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❤Human woman Bonnie stumbled into Alpha Kane’s rose manor while drunk, spending an impulsive passionate night with him and bearing a permanent werewolf mark from their bond. She fled early the next morning in a sudden rush, leaving without a word. Five years later, Bonnie raises their half-wolf, half-human pups alone. Struggling to make ends meet, she takes a job as Kane's personal therapist to treat his intimacy addiction. Kane recognizes her instantly and insists she stay by his side. As they grow close, he discovers the five wolf cubs and learns they are his children. Sabrina, who has long pined for Kane, seethes with jealousy. She repeatedly schemes against Bonnie, even poisoning the sacred blood-testing water to claim the pups are not of Kane's bloodline. Her plot is exposed and she is imprisoned. But she escapes by sacrificing her soul, kidnapping the wolf pups once more. Kane and Bonnie race to rescue their children, plunging headfirst into a deadly new crisis.

Two rival pack alphas unite through marriage, making their children unwilling step-siblings. When he saves her from bullies, a mate bond ignites. She plans to break it before the next full moon; he bets she’ll fall first, using a secret to bind her. Under one roof, rivalry turns into forbidden love.

The pregnancy test was still warm in my pocket when Mrs. Ashford handed me the termination letter. "Effective immediately, Sophia." She didn't look up from her phone. "We've found a younger au pair. Someone more… suitable for the children." I stood in the marble foyer of the Ashford estate, the house I'd cleaned, cooked in, and bled for over three years. The house where I'd raised two children who called me "Mama Soph" before their real mother corrected them. "May I ask why?" My voice was steady. I'd learned long ago that crying in front of this family was like bleeding in shark-infested water. "You're getting too attached." She finally looked up, her Botoxed face arranged in rehearsed sympathy. "The children need boundaries. And frankly, you've been looking… unwell. We can't have that around the kids." Unwell. I was eight weeks pregnant with her son's baby, and she was firing me for looking unwell. "Does Dominic know?" I asked. Something flickered in her eyes—Loss? Annoyance? "My son is engaged to Vivienne Hale. The wedding is in six weeks." She placed an envelope on the hall table. "There's three months' severance. Be gone by tonight." Three months' pay for three years of service. For raising her grandchildren while she lunched at the club. For warming her son's bed when he stumbled home drunk and lonely. For carrying his child right now, this very second. "Mrs. Ashford," I said carefully, "I need to speak with Dominic. It's important." "No." Her voice turned to ice. "Whatever you think happened between you and my son—forget it. He was lonely. You were convenient. That's all it was." She picked up her Hermès bag and walked past me, heels clicking on marble. At the door, she paused. "And Sophia? If you try to contact him, or make any… claims… our lawyers will destroy you. You have no proof of anything. You're a nanny. He's an Ashford." The door closed behind her. I stood alone in the foyer, hand pressed against my stomach, staring at the family portrait on the wall. Dominic's face smiled down at me—the same face that had whispered "I love you" in the dark, the same lips that had kissed my forehead and promised we'd figure things out. I pulled out my phone and called him. It rang once. Twice. A woman answered. "Hello? Dom's phone." Her voice was bright, musical. Vivienne. "I need to speak with Dominic." "Oh, is this the help? Mrs. Ashford said you'd been let go. Sorry about that, sweetie." A muffled giggle. "Dom, your old nanny's calling—should I tell her you're busy?" I heard his voice in the background, distant and careless: "Just block the number." The line went dead. I lowered the phone slowly. Three years. I gave this family three years, my body, my heart, and the life growing inside me. And I was "the help." I picked up the envelope, stuffed it in my bag, and walked toward the servants' exit—the only door I'd ever been allowed to use. But as I passed the study, I noticed the door was ajar. Inside, on the mahogany desk, sat an open folder. I shouldn't have looked. But the name on the first page caught my eye—not Ashford. My name. My real name. My birth name, the one I hadn't used since the orphanage. And beneath it, a photograph of a baby girl, stamped with a red seal I recognized. My hands went cold. I wasn't just their nanny. I was something they'd been hiding from me my entire life.

Grant and I were secretly married for six years. At his family foundation’s gala, he slipped off his wedding ring to lead the opening dance with Meredith, his pregnant ex-fiancée. He told the press she was the one who had always understood his dreams. Every newspaper in Boston celebrated them finding their way back to each other. When he came home, he warned me, “Don’t make a scene.” I didn’t. On our wedding anniversary, I left a gift for him in his study. A velvet box, the kind meant for a celebratory gift. Inside were the divorce petition I’d already signed, the property settlement agreement, and the eight-week ultrasound of our baby, tucked beside an appointment confirmation for a termination procedure. He never even glanced at it. He was already out the door, rushing to comfort his ex, who had supposedly “had a nightmare.” He didn’t know he’d just thrown away his last chance. ... I looked at him, at the bare finger where his wedding ring should have been. Grant rubbed the pale indentation, an unconscious gesture, as if soothing a phantom limb. “The gala was crowded. My grandmother was there,” he explained, his tone as flat as if he were discussing the weather. “It would have caused unnecessary complications.” The excuse was so lazy it was almost laughable. In the past, I would have pushed. I would have demanded to know where he’d put the ring, made him fish it out of his suit pocket, and watched him slide it back on his finger. This was, after all, the man I had once fought so hard for. Over the years, I’d grown adept at making excuses for him. Just like six months ago, when Meredith returned to Boston after her own divorce. He’d left me burning with a fever to drive halfway across the state to pick her up from the airport. When he got back, he ignored my protests and insisted on hiring her as a consultant for the family foundation. Back then, I’d chalked it up to his sense of responsibility, to the pul......