the kitchen. Small victories. The house was dark and quiet. She padded down the stairs, her bare feet silent on the cool marble. She was getting used to the space now. Starting to memorize which hallways led where, which doors opened to what rooms. The kitchen light was on. She froze at the entrance. Noah sat at the kitchen island, laptop open in front of him, a glass of amber liquid next to his hand. He'd changed since earlier. No shirt, just gray sweatpants. His hair was messy, like he'd been running his hands through it. He looked up when she appeared. For a second, neither of them moved. His eyes traveled down from her face, taking in her pajamas. The thin straps of her camisole. Her bare legs. Then his jaw tightened, and his gaze snapped back to his laptop. "Sorry," she said. "I didn't know you were down here." "It's fine." She should leave. Go back upstairs. Eat the stale granola bar she'd stashed in her room. But she was so tired of hiding. And she was hungry. Really hungry. She moved into the kitchen, giving him a wide berth. She opened the fridge and studied its contents as if she were taking a test. "There's leftover lasagna," Noah said without looking up. "Second shelf." "Thanks." She found it and put some on a plate, then stuck it in the microwave. The hum of it filled the silence. She kept her back to him, hyperaware of how little she was wearing. The camisole had seemed fine in her room. Now she felt practically naked. The microwave beeped. She pulled out her plate, the smell making her mouth water. She grabbed a fork and turned to leave. "You can eat here." She looked at him. He was still focused on his laptop, his face lit by the blue glow of the screen. "I don't want to bother you." "You're already bothering me. Might as well commit." She couldn't tell if he was joking. His voice gave nothing away. Slowly, she walked to the island and sat on the stool across from him. Far enough that there was no chance of accidentally touching. Close enough that she could see what he was drinking. "Is that whiskey?" "Scotch. Macallan 25." She had no idea what that meant, but it sounded expensive. Everything in this house was expensive. She took a bite of lasagna. It was incredible. Homemade, with real mozzarella and herbs she couldn't name. Nothing like the frozen stuff she used to buy. "Did you make this?" "I have a chef who comes three times a week." Of course he did. "Must be nice." He glanced up at her, one eyebrow raised. "Must be nice to have food?" "To have someone cook it for you. To live in a house with fifteen bedrooms. To not worry about rent or bills or getting evicted." His expression darkened. "You think I didn't work for this?" "I didn't mean..." "I started my company when I was twenty-four. Worked eighty-hour weeks for three years straight. Nearly went bankrupt twice. So yeah, now I have a chef. I earned it." "I wasn't attacking you." "Sounded like it." She set down her fork. "I'm sorry. You're right. That was rude." He studied her for a long moment, and she fought the urge to squirm under his gaze. Then he picked up his glass and took a drink. "Why graphic design?" he asked. The question surprised her. "What?" "Your degree. Chloe mentioned it. Why that?" "I like making things. Creating things that didn't exist before." She shrugged. "It's the only thing I've ever been good at." "You must be decent if you got hired out of college." "I was. Until they decided decent wasn't worth the salary." "Their loss." The words were casual, throwaway. But something in her chest warmed at them anyway. She took another bite of lasagna. He went back to his laptop, typing something, then frowning at the screen. "What are you working on?" she asked. "Contract negotiation. A company in Tokyo wants to license our software. They're being difficult about the terms." "At one in the morning?" "Tokyo is fourteen hours ahead. It's business hours there." She watched him work, fascinated despite herself. His fingers moved quickly over the keyboard. Every so often, he'd take a drink, his eyes never leaving the screen. This was Noah in his element. Focused. In control. Different from the cold, irritated version he'd been with her. "Can I ask you something?" she said. "You just did." "Can I ask you another something?" The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Go ahead." "Do you remember me? From before. When I used to come over with Chloe." His hands stilled on the keyboard. He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since she'd walked in. "Yes." "You acted like you didn't." "I know." "Why?" He was quiet for a moment. Then he closed his laptop and picked up his glass, swirling the scotch. "Because it was easier than acknowledging that Chloe's little friend grew up." Heat flooded her face. She didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know what it meant. He stood up, draining the rest of his scotch. "You should finish eating and get some sleep." "Okay," she said quietly. He moved to the sink with his glass. Leighton stood too, grabbing her plate. She turned toward the sink at the same time he turned back, and they collided. The plate slipped from her hands. She grabbed for it, overcorrected, and her elbow hit his glass instead. It shattered on the marble floor in an explosion of crystal and scotch. "Oh my god." She dropped to her knees immediately, reaching for the pieces. "I'm so sorry. I'm such a disaster. I'll pay for it. I'll..." "Don't touch it." She looked up at him. He was standing over her, his expression unreadable. "You'll cut yourself." He moved to the pantry and came back with a broom and dustpan. "Move back." "I can clean it. It's my fault." "Leighton. Move." She scrambled backward, pressing against the island. He swept up the glass efficiently, his movements quick and sure. When he was done, he dumped it in the trash, then grabbed paper towels and cleaned up the liquid. She stood there uselessly, her heart pounding. "I'm really sorry. That glass looked expensive." "It was." "How expensive?" "You don't want to know." She closed her eyes. Perfect. She'd destroyed something that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. "Send me the bill. I'll find a way to pay you back." "Forget it." "Noah..." "I said forget it." He threw away the paper towels and turned to face her. "It's just a glass." "A really expensive glass that I broke because I'm clumsy and stupid and..." "You're not stupid." "I can't even hold onto a plate without causing property damage." "It was an accident." "I keep saying that about a lot of things lately." She pressed her hands to her face. "I'm sorry. I should just go back to my room and stop breaking your stuff." She moved toward the door, but his voice stopped her. "Leighton." She turned. He was standing by the island, his hands braced on the counter, his dark eyes intense. "Stop apologizing for existing." "I'm not..." "You are. You've apologized about fifty times since you got here. For eating. For getting lost. For breathing. It's exhausting." Her throat tightened. "I'm taking up space in your house. The least I can do is..." "The least you can do is stop acting like you're not allowed to be human." He pushed off the counter. "You're Chloe's best friend. That means something to her. Which means you're not going anywhere for two weeks, whether I like it or not. So stop walking on eggshells." "Do you? Like it?" She blurted out, shocking herself. The question hung between them. She shouldn't have asked. It was too direct. Too honest. But she was tired of pretending. He moved closer, and her breath caught. He stopped a foot away, near enough that she could smell the scotch on his breath, see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. "I don't know yet," he said quietly. Then he walked past her out of the kitchen, leaving her standing there alone, her heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with breaking his glass. She touched her fingers to her lips. They were trembling. This was dangerous. The way he'd looked at her. The way her body had responded when he got close. The way she wanted him to come back. She was so screwed. She left her plate in the sink and went back to her room, but sleep was impossible. All she could see was the way his eyes had traced down her body. The almost-smile when she'd asked her question. The intensity in his voice when he'd told her to stop apologizing. *Chloe's little friend grew up.* What did that mean? Was he attracted to her? Annoyed by her? Both? She rolled over and grabbed her phone, scrolling mindlessly through social media. Anything to stop thinking about Noah Knight standing shirtless in his kitchen, looking at her like maybe she wasn't invisible after all. Her alarm would go off in five hours. She needed sleep. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. And she wondered what would have happened if she hadn't dropped that glass. If they'd stood there, inches apart, for just a few seconds longer. Nothing good, probably. Noah Knight was off-limits for about a thousand reasons. She just needed to remember that. Chapter 4: Morning After Leighton's alarm went off at seven. She'd slept maybe three hours, total. Her phone interview was at nine. She needed coffee. Needed to pull herself together and sound competent and employable instead of like someone who'd spent half the night obsessing over her best friend's brother. She showered and changed into actual clothes. A blouse and jeans, since they couldn't see her bottom half on the video call anyway. Light makeup to hide the dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail. Professional. Put together. Definitely not thinking about Noah's eyes or his voice or the way he'd said *grew up*. She grabbed her laptop and crept downstairs. According to Chloe, Noah worked out every morning at six, then locked himself in his office until noon. Which meant the coast should be clear. The kitchen was empty. She made coffee, her hands still shaky from lack of sleep. The spot where the glass had shattered was spotless. Like it had never happened. She took her coffee and laptop to what Chloe had called the "morning room." Big windows, comfortable chairs, good lighting. Perfect for a video interview. She had an hour to prep. Review the company website, practice her answers, pretend her life wasn't a complete mess. At 8:45, her laptop pinged. The interview link was active. She took a deep breath and clicked join. The interview lasted thirty minutes. Standard questions about her experience, her design process, and why she wanted the job. She gave good answers. Smiled at the right times. Pretended she wasn't desperate. "We'll be in touch," the hiring manager said at the end. "Probably early next week." Translation: don't call us, we'll call you. Leighton closed her laptop and slumped in the chair. That had gone fine. Not great, not terrible. Fine. She needed more coffee. On her way back to the kitchen, she heard music. Something with a heavy beat coming from down the hall. She followed the sound to a door she hadn't noticed before, slightly open. Through the gap, she could see equipment. A treadmill. Weight racks. Punching bag. The gym. She should keep walking. Mind her own business. Get her coffee and go back to her room. Instead, she moved closer to the door. Noah was inside. She could see him through the opening, his back to her. He was on the weight bench, doing chest presses. No shirt, just shorts and sneakers. Sweat gleamed on his skin. His muscles flexed with each rep, controlled and precise. She knew she should look away. Knew she was being creepy, standing here watching him. But she couldn't move. He finished his set and sat up, reaching for a water bottle. His chest rose and fell with his breathing. There was a scar on his left shoulder, about three inches long. She wondered how he'd gotten it. Then he turned his head and looked directly at her. Their eyes locked. Leighton froze. Caught. Like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar. For a long moment, neither of them moved. The music pounded between them. She couldn't read his expression. Couldn't tell if he was angry or amused or something else entirely. Then he stood up and walked toward the door. She should run. Should apologize and leave and never speak of this again. But her feet wouldn't move. He pushed the door open wider. Up close, she could see the sweat on his skin, the way his chest still heaved slightly from exertion. He smelled like salt and something expensive. Cologne or body wash or just him. "Enjoying the show?" His voice was low. Dangerous. "I heard music. I was just..." "Watching me work out." Her face burned. "I wasn't... I mean, I was walking by and..." "And you stopped to stare." "I'm sorry." "You apologize a lot for someone who keeps doing things she shouldn't." "I know. I'll just..." She gestured vaguely toward the kitchen. "How'd your interview go?" The question threw her. "What?" "Your phone interview. This morning. How was it?" "How did you know about that?" "Chloe mentioned it yesterday." He took a drink of water, and she tried very hard not to watch his throat work as he swallowed. "So?" "It was fine. They said they'd call next week." "That's good." "Maybe. I don't know." She twisted her hands together. "I applied to like forty jobs. Only got one call back. The market is awful right now." "What kind of design do you do?" "Mostly branding. Logos, marketing materials. Some web design." He nodded slowly, like he was filing that information away. "You should eat breakfast. Low blood sugar makes interviews harder." "I had coffee." "Coffee isn't food." "It has calories." "Leighton." The way he said her name made her stomach flip. Like he was scolding her and testing how it sounded at the same time. "I'll eat something," she said. "Good." He stepped back into the gym. "And next time you want to watch me work out, you can just come in instead of lurking in the doorway." Before she could respond, he closed the door. She stood there for a full minute, her heart pounding. Had he just... was he flirting with her? Or making fun of her? She genuinely couldn't tell. She went to the kitchen and made toast she didn't want, eating it mechanically while staring at nothing. Her phone buzzed with a video call. Chloe. She answered, propping the phone against a fruit bowl. "Hey! How'd the interview go?" Chloe's face filled the screen, bright and cheerful. "Fine. I think." "That's great! See, I told you things would work out." Chloe shifted, and Leighton could see she was in a coffee shop. "How's everything there? Is Noah being decent?" Leighton thought about last night. The broken glass. His eyes on her pajamas. The way he'd told her to stop apologizing. "Yeah. He's been... fine." "Really? Because I know he can be kind of intense. If he's being an ass, you can tell me. I'll kick his ass for you." "No, seriously. It's fine. He's barely around." The lie tasted bitter. "I hardly see him." "Good. That's good." Chloe took a sip of her coffee. "I feel bad about just dumping you there and running to work every day. I should have taken time off." "Don't be ridiculous. You've done enough. More than enough." "You're my best friend. There's no such thing as enough." Chloe's expression softened. "I mean it, Leigh. If you need anything, or if Noah gives you any shit, just tell me." "I will. I promise." They talked for a few more minutes about nothing important. Chloe's work drama. The new restaurant she wanted to try. Normal things that made Leighton's chest ache with how much she missed her regular life. After they hung up, she sat in the empty kitchen and hated herself a little for lying. Chloe deserved the truth. But what would she even say? *Your brother looked at me in my pajamas and now I can't stop thinking about him? I watched him work out like a creep this morning.* Yeah. That would go over well. She cleaned up her breakfast mess and headed back upstairs. The gym door was closed now, the music silent. Noah was probably in the shower. She tried very hard not to picture that. Back in her room, she opened her laptop to apply to more jobs. But her email had a new message. From the company she'd interviewed with this morning. Her heart jumped. They'd said next week. It had only been an hour. She clicked it open. *Thank you for your time this morning. Unfortunately, we've decided to move forward with other candidates. We wish you the best in your job search.* She read it three times. Each time, the words felt sharper. Not even a full hour. They couldn't even wait a day to reject her. She closed the laptop and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. One week down. One week to go. And still no job prospects. No apartment leads. Nothing but a growing pile of rejections and a dangerous attraction to a completely off-limits man. Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. *Stop beating yourself up. One rejection isn't the end of the world. - N* She stared at the message. How did he even get her number? Chloe, probably. She typed back: *How did you know I got rejected?* *I didn't. But you had that look on your face after the interview. Like you were waiting for bad news.* *What looks?* *The same one you had when you showed up here with one suitcase.* She didn't know what to say to that. The fact that he'd noticed. That he'd been paying attention. Another text came through: *For what it's worth, they're idiots.* Despite everything, she smiled. *Thanks* She waited to see if he'd respond, but he didn't. She saved his number in her phone, staring at his name for longer than was probably healthy. This was bad. This whole situation was bad. But when her phone buzzed with another job listing Chloe had sent her, she felt just a little bit less alone. And that was the most dangerous thing of all. Chapter 5: House Rules Leighton spent the afternoon in her room, applying to more jobs and trying not to replay Noah's text message over and over in her head. *They're idiots.* Two words shouldn't matter this much. Around five, her stomach reminded her she'd only eaten toast all day. She ventured downstairs, hoping to grab something quick and escape back to her room before anyone noticed. The kitchen was occupied. Noah stood at the island, going through a stack of papers. He'd showered since this morning. His hair was still damp, pushed back from his face. He wore a black t-shirt and jeans, barefoot again. She was starting to think he never wore shoes in the house. He looked up when she entered. "Hey." "Hi." She moved toward the fridge, trying to act casual. Like this morning hadn't happened. Like she hadn't been caught watching him work out like some kind of stalker. "We need to talk." She froze, her hand on the fridge door. "About what?" "Ground rules." "Oh." She turned to face him. "Okay." He set down the papers and crossed his arms. "My office is off-limits. Always. Even if the door's open. Don't go in there unless I specifically invite you." "I already apologized for that." "I know. This is me making sure it doesn't happen again." His voice was firm. Professional. Like he was running a business meeting. "Second, the gym. Same rule. Don't come in while I'm working out." Her face heated. "I wasn't trying to..." "Third, my bedroom. That should be obvious, but I'm saying it anyway. Stay out." "Are you done?" The words came out sharper than she intended. His eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?" "Are you done treating me like a child who doesn't know how to respect boundaries?" "I'm establishing expectations." "You're making a list of all the ways I'm not allowed to exist in your space." She crossed her own arms, mirroring his stance. "I get it. You don't want me here. You've made that pretty clear. But I'm not eight years old anymore, Noah. You don't need to lecture me about not touching your stuff or wandering into rooms I shouldn't." Something flickered in his eyes. He pushed off the island and moved toward her, closing the distance between them. She held her ground, even though every instinct told her to step back. He stopped a foot away. Near enough that she had to tilt her head to meet his gaze. "No," he said quietly. "You're not eight anymore." The way he said it made her breath catch. His eyes traveled down her face, lingering on her mouth, then lower. Taking in the curve of her neck. The way her t-shirt fit. How her jeans hugged her hips. When his gaze came back to hers, there was heat in it. Dark and dangerous. "That's the problem," he added. She couldn't speak. Couldn't think. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure he could hear it. "What's the problem?" she managed. "You. Here. In my house." He shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. "Chloe's best friend. Twenty-three years old. Completely off-limits." "I didn't ask to be here." "I know." "And I'm not trying to... I don't..." She struggled to find words. "I'm just trying to stay out of your way until I can leave." "That's another rule." His voice had an edge now. "Stop trying to be invisible. It's not working." "What do you want from me?" "I don't know." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear on his face. "That's the problem. I don't know what I want, and that's not something I'm used to." They stood there, the tension between them thick enough to cut. Leighton's skin felt too tight. Her mouth is too dry. She wanted to move closer and run away at the same time. "For what it's worth," she said quietly, "I don't know what I want either." His jaw clenched. "Yes, you do." "What's that supposed to mean?" "It means I see the way you look at me. Like I'm something you want but know you can't have." He leaned in slightly, and she caught the scent of his soap. "You've been looking at me like that since you were sixteen." Her face burned. "I wasn't..." "You were. At Chloe's birthday party. You wore a blue dress. You stood in the corner all night, watching me." She remembered that party. Remembered the dress. Remembered how she'd felt when Noah had walked in with some blonde model on his arm. Remembered spending the whole night wishing she was brave enough to talk to him. "I had a crush on you," she admitted. "So what? Half the girls in Chloe's school had crushes on you. It didn't mean anything." "Didn't it?" "No. I was a kid. Kids get crushes. They grow out of them." "Did you? Grow out of it?" The question hung between them. She should lie. Should tell him yes, of course, she was over it. That she didn't feel anything when he looked at her. That her heart didn't race when he got close. But she was tired of lying. "I don't know," she said. "Did you grow out of treating every woman like a temporary distraction?" His expression darkened. "That's not fair." "Neither is calling me out for how I look at you when you've been doing the same thing to me since I got here." "I haven't..." "You have. In the kitchen last night. In the gym this morning. Right now." She took a step closer, emboldened by her own anger. "So don't act like I'm the only one feeling something I shouldn't." His hand came up, catching her chin. Tilting her face up to his. "You're right. I have been looking. Want to know what I see?" She couldn't breathe. "What?" "Trouble. The kind I swore I was done with." His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, and she shivered. "The kind that makes me want to break every one of my own rules." "Then maybe you shouldn't make so many rules." For a second, she thought he might kiss her. His eyes dropped to her mouth. His hand tightened on her chin. She could feel the heat radiating off his body. Then he let go and stepped back, breaking the spell. "Two more rules," he said, his voice rough. "Stay out of trouble. And stay out of my head." "How am I supposed to do that?" "Figure it out." He grabbed his papers and walked out, leaving her standing alone in the kitchen, her whole body trembling. She touched her lips where his thumb had been. Her skin still tingled from his touch. This was bad. This was so much worse than a childhood crush. This was a real attraction. Real chemistry. The kind that could ruin everything. Her phone buzzed. Chloe. *Dinner tomorrow night? I'm bringing Thai food. Miss you!* Guilt crashed over her. Chloe. Her best friend. Who had specifically warned her years ago that Noah was off-limits. Who had saved her from being homeless? Who trusted her? She typed back quickly. *Miss you too. Can't wait.* She set the phone down and pressed her hands to her face. She needed to get it together. Needed to stop whatever this was before it went any further. But when she closed her eyes, all she could feel was his thumb on her lip. All she could hear was his voice saying *You're trouble*. And the worst part? She wanted to be. She wanted to be the kind of trouble that made Noah Knight break his own rules. She grabbed a protein bar from the pantry and headed back to her room. As she passed his office, she heard him inside. Talking on the phone. His voice was calm and controlled. Completely different from how he'd sounded in the kitchen. How many versions of himself did he have? The cold businessman who'd told her two weeks maximum. The gym rat who caught her watching. The man who texted her about rejections. The one who'd just touched her face like he wanted to do more. Which one was real? Maybe they all were. Maybe Noah Knight was just as complicated and messed up as she was. That should have been comforting. Instead, it just made her want him more. She locked her door and climbed into bed, even though it was barely six. Tomorrow Chloe would be here. Tomorrow she'd have to pretend everything was fine. That nothing had happened. That she and Noah were just two people sharing a house, nothing more. She could do that. She'd been pretending her whole life. What was one more lie? Chapter 6: The Shirt Incident Leighton woke up to her phone buzzing. A text from Chloe. *Emergency at work. Can't do dinner tonight. Rain check? I'm so sorry!* Disappointment settled in her chest, followed quickly by relief she didn't want to examine too closely. *No worries. We'll do it another time.* She set her phone down and stared at the ceiling. Another day in this house. Another day of avoiding Noah while simultaneously wanting to find him. This was getting ridiculous. She needed to do laundry. She'd been rewearing the same few outfits all week, and everything was starting to smell like desperation and bad decisions. The laundry room took twenty minutes to find. Of course it did. This house was designed to make her look stupid. She threw everything in. All her clothes, her sheets, towels. Might as well do it all at once. She added detergent and started the machine, then headed back upstairs in the tank top and shorts she'd slept in. An hour later, she went back down to move things to the dryer. The machine was still running. She stared at it. Checked the settings. Heavy wash cycle. Two hours total. Perfect. Just perfect. She trudged back upstairs. She could wait it out in her room. Except her room was freezing. The air conditioning had kicked into overdrive, and she was already shivering in her thin tank top. She needed something warm. A hoodie. A blanket. Anything. Her eyes landed on the door across the hall. Noah's room. Absolutely not. That was literally rule number three. Stay out of his bedroom. But he wasn't home. She'd heard him leave an hour ago, talking on the phone about meetings and contracts. He'd be gone for hours. He'd never know. Just in and out. Grab a sweatshirt or something. Put it back before he got home. She opened his door slowly, half expecting an alarm to go off. The room was immaculate. King-size bed with dark gray sheets, perfectly made. Modern furniture, all clean lines. The space smelled like him. That expensive cologne or body wash or whatever it was that made her brain go fuzzy. His closet was huge. Rows of suits, dress shirts, perfectly organized by color. She pushed past them to the casual section. Found a white button-down shirt that looked soft and worn. Perfect. She pulled it on over her tank top. It fell to mid-thigh, the sleeves hanging past her hands. She rolled them up and headed back to her room. Except her room was still freezing. The kitchen, she decided. She'd make tea. Wait down there until her clothes were done. She padded downstairs in Noah's shirt and her bare feet. The house was quiet. Peaceful, even. She could almost pretend it was hers. That she belonged here. She put the kettle on and rummaged through the tea selection. Someone had expensive taste. Everything was loose-leaf and imported and probably cost more than her old grocery budget. The front door opened. Her head snapped up. No. He wasn't supposed to be back yet. Footsteps in the hallway. Getting closer. Noah appeared in the kitchen doorway and stopped dead. His eyes traveled down her body. Slowly. Taking in the white shirt. Her bare legs. Her bare feet. His shirt, hanging off her shoulder where she'd apparently missed a button. "Hi," she said weakly. He didn't respond. Just stared at her, his jaw tight. "I can explain." "You're wearing my shirt." "My clothes are in the wash. Everything. I didn't have anything clean and I was cold, so I..." She trailed off. His expression hadn't changed. "I'm sorry. I know you said not to go in your room. I'll take it off right now." "Don't." The word came out rough. Almost harsh. She froze. "What?" "Don't take it off." He set his briefcase down by the door, his movements careful. Controlled. "Not here." "Oh." Her face burned. "Right. I'll just go upstairs and..." "How long until your clothes are done?" "An hour, maybe?" He nodded once. Then he moved into the kitchen, giving her a wide berth. Like he didn't trust himself to get too close. He went to the fridge and pulled out a water bottle. Drank half of it in one go. His hand gripped the bottle tight enough that his knuckles went white. The kettle whistled. Leighton jumped, then turned to grab it. She poured water over the tea bag, hyperaware of Noah behind her. Of the way his shirt shifted as she moved. Of how little she was wearing underneath it. "Why are you home early?" she asked, just to fill the silence. "Meeting got canceled." "Oh." More silence. She could feel his eyes on her back. Could practically feel the weight of his gaze. She turned around, holding her mug like a shield. He was leaning against the far counter, arms crossed. His eyes were dark. Intense. "Stop looking at me like that," she said. "Like what?" "Like you're thinking things you shouldn't be thinking." "I could say the same to you." "I'm not..." "You are." He pushed off the counter. "You've been looking at me like that since you got here. Like you want something from me." "I don't want anything from you." "Liar." The word hung between them. Challenge and accusation and something else she couldn't name. "Fine," she said. "Maybe I do. So what? Nothing's going to happen. You've made that clear." "Have I?" "You listed off your rules yesterday. Stay out of your space. Stay out of your head. Stay away from you." "I don't remember saying that last part." "It was implied." He moved closer. Not much. Just a step. But it felt like the distance between them had shrunk by miles. "You want to know what I was thinking?" he asked quietly. "No." "Liar," he said again. "You want to know. You're dying to know." She set down her mug before she dropped it. "Noah..." "I was thinking about how that's my favorite shirt. I've had it for five years. Worn it a hundred times." Another step closer. "And now I'm never going to be able to wear it again without thinking about this. About you in my kitchen, wearing nothing but my shirt, looking at me like you want me to break all my own rules." Her breath caught. "I'm not..." "Your clothes aren't in the wash." "What?" "You heard me." His eyes bore into hers. "You could have worn your tank top and shorts. Could have grabbed a blanket from the linen closet. Could have done a dozen other things. But you went into my room and took my shirt." "I was cold." "Bullshit. You wanted to see what I'd do if I found you wearing it." "That's not true." "Then why are you still standing here?" He took another step. Close enough now that she could see the muscle ticking in his jaw. "If you really didn't want this, you'd already be upstairs. But you're not moving. Because you want to know what happens next." "Nothing happens next." Her voice came out breathy. Unconvincing. "You're Chloe's brother. I'm her best friend. Nothing can happen." "I know." "So we should stop. Right now. Before we do something stupid." "I know," he said again. But neither of them moved. The air between them felt electric. Dangerous. Like one wrong move would make something explode. His eyes dropped to her mouth. Lingered there. She could see him fighting with himself. See the moment he decided to leave. He stepped back. Grabbed his briefcase. "Your clothes should be done soon. You should go check on them." "Noah..." "Go, Leighton." It wasn't a request. She went. She practically ran up the stairs, her heart pounding so hard it hurt. She could still feel his eyes on her. Could still hear the rough edge in his voice when he'd said *my favorite shirt*. She stopped outside his bedroom door. The shirt felt different now. Like it was touching her everywhere. Like he was touching her. She should take it off. Should put it back and pretend this never happened. Instead, she went to her room and sat on the bed, pulling the collar up to her face. It smelled like him. Like that expensive scent that made her head spin. She was in so much trouble. Her phone buzzed. Noah. *Keep the shirt.* She stared at the message. Typed back: *What?* *Keep it. I meant what I said. I can't wear it anymore without thinking about this. About you.* *Noah, we can't...* *I know. Trust me, I know. But I'm done pretending I don't notice you. Done pretending I don't want things I shouldn't want.* *What are we doing?* *I don't know. But I'm tired of lying about it.* She clutched the phone to her chest. This was a terrible idea. The worst idea. It would ruin everything with Chloe. Would blow up in both their faces. But god, she wanted it anyway. She wanted him anyway. *Me too,* she typed. Then, before she could overthink it: *I'm tired of pretending too.* His response came immediately. *Then stop.* Two words. Two words that felt like permission and warning all at once. She lay back on the bed, still wearing his shirt, and wondered how she'd gotten here. How she'd gone from fired and homeless to living in Noah Knight's house, texting him about things they shouldn't want. Her life was a mess. akinmutimi4 VIRBEY The Luna who was buried alive Exclusive contract 13/03/2026 But for the first time in weeks, she didn't want to be anywhere else.

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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 29, 26
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ARIA The key turns the lock with a soft click that sounds too loud in the quiet hallway. I'm practically vibrating with excitement as I push open the door to Marcus's apartment, my heels clicking against the hardwood floor. The promotion letter is still warm in my purse—Senior Director of Marketing at twenty-six. After years of caffeine-fueled nights, endless presentations, and fighting twice as hard to be taken seriously, I finally made it. And I can't wait to celebrate with Marcus. He’ll be proud. I know he will. He’ll kiss me, spin me around, and whisper that he always knew I could do it. The apartment is dark when I step inside, the faint scent of cedar and cologne wrapping around me. A single sliver of light leaks from beneath the bedroom door. My smile deepens. He’s home. I slip off my heels, tiptoeing across the hardwood floor. The diamond on my finger catches a ghost of light. two carats of carefully selected princess-cut diamonds. We chose it together three months ago. Our wedding is in eight weeks. Eight weeks until everything I’ve ever dreamed of becomes real. I reach for the bedroom door, with my heart full, and my mind already painting the moment I tell him. The feeling of his arms around me. His deep, throaty chuckle that does wonders in my body. The champagne we’ll open... A sound cuts through my thoughts. Low, rhythmic, and sexy. I stop breathing. It takes a second for my mind to catch up to my body to process what my ears already know but refuse to accept. No. No, it can’t be... My hand trembles as I reach for the doorknob. A voice inside me begs to turn around, to leave before everything changes. But my fingers keep moving, like they belong to someone else, pushing the door open. The scene before me moves in slow motion and all at once. Marcus... My Marcus is behind a woman bent over the edge of our bed. His hands grip her hips, hard and possessive, dragging her back against him with brutal rhythm. The air fills with the sound of skin meeting skin, obscene and unmistakable. My vision blurs, and my mind refuses to believe what my eyes see. The woman’s hair falls in long, dark waves, and it's a familiar wave, for a fact. No. Please, God—no. She turns her head. And I see my own face. Or rather...my twin sister’s. Vivienne. Her green eyes lock on mine. And then she smiles. Slow, deliberate, cruel smiles, that vicious curve of lips I've seen a thousand times when she's won something, taken something, or destroyed something that belongs to me. “Fuck me harder, baby,” she moans, voice dripping with mockery, not even bothering to look away from me or trying to act shocked. She's performing for me now. The sound pierces through me, and my lungs seize. I can’t move, think, or speak. Marcus doesn't stop. Not immediately. It takes him several more thrusts before he follows her gaze and sees me standing in the doorway. "Aria." His voice is flat. Not shocked or apologetic. Just... flat. Like I was a curious child who walked in on her parents going at it, and now they are disappointed in me for not playing elsewhere. The engagement ring suddenly feels like a chain that weighs a thousand pounds on my finger. "How long?" The words scrape out of my throat like broken glass. Vivienne laughs as she pushes herself up, completely shameless in her nakedness. Marcus pulls out of her and reaches for his pants, but there's no urgency or panic in his movements. Because this isn't a mistake. This isn't a moment of weakness. This is something else entirely. "How long?" I repeat, my voice breaking. "Does it matter?" Marcus asks, buttoning his pants with steady hands. Yes. Yes, it fucking matters. But I can't seem to make my mouth form the words. Vivienne wraps herself in Marcus's robe, the one I bought him for his birthday, and walks toward me. Every step is deliberate and calculated. She's always been like this. Always knew exactly how to wound me in the places that hurt most. "Want the truth, sister?" Her voice drips with false sweetness. I should leave, run. But I'm rooted to the spot, watching my life implode in real-time. Vivienne leans against the doorframe, so close I can smell her perfume. The same one I wear. The same one our mother bought us for our sixteenth birthday. "He was mine first." The words hit me like a physical blow. "What?" "Marcus." She gestures lazily toward him. "He was my boyfriend for eight months before you ever met him." No. That's not possible. We met at a networking event two years ago. He pursued me. He said... "The conference in Boston," Marcus says, and his voice is far gone from the sexy, throaty voice that pulled me to him. He sounds like he's presenting at a board meeting. "Where we 'met'? Vivienne told me you'd be there. Told me exactly where to stand so I'd 'accidentally' bump into you." The room tilts. I grab the doorframe for support. "She gave me everything," he continues. "Your favorite flowers. Your coffee order. The way you twist your hair when you're nervous. How you always wanted to wait for marriage because you thought it would mean something." The virgin comment lands like he knew it would. Heat floods my cheeks. Vivienne's smile sharpens. "You're so predictable, Aria. You always have been. The good daughter. The responsible one. The one who does everything right." "Why?" My voice breaks completely now. "Why would you..." "Because I'm sick of watching you have everything I deserve!" The words explode out of her. "You got the job I wanted. The respect I should have. Everyone loves perfect Aria, so smart, so accomplished, so genuine." She spits the last word like it's poison. "I'm your sister," I whisper. "Exactly." Her eyes flash. "My twin. We're supposed to be equal. But you've always had more. Not prettier...we're identical. Not smarter...I'm not stupid. But somehow, you always win." "So you decided to destroy me." "So I decided to bring you down from your high horse for once." She straightens, crossing her arms. "And it was so easy. God, Aria, you fell for every line. Every carefully crafted text message. Every manufactured 'spontaneous' date. Marcus played you perfectly." I look at Marcus, searching for any sign of the man I thought I knew. The man I thought I loved. "You were a job," he says simply. "A very lucrative job. You had the connections I needed. The respect in the industry. Dating you, getting engaged to you...it opened doors." "And destroying me?" I force the words out. "What did that open?" Vivienne answers instead. "My satisfaction. Finally, watching perfect Aria lose something. Watching you hurt the way I've hurt every time Mom and Dad praised your accomplishments while barely noticing mine." This isn't happening. This can't be happening. "The sex would have been decent," Marcus adds, and I want to vomit. "But you were always so hesitant. So worried about being perfect. Your sister, on the other hand..." Vivienne preens under his attention. Three years. Three years of my life with a man who was my sister's puppet. Who never loved me. Who was actively plotting my destruction while I was picking out wedding invitations and dreaming about our future? The promotion letter in my purse feels meaningless now. Everything feels meaningless. "Get out," Vivienne says, like this is her apartment. Like she has any right. I should say something cutting. Something that puts them both in their place. But my throat is closed and my eyes are burning, and all I can think is that I need to leave before I completely fall apart in front of them. So I do. I turn and walk out of the apartment on numb legs. Behind me, I hear Vivienne's laughter follow me down the hall.

InactiveJun 29, 26 · 1d
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I signed the rejection papers while my mate kissed another woman on our bed. The pen didn't even shake in my hand. Three years of marriage—and this was how it ended. Not with a fight. Not with tears. Just the quiet scratch of ink on paper while she moaned his name in the next room. I placed the signed documents on the kitchen counter, right next to the breakfast I'd made him—his favorite, eggs Benedict with smoked salmon. The plate was still warm. Then I picked up my bag and walked toward the door. I didn't slam it. I closed it gently, the way I'd done everything in this marriage—quietly, carefully, making sure I never disturbed anyone. The morning air hit my face. Cold. Sharp. January in New York. My wolf stirred inside me, weak but restless. *"We need to tell him,"* she whispered. I pressed my hand against my stomach—still flat, but not for long. Six weeks pregnant. With the child of an Alpha who just rejected me for his childhood sweetheart. No. He didn't need to know. He'd made his choice. And I'd made mine. I pulled out my phone and dialed the only number I had left. "Aunt Harper? It's Elara." "Elara? Oh my God, sweetheart—what's wrong? It's six in the morning." "I need a place to stay. Can I come to you?" A pause. Then, softly: "What did he do?" My throat tightened. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to sound unbothered. But when someone asks you *what happened* with genuine care in their voice—after three years of no one asking at all—something inside you just... breaks. "He chose her," I whispered. "He's been choosing her for months. I just... I didn't want to see it." "I'm booking your train ticket right now. Don't argue." "Okay." "And Elara?" "Yeah?" "You're never going back to that man. Do you hear me?" I ended the call and stood on the sidewalk, watching the city wake up around me. Somewhere behind me, in the penthouse I'd called home for three years, my husband—no, my *ex*-husband—was tangled in sheets with Megan Cross, the woman he told me was "just a colleague." Funny thing was, I'd believed him. Every single time. When she called at midnight, I believed him. When her perfume clung to his collar, I believed him. When she showed up at our anniversary dinner "by coincidence," I smiled and offered her a seat. Because that's what Luna Elara did. She trusted. She forgave. She stayed. But Luna Elara was gone now. My phone buzzed. Aunt Harper had sent the ticket. The train left in two hours. I didn't look back—not once. But my wolf did. And the last thing she felt through the bond, before I shut it down completely, was this: He was laughing. He was laughing with her in our bed—and he hadn't even noticed I was gone.

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

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