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InactiveJun 27, 26
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On my first day at the new school, the Queen Bee attacked me. She wanted the Alpha and told me to stay away. So, I punched her and broke her nose! The terrifying Alpha caught us and ordered me to his private office for "detention". I thought my life was over. But when he locked the door, he didn't yell. Instead, he smiled, handed me a slice of hot pizza, and growled... ----------------- Book 1 Chapter 1 Katya My fingers drum on my school desk as I watch the seconds tick by on the clock above the chalkboard. All while trying my best to ignore the twat flicking paper balls at my head. Mr. Spencer drones on with his boring lecture, unaware not a single one of his students is actually listening; most are too busy passing notes, whispering amongst themselves, or like Sam, tossing paper balls at me. I press my lips in a line. Same shit, different day. At least the school year is nearly over. Then my holidays will be spent lounging at home while going through college brochures. I just have to keep reminding myself I will be out of here soon. And that a suspension right now will have my mother breathing down my neck or maybe wringing it. I know better than to piss that woman off. She would hand me my ass before I could process her coming for me. She has a reputation, and it isn’t for being a pushover. Plus, I don’t get a free pass just because I am her daughter. I'm in my last year of high school, and I am glad this part of my life is nearly over. Soon I won’t have to endure the constant torment of being the freak of our Pack. Only three more months of school, and I'll be free to choose never to see these assholes again. My father is the Packs Beta, a highly regarded Pack member. I’m sure you can imagine his disappointment when he discovered my secret. I am the freak, the wolf-less girl. Our school is a Pack school with only werewolves, no humans allowed. You can imagine what kind of hell it has been for me. I'm basically human, shamefully so. And they like to remind me of that every day while here. However, my parents are the best. The Pack may shun me, but not once have they ever entertained the idea, always telling me I was a late bloomer and my wolf would come one day. I used to believe that story too, until now. I am nearly eighteen, at the age you find your mate, and still without my wolf. Most get their wolf at thirteen. Not getting your wolf is like not hitting puberty. On the plus side, I can say I did hit that one milestone. It was the rest I damn well skipped over. When the bell rings, I am the first out of my seat, rushing to the cafeteria. I snag a lunch tray and begin making my way to the line and quickly grab some food and move to the back of the room to my designated spot. Aren’t I so lucky? This seat and table were specifically reserved for the freak, some asshole even carved ‘freak’ into the tabletop, just in case I forgot my place within the Pack. How sweet. Conveniently, it is located beside the toilet, which in a way, could be classified as the best seat in the cafeteria. Especially on Thursdays, when they serve something that resembles braised steak and onion, it doesn’t taste anything like it; the meat has been questioned plenty of times. Whispers that the kitchen lady is serving expelled students. Personally, I think it is roadkill or maybe a rodent. Anyway, that lovely Thursday lunch has sent many running for the toilet. Luckily, after the first time I devoured that crap, I make sure to bring a homemade lunch on Thursdays. I have just taken my designated seat to eat lunch, the cafeteria bustling with students, when I hear my name called over the PA system. “Katya Hartley, please report to the front office,” the middle-aged woman who works as the school's secretary announces. The entire cafeteria laughs and boos at me, chucking food at me as I leave. I keep walking, tossing the contents of my tray in the bin and placing my tray next to it. I am more than used to their taunting remarks at this point. For the most part, I try to remain invisible, which is near impossible when you're the Beta's daughter, and your mother is one of the leading Pack warriors. Tossing my bag over my shoulder, I pull a chunk of lettuce from my dark brown hair that was stuck when Thomas threw his burger at my head. Thomas couldn’t catch an IQ to save his life, but he proved his throwing arm is quite good, or maybe I am just an easy target because it splattered all over my head. I swipe at my hair, my fingers grazing over my wet cheek, and I pull my hand back to look at it. Ew, and it has mayo on it. I groan, using the sleeve of my sweater to wipe my hair to remove the white gunk while marching out the cafeteria doors. With quick steps I walk down the corridor and head toward the front office. With my elbow, I shove the door open and race across the quad. The brown door to the office is nearby, my safe place. No one messes with me here. Mrs. Mason is a scary woman. No one dares to cause drama in the front office. As I am nearly halfway across the quad, Tabitha and her goonies step in front of me. I roll my eyes. What does this bitch want now? Tabitha is the Alpha's daughter, and her brother, Darian, is next in line for the Alpha position; both of them are my nemesis. “Hey, freak,” Tabitha sneers, blocking my path. I try to step around her, but she sidesteps directly in front of me. “What do you want, Tabitha?” I ask. We used to be friends, well, until everyone found out I had no wolf, then I became the laughingstock of the school. “Oh, nothing, just came to give you the proper send-off,” she says with a smirk, and my brows furrow as her words replay in my head. “What do you mean?” I shake my head, having no idea what she is talking about. Her blue eyes brighten maliciously, her plump lips pull up into a taunting smile. “You haven’t heard?” she questions in a sing-song tone. Whatever she has to tell me, she is enjoying this. She fans herself with her hand then checks out her manicured nails. It makes no sense to me why she bothers getting them done when they only break off whenever she shifts. “If you have something to say, Tabitha, spit it out. I have to get to the office,” I retort, done playing her stupid games. Meril and Bianca, her goonies, snicker behind her as Tabitha takes a step forward. I give her the once over, my eyes moving over her. Bitch, you don’t want to test me today. I am covered in burger and nasty ass mayo. I'm starving from not being able to eat my crappy lunch, and I'm being called to the office. Nevertheless, I will feed her bony ass to her if she tries anything. I might actually take my mother's advice for once and deliver the beat down Tabitha deserves. Tabitha jabs her finger in my chest, and I slap her hand away as she leans down closer. Her breath smells of mint chewing gum. “My father has banished you. So I thought I would come to see you. Can't miss the chance to say my goodbyes to the unwanted Beta’s daughter,” she says with a giggle while Bianca and Meril laugh at her not-so-funny joke. Geez, those girls are just as stupid as they look. If they weren’t beautiful, I can guarantee no one would put up with their antics. Before I can question her further about her outlandish claims, she takes a step back and something wet and cold runs down my face just as the office door opens. Meril dumps her milkshake over my head, and it seeps into the crocheted sweater my mother made me, drenching me completely. I feel the slivers of thickened milk run between my cleavage and press my lips in a line. Taking a step forward, I clench my fist, wanting nothing more than to break Tabitha’s perfect nose. Only I don’t get a chance when my mother's furious voice echoes around us. Tabitha jumps and I smirk. Now you’ve done it. “Tabitha Elizabeth Blackwell, is there a reason you are tormenting my daughter?” my mother demands. I turn on my heel to find my mother walking toward us. Her dark hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, and she has an expression as if someone has thrown a burger at her head and she is going to yank off their arms and beat them with them. She marches over. She is a strong woman, stern, and she brings fear amongst the she-wolves, including the Luna of the Pack. My mother kicked her ass in training in front of the entire Pack for saying I should have been put down at birth because I was that worthless to the Pack. If she weren’t the only female Pack warrior, my mother definitely would have been punished for embarrassing the Luna like that. Still, everyone knows that Alpha Jackson has always had the hots for my mother. He has since they were kids, and was disappointed when she turned out not to be his mate. Tabitha’s smile falls as she twirls around to face my mother, who is stalking straight towards her. Meril and Bianca take off, afraid to face her wrath. But before Tabitha can do the same, my mother stomps past me. My mother growls so deeply and brutally it makes me flinch. “It was-was an accident,” Tabitha stutters out. To think this pathetic girl is an Alpha female and is scared of my mother. I can’t help the smirk that creeps onto my face. Tabitha’s fear is so pungent, I am shocked she doesn’t soil herself. What I wasn’t expecting is for my mother to raise her hand and slap her. Tabitha squeals loudly, her head whipping to the side and my mother's hand outline imprinting on her face. I cover my mouth with my hands in complete shock at what she did. Tabitha cups her cheek as her eyes water. Her eyes dart around the quad, the rest of her face turns as red as the handprint etched into her skin. Shit, Alpha Jackson is going to kill my mother now; she just struck the Alpha’s daughter. I hear gasps and look around to see a few people have seen what my mother has done, my mother doesn’t seem to care about the audience as she raises her hand again. “Mom!” I shriek, and she looks over at me, spotting a few teachers rushing out. My mother stares them down, daring them to say something. Tabitha tucks tail and runs off, crying. I can just imagine the ridicule she will get tomorrow over it, the she’ll have her dear old daddy has to reinforce his control so that she can take back her Queen Bee status. “I have always wanted to put that mutt in her place,” my mother says as she grips my arms and leans down to look me dead in the face. “Why do you put up with it?” she demands, grabbing my hands and raising them. “You are trained better than any of these little shits here. You may not have a wolf, but that has never stopped you from kicking their asses in training. I trained you. Your father trained you. These worthless bitches are beneath you. You just need to see it.” I shake my head, knowing it would just make my torment worse, and my hands are no good against a shifted wolf. “Come, we are leaving,” she orders, straightening up and turning on her heel walking toward the parking lot. I chase after her, falling in line beside her. “What’s going on?” I ask, worried after what Tabitha said. Getting to the parking lot, I see an orange moving truck parked next to our car, and I stop in my tracks. “Mom, what's going on?” I ask again when my father hops out of the car. My mother also stops and reaches out, gripping my soggy sweater and forcing me to keep walking. “Hey, Pumpkin,” my father greets, walking over and embracing me while my mother quickly gives the thumbs up to the mover waiting for her order. “I knew you liked strawberry milkshakes. I didn’t know you wanted to wear them, though,'' my father teases, drawing my attention back to him. He swipes some off my hair with his hands before gripping it in a ponytail, and wringing out my hair. My mother goes to the trunk, pops it open, and retrieves a water bottle. “Tip your head back,” my mother instructs, and I obey, craning my neck back as far as I can. She uses the water bottle to rinse my hair then tears my sweater up the side and takes it off me. “Mom!” “I will make you another,” she scolds, tossing it in the garbage can along with the now empty water bottle. “So, is someone going to tell me what’s going on?” I ask again. My father glances at my mother then gives me a smile. “You’re moving,” my father announces like it is no big deal. I gape at him. Does he mean house, state, or country? Probably best to leave the country since my mother has just slapped Tabitha. That would be wise. Alpha Jackson isn't known for his willingness to forgive anyone. “Why, is what Tabitha said true? Did they banish me? Are you getting rid of me?” I ask, feeling sick to my stomach. We have never left the Pack, not even on holidays. My parents never take time off. They have never had a chance with their positions in the Pack. I only know of one other family in our Pack whose child didn’t have a wolf, and they threw him away like trash. They literally kicked him out, and it is something I have always been worried about, my parents getting rid of me like I never existed because I brought shame to them. My eyes move to the moving truck and back to my father, but it is my mother who answers my question. “Yes, what Tabitha said is true. Alpha Jackson has asked you to leave. This is a werewolf-only community, and he wants you gone once you hit eighteen,” my mother replies. I have to leave; the Alpha has finally convinced them to get rid of me. My lungs restrict and I feel on the verge of a panic attack. Where will I go? How will I survive? My worst nightmare is coming true. “So this is it? You’re sending me away?” I choke out, tears brimming. They are going to get rid of me, force me to go rogue. “No, of course not. You’re our baby. We knew this was coming, so we made plans. All of us are joining another Pack and coming with you,” my mother tells me with a softer smile than usual. She cups my face in her hands, squishing my lips together. “We would never throw you away. Never, Kat!” she tells me, and I nod my head. Relief releases the tension in my bones as she kisses my forehead. When she lets me go, she turns to look at my father. “By the way, Hun, we should leave,” my mother quips, walking around to the passenger side in a hurry. My father goes to ask why, but she slips in, slamming the door before he can ask her. “She slapped Tabitha,” I whisper to him, and he rocks back on his heels in shock for a second. A silly smile slips onto his face when he leans closer to me. “Did she get her a good one?” my father asks, sending me a conspiratorial wink, and I smile, shaking my head with a soft laugh and hopping into the back seat. My father pulls away, and the truck follows us. “What about you, Dad? Aren't you the Pack Beta?” I ask, worried, knowing he will lose his title over this. “I won't be part of a Pack that shuns my daughter. They want you gone? Then I go, too,” he says, leaving no room for argument. I have the best parents. Relief floods me, even though I feel guilty for ripping them away from everything they have. “Everything will work out, dear. You’ll see,” my mother reassures me, reaching over from the front and gripping my knee. “What Pack would want a wolf-less Pack member?” I ask, more to myself than to them. “You’re not wolf-less, just a late bloomer. Your wolf will come, Kat. You are born from two werewolf parents. Therefore, you are a werewolf,” my mother states, not wanting to see the truth. I am as useless as they say I am. They know it, and I definitely know, yet they still continue to lie to themselves, believing some miracle will happen, and I will finally wake up and tell them my wolf came to me. “We are moving to the Black Creek Pack. Alpha Ezra has kindly offered to take us in,” my father tells me as my mother turns back to face the front. Alpha Ezra? I rack my brain, trying to pull the name from memory, knowing I have heard it before. As I repeat the name, my eyes almost bulge out of my head, and I lean forward in panic. No, anywhere but his Pack. Chapter 2 Fuck, I will take my chances going rogue. “Black Creek Pack? Isn’t that the Pack that just went to war with the Blue Mountain Pack?” I cautiously ask, hoping I'm wrong about who he is. “Yes, Katya. I know you're scared, but the Alpha is truly a nice guy. He was very understanding. Besides, I think he was happy about stripping Jackson of his Beta and only female warrior,” my mother tells me smugly. “Yeah, but he killed their entire Pack, Mom. He is a monster,” I argue. I am more scared of my so-called new Alpha than my current one. Everyone has heard of the notorious Alpha Ezra and the fear he instills in his enemies. I lean back, knowing already that this is a terrible idea. A sinking feeling in my stomach weighs down the gravity of the situation we are in. “I’m sure he had his reasons. Besides, it is not like anyone else was willing to take us in,” my mother scolds. “So, he knows I have no wolf?” I ask, knowing all Packs are small communities solely of our kind. I am a little shocked he even agreed. Who would accept a wolf-less girl? My parents glance at each other and I blink at them, my brain finding actions and words hard to process. "It won’t be an issue as long as you can prove yourself to be helpful around the Pack,” my father replies. Great, he doesn't know, and I will have to act like an omega slave, I think dryly. I fall asleep on the drive, only waking when we stop at a storage shed. The drive took five hours total, and I am exhausted. My back is killing me, and my ass went numb halfway here. The movers load our stuff into the storage shed before a sleek black car pulls up beside ours and two men climb out. I move closer to our car, taking a step back as they approach us. Both look at me, sniffing the air as I watch them. By their scent, I know they are werewolves and high-ranking ones. “Alpha Ezra requests your presence at the Packhouse immediately,” the man with dark hair that is faded on the sides growls. He appears to be in his early twenties, and by the authority oozing off him, I can tell he is the Pack's Beta. His eyes dart to me and he looks me up and down, a strange look on his face. Is he angry, or is it shock? I can’t tell, but whatever it is, he covers it quickly. He presses his lips in a line and swallows, turning his attention back to my father. “This is your daughter?” he scoffs, motioning toward me, not even trying to hide his distaste as he speaks. I guess it is anger. Yep, definitely angry because when his gaze moves back to me, his cold gray-blue eyes glare daggers at me as if he wants to kill me himself. “Yes, this is my daughter, Katya. I am Derrick,” my father introduces himself, holding out his hand. “I didn’t catch your name?” my father says, drawing the man's attention away from me, which has me wanting to run and hide in the car to escape. The man grasps his hand firmly. “Beta Mateo, this is Alex, one of our Gammas,” he introduces the other man. He is around the same age, with blonde hair hanging in his hazel eyes. He looks more bored than anything. Both of them are huge, around the same size as my father. Except, Beta Mateo has more bulk of muscle, is a few inches taller, and is wearing a black shirt and dark blue jeans. “I hear you used to be a Beta at your old Pack?” Mateo questions, and my father nods. “Good, we could use some help training some of our Pack, if you are up for it?” he asks with a smirk. My father nods. “Sounds great,” my father tells him, continuing on to introduce my mother to him. “This is Shirley, my wife and mate.” “Nice to meet you,” my mother tells them, stepping forward and shaking their hands. The Beta’s eyes keep darting back to me, his anger is now gone, but he looks confused. Every time he glances in my direction, he keeps sniffing the air, his lips pursed and as he looks me over once again I notice the points of his canines poke out a little as if he is trying to control his wolf. “If you follow us, we will escort you to the Packhouse. You can be placed with someone until the property is available,'' Mateo explains, turning on his heel and getting in his black BMW. We hop back into our car preceding to follow him through the sleepy town. It is quite a large town and way nicer looking than the one back home. “See how nice they are? This will work out. It has to,” my mother says a little too enthusiastically. We follow their car all the way to the end of town and pull down a road leading into the forest we drive for another ten minutes. We stop on a horseshoe driveway in front of a huge sandstone three-story mansion with bushy green hedges out front. Massive arched windows and vines grow along the stone walls to the roof. I hop out of the car and my shoes crunch on the ground from the tiny pebbles that cover it. I look up at the Packhouse. It is definitely more lavish than the one back home. Beta Mateo leads us to the white door, he opens it and motions for us to enter. Inside it has white marble floors and a hall stand sits along the wall near the entryway with a big, expensive-looking vase. My mother looks around in awe. Two staircases lead to the landing above, overlooking the floor we are on. I stare, amazed, as I take it all in. We walk toward the door between both stairwells. I spy some bench seats next to it, and Mateo knocks on the door, a deep voice tells him to enter. A shiver runs up my spine. He slips through the door, closing it behind him a few moments later he returns, telling my parents to go in and for me to wait until called. I wait for what feels like hours when my mother comes out, and sits next to me. The Packhouse is quiet, no one walks around, and I can’t hear anyone else here. "He is just speaking with your father, then he will want to speak to us individually to make sure our stories are the same," my mother explains to me in a hushed voice. “What story? They banished us because of me," I whisper to her. He will find out and kill us, or worse, make me leave without my parents. My mother nudges me with her arm. "Shh, calm down. Everything is fine. He probably won't ask you much because you're our child," she tries to comfort me, trying to calm me down enough that I don’t get us caught. Tears brim and I quickly wipe them away. If I fuck this up, I will ruin our only chance of remaining together. "What did you tell them?" I ask softly. I have to make sure I get this right. I can’t afford to say the wrong thing. "They were going to banish us. It's not lying; it's the truth. He doesn't need to know the reason why. You have a wolf, Kat. She will come. You'll see," my mother tries to reassure me. "And if she doesn't?" I whisper. "She will," my mother replies, steel in her voice. I hang my head. I will be the biggest disappointment to them, which makes my stomach twist painfully. My father steps out and nods to my mother. She wipes her hands on her jeans then gets up and walks into the office, closing the door. "He will initiate you into the Pack. It isn't so bad. You just need to drink his blood, Kat, and you will feel the Pack link snap in place." Gross, I think to myself. "What about the old Pack?" "It will hurt a little once you pledge, like a migraine. I won't lie to you. It brought me to my knees," he whispers, as I hear my mother cry out. My father jumps to his feet, head snapping toward the door. I hear soft murmurs before the silver door handle jiggles, and opens. My mother stumbles out, clutching her head. My father is at her side, instantly helping her to her seat. Nervousness makes me take a step back, not wanting to endure whatever she just happened to her. "Kat, you need to go in," my mother whispers, pulling herself together, with her fingers gently rubbing her temples. Fear chokes me and I shake my head, too scared to go in. My mother is the strongest woman I know, and if it hurt her that badly, I know it must be painful. My father comes over, grabbing my arms and gives me a gentle shake until I look at him. "Kat, we did all this for you. This is the only choice we have to remain together, so I need you to do this for us," he orders, holding my gaze. I swallow and glance at the door pausing, I nod. "Is everything alright out there?" the Alpha calls out from inside the room. I look to the door in a panic. "Please, Katya, once it's done, it's done, it stops, I promise," my father tries to reassure me, yet my mother still has her head clutched in her hands. I let out a breath. My father steers me toward the door and then nudges me. My hand trembles as I grip the door handle and push the door open. Keeping my head down, I step inside, close it, and look up at the Alpha. He is looking at some documents on his desk. He has dark hair, long on top, faded on the sides. I freeze at the strange look he gives me when he looks up. He sniffs the air slightly, and I wonder if he can sense that I am different. A low, deep growl rumbles from his chest softly as he grips the desk so hard his knuckles turn white. His caramel eyes flicker to the beast residing within him and I have to fight down the urge to run out of the room. Hesitantly, my feet move toward the desk. He is very handsome, with a five o'clock shadow, full lips, and a strong jawline. He smells nice, too, like the forest after it rains. He has a strong woodsy scent. I would guess he is around his mid-twenties. He watches me for a few seconds when I stop, not knowing if I should remain standing or what to do with myself. After a few seconds, his body relaxes slightly, and I notice claw marks on his tabletop from where his fingers were. He beckons me closer, and I force my feet to move. His eyes watch my every move. Shit! Can he smell I have no wolf? The tight set of his jaw clenches and the way he watches me with his flickering eyes makes my blood run cold. He knows, and he is going to kill me. "You can sit," he says, nodding toward the chair beside me. I stare at it like it will come alive and bite my ass. He clears his throat and I scramble to sit on the edge, my leg bouncing as I clasp my hands in my lap, unable to keep still. I glance nervously back toward the door where my parents are waiting before turning my attention away. The room is vast, befitting of an Alpha. Though I am surprised to see bookshelves lining the walls. He has more books than our old Pack library. My fingers itch to grab one and see what kind of person he is through the things he reads. His desk sits in the center and it makes him even more imposing. Turning back to face the Alpha, I find him watching me again. "Your name is Katya?" he asks, pronouncing it correctly. Most people don't the first time, or they just don’t care to. "Yes, Alpha." "You can call me Ezra," he corrects quickly, and I nod. "How old are you?" "Seventeen," I reply, and he nods, looking at some documents, which I notice are my mother's and father's paperwork, along with my birth certificate. He picks it up while studying it. "You turn eighteen soon? You will be able to find your mate. That's exciting," he states, his eyes flicking back to me. I say nothing. No one will want me; I am little more than a defect with heightened senses. "You go to school, I take it?" I nod, chewing on my thumbnail. "Last year?" "Yes, I finish this year, well, I am meant to," I am so not looking forward to going to another school, especially so late in the year. I don’t know what bullies this school will have, but I'll attract them. It is practically a guarantee. "You'll be finishing school," he states, leaving no room for argument. I press my lips together, knowing better than to argue. "You don't like school?" he questions. "Does anyone like school?" I snap back and he smiles. "I liked school. I am surprised you don't, since you are a Beta's daughter," he says. Yeah, school was great until they found out I was a freak. "Your parents have already explained your reason for leaving. You had a run-in with the Alpha's daughter, and your mother hit her?" he asks. My mother is taking the blame. I keep my mouth shut to stop the risk of being caught in a lie, although technically, it is true, just not the reason we left. I nod. “Good enough for me; I can't stand Alpha Jackson. The prick should be put down," Alpha Ezra scoffs, not even trying to hide his dislike for my old Alpha. "Come here," he orders, standing up and moving around to the front of his desk, where he stops beside me. I jump out of my seat and take a step back, nearly stumbling over my own feet. His eyes snap to mine at my abrupt movement. He holds his hand out to me, and I look at it, feeling a little wary of the intimidating man, wondering how he has the reputation he has because he doesn’t seem as bad as the rumors I have heard. "I won't hurt you; I will never hurt you." I hesitate a moment, placing mine in his. Tingles spread across my palm, and I jerk my hand back, staring at it. "Sorry, must be static," he apologizes, and his eyes flicker black. He grabs my hand again with a smile playing on his lips, his thumb tracing circles over the back of my hand, making me look at him. The Alpha’s lips tug in the corners as he urges me closer. When I don’t immediately move, he pulls me toward him. His hand is warm, yet the strange tingling sensation doesn’t stop. I look up at him thinking it is odd, only to find he is watching me again. He is tall, I only come up to the center of his chest, and he is wide, too, all hard muscle as he towers over me. He bites his wrist, offering it to me, and I stare. My eyes dart back to his desk and I see two glasses stained with his blood sitting on the edge. So why is he offering me his wrist? Surely, he doesn’t want me to drink his blood from him like some vampire, does he? "Times ticking, little one, hurry up," he orders, pulling me closer and wrapping his arm around my waist before bringing his wrist to my lips. I grab his wrist and I can taste his lingering saliva there. His blood, surprisingly, doesn't taste bad as it floods into my mouth. Not something I would go out looking to drink. I would suck it if I were a vampire, but not really my thing. It is sweet tasting though, or maybe that is the taste of his skin. I’m not sure. He pulls his wrist away, but doesn't let go, holding me close to him. His arm tightens around my waist when he dips his head just enough so his face is next to mine, his lips grazing my ear as he speaks. Chapter 3 "Pledge to me," he whispers, and I nod. The heat from his hard chest is pressing against my back, his warmth seeping into me and I suck in a nervous breath. "I, Katya Hartley, pledge my loyalty and my life to Alpha Ezra," I stop, not knowing his last name. I glance over my shoulder at him. And for a few seconds, I am stunned by the combined strong aroma wafting from him. Sandalwood is one of the fragrances as for the other, the spicy scent of cinnamon is unmistakable. It is an intoxicating blend and I inhale deeply. My eyes flutter shut lost in the moment. "Pierce," he whispers, his lips almost brushing mine, and my eyes fly open as I wonder what came over me. He is so close and my face heats at what I did, he pulls back and I think I saw the ghost of a smile dancing on his lips. I quickly turn my face away, my weird reaction to him shocking me. "Alpha Ezra Pierce of Black Creek Pack." As the last word leaves my lips, a searing pain explodes in my head, making me drop as I clutch it. His grip tightens around me and is the only thing stopping me from hitting the floor in a heap. The chattering of my old Pack, every word I ever heard flits through my head loudly, making my ears ring, and a scream leaves my lips. The pressure of the Pack link breaking as the new one forges makes my head feel like someone is crushing it in their grip and that any moment now it will explode all over the carpet. Just as suddenly as it comes, it stops like the snap of a rubber band, only for a dull ache to take its place. "You're okay. It's over now," Alpha Ezra's voice filters through my head, making me look up at him. He smiles at me as I blink back the tears that had sprung to my eyes. "Are you good for me to let you go?" He asks. I look down to see his arms wrapped around me, just under my breasts. My face heats with embarrassment as I realize he is the only reason I am upright, quickly becoming aware of his hands on my body. Great, I am crushing on my Alpha. I step away, and he lets go. His eyes glaze over, and seconds later, my parents rush into the room, he must have been talking to them through the Pack link. "See, you’re fine. I told you it wouldn't be so bad," my father says, fussing over me. I slap their hands away. I’m not a baby. Sometimes they can be a little embarrassing. "Tonight you stay in the Packhouse. Tomorrow I will show you to your new home. May I ask why you requested one so far from everyone?" he asks curiously, looking at my father. "Kat doesn't get along well with others. She prefers being by herself," my mother answers. The Alpha seems shocked for a second, his head tilting to the side as he looks at me. "And why is that?" he questions, staring down at me. I nervously look at my parents before returning the Alpha’s gaze. "I just like being alone," I shrug, which is true, I'm not a social butterfly that is for sure. He presses his lips in a line looking back at my parents. "I have already enrolled Katya in school. She can start on Monday. You can skip the Pack run on Friday and meet me here Monday morning for your work details." "Pack run?" I ask, and my mother nudges me with her elbow to be quiet, which doesn't go unnoticed by the Alpha. "Pack runs are compulsory. Why? Is that a problem?" he asks, and I duck my head down, looking at my shoes. "No problem at all," my father replies, throwing one arm over my shoulder and holding out his other hand to the Alpha. "How are you with training teenage students?" the Alpha suddenly asks my mother. "I trained my daughter mostly and older she-wolves, but I can give it a go," she answers. "Interesting. We do need an extra hand at the high school, and you can keep an eye on Katya as well," he decides. My mother seems excited about the idea. "That would be lovely, thank you, Alpha." He nods, staring at me again before looking at my father. "My Beta will show you where you are staying for the night," he says, walking around to sit back at his desk. *** The next day we are woken early by Beta Mateo. Hopping in our car, we follow him as he drives to the outskirts of the small town. The house is more of a cottage with a large veranda out front and a gravel driveway; it is cozy, nestled amongst the trees. Hopping out of the car, I make my way inside, along with my father. Beta Mateo unlocks the green wooden door before handing the keys to my father. “Are you sure you want to live all the way out here? There are plenty of empty places in town that may better suit your needs.” “No, this is perfect. Thank you, Beta,” my father replies. “We are of the same rank, and honestly, you have been doing this a lot longer than I have. You could probably show me a thing or two. Just call me Mateo, and welcome to the Pack,” Beta Mateo tells my father before patting him on the shoulder. He walks down the steps to the lawn before he stops beside me and sniffs the air. “You smell different from most wolves,” he observes, studying me and I stiffen. “What do you mean?” I am proud of myself for sounding normal, though inside my stomach is tied in knots. What if he can smell the difference on me just like his Alpha can? “I don’t know, just different. I can smell you're a wolf, but your scent isn’t strong. Also, something else, your scent reminds me of someone,” he says, his eyebrows furrowing as if he is trying to figure out who. “Anyway, I will let you get settled in. Don’t forget, Pack runs are mandatory and on Friday evenings at 6 pm sharp. I know you have been excused this week, but it would be good to introduce yourselves to fellow Pack members. We are a tight-knit community, and the rest of the Pack will feel more at ease with newcomers that attend. Something to think about,” Mateo tells my father, who nods. I hurry up the steps with a box from the truck in my hands. “We will try our best to be there on Friday,” my mother reassures, staring me down as she walks up the porch steps toward me. I nod before following inside. A giant fireplace takes up most of the room. Its dark black bricks stretch all the way to the ceiling and it spans an entire wall. The flooring is some sort of solid wood. It is stained dark-brown, almost the same color as the bricks. The whole place reeks like it has been locked up a little too long. My mother rushes from curtain to curtain, throwing them open and cracking the windows to let the outside breeze in and the stagnant, smelly air out. I escape the living room and into what looks to be the kitchen. At least it isn't as dated as the rest of the house apparently is. Granite stone countertops, black stainless-steel appliances, and even a small kitchen island bench sat in the center. I am going to like this room. A few of Alpha Ezra’s men help bring in the furniture, and my parents unpack. Carrying a box from the truck to the back end of the house, I find my room, the smallest one right next to the bathroom and the window overlooking the forest surrounding the house. My parents' room is down the hall and has an en suite. Overall, I like it. After we drag everything inside, I go to my room and start putting my bed frame together. One of the Pack members helps bring the rest of my belongings into my bedroom. Placing them along the wall that has the window overlooking the forest. We spend the rest of the day unpacking and cleaning and making the place feel a little more homey. By the time night comes I am exhausted and fall asleep before I even eat dinner, only to wake up in the middle of the night. Going to the kitchen, I flick on the light, grab a glass of water, hop up on a stool, and stare out the kitchen window. This place is quiet, unlike our last place, which was on a busy road. I like the quiet, fewer people to evade and it feels more comfortable without neighbors prying into our lives. Yet, as I rinse my glass, movement outside makes my eyes dart to the forest edge. I blink, wondering if my eyes are playing tricks on me as I lean forward. A huge black wolf stands in the forest staring directly at me. I rub my eyes before pressing closer and peering out. My breath fogs up the window, and only the wolf is now gone. Thinking I must have imagined it or that my mind is playing tricks on me, I shake off the weird experience and leave the kitchen, flicking the lights off. Once back in my room, I climb back into bed. I pull my purple duvet with the generic lavender flowers on it up to my chin and snuggle into the pillow until I find comfort. I try to fall asleep, yet the wolf I saw keeps replaying in my mind. Who is it? We are pretty far out. Maybe it’s the patrols checking the place. Either way, eventually I am dragged back under by sleep. The next few days go by in a blur of getting into a comfortable routine. Monday comes around, and I get dressed in my jeans and blue T-shirt before grabbing my bag and loading my school books into it. My mother and father are meeting up with Alpha Ezra today before being assigned to their new jobs. Pulling up to the front of my new school, dread settles in the pit of my stomach. My mother glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Can I fake sick until next week?” I plead with her and she raises an eyebrow at me. “You will be fine, and by the sound of it, I may be working here. Just keep your head down and behave, Kat,” she cautions me, and I nod. With a heavy sigh, I open the back door and climb out of the car. I stare up at the brick building that is undoubtedly going to be like the last one, a disappointment and place of torment if they find out about me not having a wolf. Thanks to the whole mandatory Pack runs, it won’t be long before that happens, and once again I will be the school’s laughingstock. I head straight to the main office and am greeted by a woman in her mid-thirties with straight, auburn hair that hangs to her shoulders and big round glasses perched on her perfectly straight nose. Her hazel eyes look at me as I enter. A warm smile greets me, and I give a small smile back. “You must be Katya?” “Yes, I am here to pick up my schedule,” I tell her, making my way to the office desk. She looks down at the papers before pulling out a manilla folder and handing it to me. “Your schedule and a map of the school are in there, also a library card and your locker combination,” she explains. I open it, looking down at the schedule. My stomach drops when I realize that they have training every afternoon except for Fridays. I wonder if my mother knows that the students train every day for two hours. Two hours of normal training and an hour of training with our wolves every Tuesday and Wednesday. Great, just great. I won’t even be here a day before everyone finds out, and I am banished. I should be a fortune-teller I knew they would find out faster. I might as well restart packing my damn room. Maybe I can be excused for the first week, I wonder. “Thanks,” I tell her before going to go find my locker. I put the combination in while noticing a few curious stares at the newcomer, but no one is outright mean to me, which is a relief. Putting my stuff in my locker, I grab my books for my first period, English. As I am closing the locker, I jump when I see a girl leaning against the locker beside mine and staring. Her dark hair is cut in a pixie cut, and she has a golden hoop nose ring. Dark eyeshadow with streaks of purple and black completes her ensemble. “Hi, you must be new here, I’m Jasmine,” she introduces herself before plucking my schedule from out of my fingertips. “Ah, Katya,” I tell her, awkwardly, waiting for her to hand it back. “We have most of the same classes. You can follow me if you want, and I will show you around,” she offers, passing me my schedule back. I set it on top of my books. “Thanks, that would be great.” “So you are from Alpha Jackson’s Pack I heard,” she says. I don't reply. Gossip has already started, then again in Pack communities, everybody knows everybody, so that isn’t surprising. “My father is third in command. He heard Alpha Ezra and Beta Mateo talking, so you have Beta genes?” she asks and I nod. Not that they would do any good without a wolf. Chapter 4 “Your mother has quite the reputation, too, the only female warrior in Jackson’s Pack. What was it like living there? Is Alpha Jackson as strict as the rumors say?” “Um, it was okay, just like any other Pack,” I reply with a shrug. “Yeah, well Alpha Ezra hates Alpha Jackson, I was surprised to hear he actually let someone transfer over. Your parents must have pretty good reputations, we haven't had any newcomers in a few years now, the Alpha is very wary of who he lets in. There were even whispers that he was regretting his choice of allowing any new Pack members, so your parents must have impressed him,” she tells me. He didn’t seem wary of us. He wasn’t like anything I expected, honestly. I thought I would be locked in the cells or banished by now, so her words make me a little uncomfortable. Jasmine stops by a green door and motions toward it. “This is our English class, Mr. Tonks is nice but don't be late. He hates tardiness.” I look inside the classroom and unlike the classrooms back in my old Pack, everyone is chatting quietly as they wait for the teacher to arrive. In my old Pack, the students did whatever they liked and were loud and uncontrollable most of the time, so I am a little surprised to see everyone on their best behavior. Jasmine pulls me to an empty desk at the back and I sit beside her. She points out a few different groups of kids chatting. “That group over there are ‘safe’ as I like to call them. They won't cause any trouble,” she cautions, pointing to a bunch of kids talking amongst themselves. They look a little nerdy, not that I care. I am also a bit of a nerd. “Now that group over there, try to avoid them. The blonde girl, her name is Angie and she is a real bitch. Queen Bee of the school as you can probably tell. Just try to coast through the middle like I do and you should be fine,” she says before pointing out a few other smaller groups. A few minutes pass before the teacher comes in, who thankfully doesn't make a fuss about there being a new student, instead he gets straight to work writing on the whiteboard before telling us to copy it. The day passes by in a blur, and for the most part, I did what Jasmine advised, and kept to myself. At lunchtime, I sat out on the oval with her watching as students and teachers set up the training grounds. Nausea fills me knowing I am about to do two hours of training, when suddenly I spot my mother walking out onto the field along with Alpha Ezra. “Does the Alpha help with training?” I ask. “Yeah, he comes every day to help train us. Training is mandatory no matter age or gender,” I watch as Angie, the girl Jasmine told me to avoid, runs across the field towards the Alpha clinging onto him like a leech. “Yeah, Angie has a thing for the Alpha. Seems to think he will choose her as his mate,” Jasmine says and I nod. For some reason, seeing her cling onto him annoys me a little, but I shove it aside, turning my attention back to my lunch. I don’t want any trouble with her, especially if she is as bad as Jasmine says she is. “How old is the Alpha?” I ask. He looks pretty young compared to my last Alpha, who is in his fifties. “Twenty-five. He is a good Alpha, strict but fair. A lot better than his father, who was a complete asshole and more of a dictator.” I bite into my sandwich, watching as the equipment is being set up. “So he took over the Pack when his father stepped down?” I ask. Jasmine shakes her head. “No, Alpha Ezra killed him and took over when he was seventeen.” I think about her words for a minute. To think that the Alpha could take down his father like that at only seventeen. What had been going through his mind? “Geez, a lot wouldn’t have liked answering to a seventeen-year-old,” I quip, but she shakes her head. “No, everyone was glad to see Alpha Dean get taken down. He was cruel. Women weren’t even allowed to train back then, he treated them like animals and he used to kill anyone that stepped out of line, he even killed his own mate, and his chosen one,” she says, making me feel sick at her words. Killing your mate can send your wolf crazed. It was almost impossible to do, though I have heard stories of some being rejected and taking chosen mates, however, it was the first time I had heard of someone killing their mate. “That’s terrible,” I tell her and she nods, popping a grape into her mouth. “Yeah, everyone hated him. Things changed after the Alpha took over. He made sure women could train to better protect themselves. Maybe that's why he was so quick to have your family join our Pack. Your mother will be an advantage to have, and your father - given that he has Beta genes,” I nod my head believing she is right, if he hates Jackson's Pack as much as she claims he does. “Maybe,” I tell her just as Alpha Ezra looks in our direction. I drop my head and am thankful when the school bells ring, signaling the end of lunch. Jasmine and I make our way back to our lockers and grab our gym clothes. Going to the bathroom, we quickly get changed into the red polo shirts and black shorts before heading down to the oval where they were setting up earlier. Alpha Ezra and my mother are talking among a few of the teachers before silence falls over everyone and people walk off to their designated groups. I follow Jasmine over to our age group and am a little shocked to see Alpha Ezra come over to us. Jasmine smiles at him when he approaches. “Hey, Alpha,” she says, giving him a brief wave as she stretches. “Hi Jasmine, you can sit out for today, Kat. That way you can see how things are run if you like,” he says, and I nod, grateful I don’t have to train straight away. “No, she can train like the rest of them,” my mother corrects, coming up behind him. So much for sitting out. Is she trying to get us caught? “She doesn’t have to, Shirley. I can excuse her,” Alpha Ezra says and I give my mother a pleading look. My mother presses her lips in a line but says nothing. “Come sit on the bleachers and watch,” Alpha Ezra tells me, and I follow him over and sit down beside him. I watch everyone train. Alpha Ezra gets up a few times to help some teachers and to correct some students, then he comes back over. He looks down at me. “How are you liking school so far?” “It's fine,” I answer, not really comfortable around him. I see my mother keeps looking over at me nervously, which in turn makes me more nervous about his presence. “Do you train a lot with your mother?” I nod. Training isn’t only compulsory at school in our household, it is almost a damn religion. However, with how much training they have at this school, I hope she will let me off at home. Back at our old Pack, training was only twice a week, here it is daily, except weekends, so maybe she won’t be so strict on that front. “Yes. Mom doesn’t like me missing training as you can see,” I tell him, and he nods. “Good, well you can have today and tomorrow off, but on Wednesday you start training with everyone else,” he orders and I nod. Angie slinks over, stopping in front of us, and I notice the glare she gives me. “You should be training, Angie. Get back on the field,” Ezra demands. “I was just seeing if you can come to help me, Ezra,” she purrs. It’s obvious the crush she has on him and she isn’t even trying to hide it. “That’s Alpha to you! Now get back on the field, Angela,” he tells her, pointing back the way she came. She looks down at me, her eyes narrowing before she saunters off. I know she is going to make my life hell and I haven't even spoken to her yet. “Well, I better get back out there, Kat. I will see you around,” he says, walking off toward my mother, who is now scolding Angie for walking off the field. When training finishes, my mother calls me over. The polite but simmering glare on her face tells me she is upset about something, and trying not to let anyone else know. When I reach her, she grabs my arm, pulling me aside and away from prying ears. “For someone who is meant to be lying low, you seem to be grabbing the Alpha’s attention. Kat, we talked about this. You need to stay away from him and his Beta. We can’t afford for people to know just yet,” she scolds. “Well, maybe if you told them I wouldn’t have to hide,” I snap back. “It isn’t like I sought him out. He approached me.” “Attitude, young lady. I won't handle disrespect,” she growls, and I roll my eyes, regretting it instantly. “Katya, you may be my daughter, but that doesn’t mean you will get away with slacking off, now ten laps of the oval,” she orders. “What? Come on, Mom, you can’t be serious,” I argue back when his sandalwood scent hits me. Alpha Ezra walks up behind me and stops beside me. He obviously saw our dispute, which just makes this entire scenario even more embarrassing. “Everything okay?” he asks my mother. She bows her head in respect before glaring at me. “Yes, Alpha, it will be. Now go, Katya,” she says, pointing to the edge of the field. I take my sweatshirt off before tossing it at her. She can’t be fucking serious. Why was she being like this? My mother growls, catching my sweatshirt and pointing to the edge of the field. “This is bullshit,” I hiss, stomping off. “Make that twenty,” she calls out. I groan, but go to the edge of the field, cursing her name to the moon goddess. “Keep going, Kat, and it will be thirty. Now start running!” I roll my eyes and start doing laps as she shrieks, blowing her damn whistle. Jasmine does a couple with me before getting tired and sitting down. My legs burn by the time I’ve done fifteen, and my lungs feel like they are about to explode. Stopping, I brace my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. My mother blows her whistle, grabbing my attention and I look over at her, sweat drenching me and even my shirt is sticking to me. “Five more, Kat.” “Five more, Kat,” I mimic under my breath while glaring daggers at my mother. I peel my saturated shirt off, tossing it on the grass and leaving me in only my black sports bra. “You want me to add more?” my mother calls out. I shake my head and continue running around the oval. As I run past the bleachers, I notice Alpha Ezra is still here and watching me. Unease prickles up and down my spine. Something has pissed him off, and I bet I know what the answer was. What always seemed to be the answer in my world. Me. I wondered if he figured out I have no wolf and am useless to the Pack.

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They stripped her of everything—her name, her love, her place in the family. But when the truth came out, they realized the “country girl” they cast away owned half the nation’s wealth. ===== Chapter 1 Kicked Out Of Home Nicolas Kirk's hand trembled as he flung the bowl at Rylie Kirk's feet, the crash ringing out across the room. Bl**d stained his lips while fury contorted his face. "How could you do such a thing? What kind of sister would wish harm on her own brother?" he said, his words splintered by a violent cough. "I should've listened to Stacey. She warned me about the poison!" Rylie's expression flickered as she looked down at the ruined medicine, disappointment shadowing her features. "I keep telling you, Nicolas, there's nothing deadly in the medicine. It contains an ingredient that purges the old bl**d, which you need if you ever want to recover," said Rylie. Watching the medicine soak into the carpet, she winced inwardly, knowing how much effort and money she had poured into finding the right remedy for her eldest brother. Stacey Kirk, the adopted daughter of the Kirk family, stood at Nicolas' side, her arms wrapped protectively around the medical text that she always carried. She raised her voice, tears prickling at her eyes. "Please, Rylie, just stop making excuses. Leland ran tests on your concoction, and the results were dangerous. It's full of toxins!" Cold skepticism crossed Rylie's face as she met Stacey's gaze. "You complete f**l," Rylie said. "There isn't a medicine in this world that's entirely safe, especially not for what Nicolas is suffering from. The only way to fight back is with a powerful dose. There's nothing mild that could work on him." Stacey could barely contain her tears, her voice quivering as she pleaded with Rylie, "He's spitting up bl**d right in front of us, and you're still insisting this is the only way? We're just medical students, Rylie, not miracle workers. Don't put your pride above Nicolas' life." Taking a shaky step toward Rylie, Stacey continued, her words thick with emotion, "I found a well-known specialist. He's already written a prescription that might actually save Nicolas. Admit you were wrong and let us try. Please." Nicolas doubled over, hacking up bl**d, and fixed Rylie with a glare that burned with outrage. "It wasn't enough that you fed me that mystery medicine, now you turn on Stacey too? If you had even a fraction of her compassion, things wouldn't have come to this," Nicolas snapped. "Apologize to her, right now!" Rylie straightened her shoulders and faced Nicolas with an unflinching stare. "All I ever wanted was to help you. I have done nothing that warrants an apology. I owe her nothing." Desperation twisted Nicolas' features as he scrambled to his feet, snatching a whip from the wall in a blind rage. "That's it! You're going to push me into an early grave! Why can't you ever listen?" he shouted. "Get out! I don't want you here!" Before the whip could lash out, Rylie shifted away, nimble and unafraid. From the upper landing, someone's measured steps echoed, and a battered backpack landed at her toes. Leland Kirk, her second brother, stood at the base of the stairs. His tone cut through the air. "Let's lay it out plainly. You're just an outsider, and Stacey is our true sibling. We've kept this secret for your sake, hoping you wouldn't resent her, but today, we see just how cruel you can be. If you refuse to admit your mistakes, pack your things. We'll announce Stacey as our one and only sister. Your fortune goes with your name -- you'll have to go back to your birth family and live as they do." Such a threat didn't faze Rylie. Years of living in the Kirk household had worn down her patience. However, the revelation that she was not bound to them by bl**d came almost as a blessing. Her ch**t felt unburdened, lighter than it had in years. There was no need to waste any more of her knowledge or talent on a house that never valued her. The thought had struck her as odd -- she always wondered why she stood out among siblings who never seemed to measure up. "That suits me just fine." Rylie's voice held not a hint of regret. With quick fingers, she snatched up the backpack, plucked a candy from the bowl, and let it dissolve on her tongue as she strode for the door. Left in the hallway, Stacey could not hold back a grin of satisfaction. Five years of plotting had finally paid off. With Rylie gone, she would be the Kirk family's prized daughter, adored and indulged by her brothers. Still, she could not resist a final performance. She darted after Rylie, her voice ringing out. "Rylie! Don't leave like this! You'll always have a place here! Please, don't make me feel like the villain. I'm begging you!" Nicolas interjected sharply, "Enough, Stacey! Let her go. A heart as cold as hers belongs to her own impoverished family. She never deserved this home." A cold laugh escaped Rylie when she overheard him. Was everyone in the Kirk family so easily fooled? Did they genuinely believe that it was sheer luck that had brought Nicolas back to health, gotten him out of bed, and made him able to walk again? Without her hands and her medicine, they'd see soon enough just how far good fortune could take him. Drawing the hood over her head, Rylie let the breeze whip strands of hair across her vivid lips, a flicker of scorn glinting in her eyes. ... Far away, inside the bustling capital city of Kouhron, the imposing Owen Mansion stood as a symbol of influence and wealth. Within that opulent hall, Kendrick Owen struck his ornate cane against the marble floor. "You all promised she'd been located. Why is she still not here?" Arrayed around him stood his three grandsons -- each a commanding presence in his own right, men whose names carried enough weight that even the highest government officials paid their respects. Yet, despite their stature, the shadow of their missing youngest sister dimmed their confidence, and their faces bore deep lines of worry. "Our search stalled in Crolens. According to the latest report, she spent some years in a mountain village, but after being trafficked, her whereabouts vanished from every record." Agony creased Kendrick's expression. "For eighteen years, that child has been gone. Imagine the hardships she's endured in a place like that." "Grandfather, there's been progress. One of the kidnappers came forward and claimed she was later sold to a rich woman in Crolens. We only need a bit more time -- her discovery is within reach." Relief softened Kendrick's features. No trace of irritation remained as he rose from his chair, hope radiating from his gaze. "In that case, let's not delay. I'm coming with you. We'll search together." Chapter 2 Versatile Rylie A heavy backpack slung over her shoulder, Rylie walked out of the Kirk residence without a backward glance, heading directly to the parking lot where her prized, limited-edition motorcycle waited. Years of downplaying her skills and masking her sharpness for the sake of the Kirk family's fragile peace were finally behind her. Freedom now tasted real. Down the city streets, her motorcycle roared, slicing through the afternoon air until she arrived at the imposing entrance of a gated community near a military compound. At the checkpoint, security protocols ran tight as always, but the instant Rylie's motorcycle appeared, the guard broke into a broad smile and opened the gate wide. "Miss Kirk, your visits are always a welcome surprise." With a practiced motion, Rylie flipped up her visor and gave a polite nod. Inside, cherry blossom petals scented the breeze, and several retired officers meandered beneath the blooming trees. Spotting her approach, they made their way over. "Look who's back -- Rylie, I was just about to see you. I've run out of those pills you mixed up for me last time." Her motorcycle came to a halt as she peeled off her helmet, her gentle features drawing nods of approval. "You can swing by the clinic tomorrow. I'll be here all day if you need a refill." Catching sight of another familiar face, she gestured toward an elderly man still sporting a neck brace. "As for you, I've told you before that brace is only making things worse for your neck." An embarrassed grin spread across his face as he removed the brace. "Would you at least allow me to try a few easy exercises?" "Take it slow, and don't do anything reckless," said Rylie, stepping inside an apartment building. Long ago, her connection to this community began unexpectedly. During a visit to the Military General Hospital to buy medicine, she had encountered an elderly man suffering from epilepsy. With a prescription that targeted his condition at the root, she gave him relief that no other doctor had managed. That stranger turned out to be a celebrated, now-retired clinical specialist. Awed by Rylie's abilities, he insisted on calling her his savior and offered her an apartment in the community as thanks. Easy rapport filled the community, and its prime location made life peaceful and convenient. In time, Rylie had come to see this place as the home that she had always needed. As soon as she stepped inside her apartment, lights flickered on and a soft, familiar mechanical voice greeted her. "Welcome home, Rylie. You've been gone for three days. There are two encrypted voicemails waiting, your email inbox has new messages, and your bath is ready." Her backpack landed with a thud on the floor, sending the zipper flying open. A thick bundle of cash spilled out, scattering across the entryway. She stared at the pile of bills, guessing that it must total around ten grand. The sound that escaped her lips was half a chuckle, half a sneer. Was that really all the Kirks thought she was worth, tossing money her way like she was some beggar? "Play my messages," she said. Britton Davies' voice filled the room first, recorded late the previous evening. "Hey, Rylie, registration for the relay's almost up -- two practice runs down already! Are you honestly still clinging to the Kirks? For real? I've been wiping the floor with Phillip these past few days!" A slight arch in her brow gave away her recognition. Phillip Kirk, her third brother, ran one of the most exclusive racing clubs in the world, churning out champions and stacking up prize money. Long nights spent behind the wheel were her secret, pushing his team to one victory after another. Yet each season, as the finals approached, Phillip would swap her out for Stacey, handing over the glory and the gold. Year after year, her skills powered their success, but when the spotlight appeared, Stacey was ushered in for the celebration, leaving Rylie invisible to the crowd. Trophies meant little to her. In those days, protecting her family's ego mattered more. But now... A grin spread across her face as she called Britton. "I want half of the prize money." Whatever disappointment Britton had felt vanished at once. "Done! Phillip's team doesn't scare me. I've mapped out every move they make, but when you're behind the wheel, nobody can keep up. I never lose to him, Rylie -- I always lose to you!" A small laugh escaped Rylie as she let out a soft sigh. "You've noticed it too. Funny how obvious it is, but they still manage to overlook everything I do." Curiosity lit Britton's voice as he switched topics. "By the way, something else came up. There's been chatter on the dark web about the Owen family -- the wealthiest folks in Kouhron. Word is, they're here in Crolens, searching for their missing daughter and throwing around serious money for information. Think we should get involved?" Without hesitation, Rylie answered, "No interest. I have finals coming up, so I'll pass. See you." On Britton's end, confusion crept in. Of all the reasons to bail, exams were the last thing that he would expect from Rylie. As far as he could recall, she never even showed up for tests. The truth was, she was the one who wrote them. Chapter 3 Invitation Rylie moved on to the next voicemail, which turned out to be from Rory Carter, one of the most respected physicians at the Military General Hospital. A note of flattery colored Rory's tone as he spoke. "Rylie, I'm really in a bind. One of my old friend's sons has battled a rare illness for years, and his health is declining again. Those special pills you provided aren't helping him any longer. Is there any chance you could stop by and take a look?" Pulling out her phone, Rylie dialed him back. "I'll come to the clinic after classes tomorrow evening. Tell him to swing by then." Rory cut in with an apologetic sigh, saying, "He's stuck in the VIP wing at the hospital, and strict protocols mean he can't leave." Drumming her fingers on the tabletop, Rylie pressed for details. "Enough stalling, Rory. Who's the patient?" After a pause, Rory's voice dropped to a whisper, saying, "It's Brad Morgan. Yes, the grandson of General Sean Morgan. This isn't just any case -- the Morgans have discreetly reached out to top doctors nationwide. They're offering twenty million dollars to anyone who can cure him." An arched eyebrow was all the reaction Rylie gave. The Morgan family was legendary, led by Sean Morgan, a formidable general. He was a man even the President deferred to. The name Brad Morgan brought back memories -- she remembered reading about him in the news. Only thirty and already hailed as the youngest admiral of his era, his string of military victories made headlines everywhere. That revelation puzzled Rylie. Something could actually bring down a man like Brad? Her next move was to check her encrypted contract inbox, and sure enough, there sat an official invitation from the National Healthcare Department. Working under the codename "Healing Hand" on the dark web, she had built a reputation for tackling medical mysteries, and eventually gathered an elite team of her own. It seemed natural that the government would come looking for her. Keeping her composure, Rylie responded, "I see the message. That reward would tempt anyone. I'll take the case." Meanwhile, word of the Morgan family's urgent call reached the Kirks as well. Leland sprang into action, already strategizing and dialing contacts in hopes of getting their foot in the door. Always just out of reach of the upper society, the Kirk family saw this as their shot. Healing Brad would mean acceptance into the highest social circles at last. Another rumor had set the city abuzz: the wealthiest family in Kouhron landed in Crolens, promising a mind-blowing sum to anyone who could lead them to their missing daughter. People all across town had dropped everything, desperate for a piece of the reward. ... The next day. The shrill ring of her phone yanked Rylie from sleep. She stretched and dragged herself out of bed. On the other end was Timothy Powell -- her research advisor -- barely masking his irritation. "Rylie! I told you to handle the data organization, but you're nowhere in sight. Are you trying to get yourself kicked out of my research group? Stacey was here right at dawn. I expect you here immediately!" She offered no answer, choosing instead to end the call and glance at the clock. The digits read ten o'clock. Her mind flashed back to the previous night. Lost in old medical texts, she'd worked long hours sorting through ancient prescriptions, and now she had overslept, letting Timothy's task slip her mind. A yawn escaped as she flipped open her laptop, sent off a quick email, and hurried to get ready. Backpack in tow, she stepped out the door. Her motorcycle zipped through city streets until she pulled up in front of the university lab. After finding a spot, she strode toward the entrance. She pulled out her pass and swiped it, only to watch the screen blink and flash a denial -- her access had been revoked. At that moment, the lab doors swung open and out came Stacey, flanked by two upperclassmen from the research team. A mocking smile twisted one guy's lips as he spotted her dilemma. "So, Rylie, you think you're special? Turning up late, ditching your work -- looks like you finally pushed Professor Powell too far. Lab access is locked, and your days here are over!" Chapter 4 I'm Expelling You Stacey tugged at the man's sleeve and said with a hint of grievance, "Rylie was late because she was in a bad mood. You should go and plead with Professor Powell on her behalf. If she's kicked out of this project, how will she maintain her reputation at school? No professor would risk taking her on, and she'd never graduate." Even as she spoke, excitement flickered in Stacey's eyes, barely masked by her sympathetic tone. The prospect of Rylie's downfall was almost too delicious to hide. If Rylie really got expelled, surely she would have no choice but to come back pleading. But the scene didn't play out the way Stacey had hoped. Rylie's answer was blunt and left no room for argument. "That's perfect. I never intended to stick around. I'm out of the project. I already sent my withdrawal report to Professor Powell this morning. Tell him to approve it." Her trip here wasn't for the team -- it was to collect her carefully developed Nexo-7 compound, the key ingredient that she had been growing for months for a rare genetic remedy. Stacey's face faltered at that. "You're quitting the group?" Without missing a beat, Rylie nodded and stepped past them, but Stacey's grip shot out, latching onto her wrist. "Please don't let impulse get the better of you, Rylie! We're nearly done with this phase, and the medical competition's coming up. This isn't just about you -- there's a team counting on you! You can't just walk away." The man cast Stacey a critical look. "You shouldn't give her special treatment just because you're related, Stacey." Rylie turned her gaze on Stacey, arching a brow. "Is your concern for me genuine, or is this just another act?" "Absolutely, I am really concerned," Stacey insisted, nodding eagerly. The urge to laugh nearly escaped Rylie, her tone laced with derision. "Be serious. You've seen what your team can do even with my help -- and it's not much. Six months, and you haven't achieved a thing. You're all lost causes, so of course I'm leaving." Everything about the research group's progress came down to Rylie -- her organization, her direction, her experimental designs. Without her, Timothy's grand ambitions in clinical medicine and AI were just wishful thinking. The others fumbled through experiments, never getting close to real breakthroughs. With a dismissive snort, Rylie reached out and tapped Stacey's cheek, her words cold. "Don't fool yourself. You're not family, and I'm not here to babysit incompetence in the lab." A surge of tears filled Stacey's eyes, her voice tight with shock. Ever since Rylie had been shown the door at home, she had turned into someone unrecognizable -- brazen, stubborn, completely unwilling to listen. It drove Stacey mad. "Rylie! Don't flatter yourself -- the research doesn't revolve around you. You wouldn't even be part of this team if Stacey hadn't vouched for you in the first place!" Patience snapping, the man lunged at Rylie, intending to shove her aside. But Rylie moved first, gripping his wrist and twisting it sharply. "Ah!" A cry of pain erupted from him as he doubled over, hand clutching his now-dislocated arm, disbelief written all over his face. Rylie merely dusted off her hands and shot the group a cold glance. "Aren't you all future doctors? Surely setting a joint isn't beyond your skills." Without wasting another word, she brushed past them, entered the lab through the open doors, and collected her prized compound. While inside, she fed the latest core AI research notes into the shredder, ensuring that her work would not be stolen. Moments later, Rylie stepped back out, vial in hand, just as Timothy stormed into the hallway. One glance at the scene -- a student whimpering, the others shaken -- and Timothy's anger boiled over. He jabbed a finger at Rylie. "You're always scraping by in class, using the lab for naps, and now you're assaulting your own teammates? Do you honestly believe my research team has any need for someone like you? From now on, you're no longer a member of the team! And I--" Growing impatient, Rylie interjected, "Didn't you read my email? I already sent in my resignation." Timothy hesitated, then fumbled for his phone and scanned his inbox. Sure enough, there was Rylie's formal withdrawal. He scoffed, shaking his head as if the idea was ridiculous, "You must be out of your mind, Rylie. Do you know how many students would k**l for a place on my team? Let me make this clear: you don't get to quit -- I'm expelling you. I'll post the official notice on the university website for everyone to see." Timothy had expected her to back down, maybe beg for another chance. But he had clearly misjudged her resolve. Rylie shrugged, tossing out a dismissive, "Whatever," and was halfway out the door when sudden shouts erupted nearby. A frantic voice cut through the noise. "Somebody just collapsed!" Instinct overriding her exit, Rylie pivoted toward the commotion. A small knot of medical students clustered around the person sprawled on the floor. She wasted no time barking instructions. "Give him space -- don't crowd, let some air in." These were all medical students, and certainly, they knew this knowledge. Immediately, they stepped back, forming a loose circle. Dropping to one knee, Rylie sized up the unconscious man. His face, pale but striking, caught her attention for only a second before her hands moved to assess his condition. Her fingers quickly found his trachea -- shifted, not where it should be. She was about to examine his ch**t when Timothy charged onto the scene, voice booming. "Out of the way! Let me through!" Without hesitating, Rylie grabbed her portable medical kit, but Timothy shouted at her, "You have no business treating anyone! You're just an inexperienced student, not a doctor!" Stacey hustled over, siding with Timothy. "Rylie, listen to Professor Powell. If something goes wrong, it's on you. He's the expert here, not you." Chapter 5 Anything But Ordinary Rylie ignored Timothy and Stacey and busied herself with the medical kit. She took out a decompression needle, felt the patient's ch**t, and unbuttoned his shirt to prepare for the procedure. Her calm defiance caught Timothy's eye, prompting him to step directly in her path. "Look at him -- clammy skin, ghostly complexion, and he collapsed in this sweltering heat. This is textbook heatstroke, maybe worsened by heart trouble. The right call is CPR. Bring him back that way!" Stacey didn't waste a moment piling on. "Rylie, for once, just do as Professor Powell says. You nearly k**led Nicolas with the wrong medicine yesterday. If you keep going like this, you'll end up in court!" With Stacey stirring things up, murmurs rippled through the crowd. Hidden among the onlookers, some of Stacey's friends chimed in about Rylie's supposed poor grades, spreading doubt and fanning resentment. At the edge of the crowd, a team from the nearby bio-research institute took notice and started moving closer. Rylie's expression chilled as she seized Timothy's hands, halting his attempt at ch**t compressions. "This man's not drawing a single breath, and his trachea's off-center. He's got a tension pneumothorax. If you start CPR now, you'll just make things worse." Such a challenge to his expertise -- especially in front of his students -- left Timothy red-faced. Yet, several research group members rallied around him, echoing his diagnosis. "Rylie, stop spreading nonsense. Professor Powell's the expert here, not you!" Unfazed, Rylie shook off Timothy's grasp, disinfected her instruments, and replied, "Cold sweats, pallor, collapse -- pneumothorax can look just like heatstroke. But if you bother to check for a shifted trachea or a drum-like ch**t, you'll see the difference. Guess that's lost on a quack." Her sharp words prompted a few medical students to lean in and study the patient themselves, curiosity overtaking their doubt. "It looks like Rylie's diagnosis holds up," one student admitted, and Timothy's expression turned even grimmer. Back straight and voice steady, Timothy retorted, "You're nothing more than a glorified assistant who just files paperwork, yet you think you're an expert? If you can revive him with that needle, the mentor's chair is yours!" Rylie didn't waste another word. She finished sterilizing, deftly inserted the decompression needle, and with a sharp hiss, trapped air rushed out. Color crept back into the patient's face as his breathing returned at once. "She was right all along! He had a pneumothorax!" a student shouted, awe coloring every word. Recognition dawned across the faces in the room as those with medical training pieced together what had just happened -- Timothy's assessment had been mistaken. One student voiced what everyone was thinking. "If Rylie hadn't stood her ground and Professor Powell had pushed on with CPR, we would have had a disaster on our hands." Even so, Timothy scrambled for justification. "Well... you've all misunderstood me. I actually recognized it was pneumothorax all along." In an attempt to salvage his authority, he looked down at Rylie and the group, adding, "My intention was only to test Rylie. She has a reputation for cutting corners, after all." Before she could get a word out, the patient -- still weak, yet now radiating a quiet power -- interrupted from the floor. "Did you risk my life just to prove a point with your student? That hardly qualifies you as a doctor, let alone a teacher." Despite his lingering frailty, this man rose, his commanding presence impossible to ignore. Those striking features, combined with an unmistakable force of will, made Rylie sense that his identity was anything but ordinary. She regarded him calmly and gave a simple instruction. "Save your strength and let the campus hospital run further tests." The man nodded and, with a hoarse voice, said to Timothy, "You should apologize to my savior." When he heard this, Timothy's composure slipped. "Excuse me? What did you just say?" Not missing her chance to gain approval, Stacey chimed in quickly, "Rylie, Professor Powell's intentions were good. He cares about your growth. A kind teacher like him shouldn't have to apologize." A sharp retort cut through the crowd. "And why shouldn't he?" The voice belonged to the dean, who had just arrived with several white-coated physicians in tow. All eyes shifted as the dean hurried to the patient's side, bowing in recognition. "Mr. Owen, we're so sorry for this incident. You shouldn't have had to experience this chaos. Please, let us escort you to our facility for a proper check-up." The name Owen rang out in Rylie's mind. She remembered hearing about the powerful family from Kouhron searching for their lost sibling. The gravity and presence this man carried left her with little doubt -- she was looking at a member of that very family. A team of doctors quickly appeared with a wheelchair, helping Felix Owen settle in. Despite their urgency, Felix stayed put, his presence radiating icy authority as he leveled his gaze. "Offer her an apology," he said, voice sharp as steel. Any harm to an Owen family member on campus would have spelled disaster for the school. Sweat gathered on the dean's brow as he spun toward Timothy, his voice sharp. "You will apologize to Rylie right now! Do you value your position here or not?" Surrounded by witnesses and cornered by the dean's command, Timothy could do nothing but lower his head. "I was wrong, Rylie. I apologize," he said, each word heavy with reluctant humiliation. Anger simmered in Timothy's eyes even as he spoke. His fists clenched, and inwardly, he promised himself that Rylie would pay for this humiliation one day. Packing her vial away, Rylie was just about to leave when Felix stopped her with a call. He pressed a carved wooden token into her hand. "This is an Owen family token -- redeemable for any favor. If you ever run into trouble or need something, just call the number on the back. Whatever you ask, it's yours." The gesture gave Rylie pause. Recognizing its weight, she quietly accepted the token. Once Felix was wheeled off under the dean's watchful eye, murmurs spread among the students nearby. "So that's why there were luxury cars lining the parking lot this morning. Looks like the Owen family really is here, searching for their lost daughter." Shock rippled through the group. "Wait, are you saying their missing daughter is somewhere on campus? Who could it be?" A shrug and a whisper followed, answering, "Nobody knows for sure. I just heard they traced her here." &16&

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They stripped her of everything—her name, her love, her place in the family. But when the truth came out, they realized the “country girl” they cast away owned half the nation’s wealth. ===== Chapter 1 Kicked Out Of Home Nicolas Kirk's hand trembled as he flung the bowl at Rylie Kirk's feet, the crash ringing out across the room. Bl**d stained his lips while fury contorted his face. "How could you do such a thing? What kind of sister would wish harm on her own brother?" he said, his words splintered by a violent cough. "I should've listened to Stacey. She warned me about the poison!" Rylie's expression flickered as she looked down at the ruined medicine, disappointment shadowing her features. "I keep telling you, Nicolas, there's nothing deadly in the medicine. It contains an ingredient that purges the old bl**d, which you need if you ever want to recover," said Rylie. Watching the medicine soak into the carpet, she winced inwardly, knowing how much effort and money she had poured into finding the right remedy for her eldest brother. Stacey Kirk, the adopted daughter of the Kirk family, stood at Nicolas' side, her arms wrapped protectively around the medical text that she always carried. She raised her voice, tears prickling at her eyes. "Please, Rylie, just stop making excuses. Leland ran tests on your concoction, and the results were dangerous. It's full of toxins!" Cold skepticism crossed Rylie's face as she met Stacey's gaze. "You complete f**l," Rylie said. "There isn't a medicine in this world that's entirely safe, especially not for what Nicolas is suffering from. The only way to fight back is with a powerful dose. There's nothing mild that could work on him." Stacey could barely contain her tears, her voice quivering as she pleaded with Rylie, "He's spitting up bl**d right in front of us, and you're still insisting this is the only way? We're just medical students, Rylie, not miracle workers. Don't put your pride above Nicolas' life." Taking a shaky step toward Rylie, Stacey continued, her words thick with emotion, "I found a well-known specialist. He's already written a prescription that might actually save Nicolas. Admit you were wrong and let us try. Please." Nicolas doubled over, hacking up bl**d, and fixed Rylie with a glare that burned with outrage. "It wasn't enough that you fed me that mystery medicine, now you turn on Stacey too? If you had even a fraction of her compassion, things wouldn't have come to this," Nicolas snapped. "Apologize to her, right now!" Rylie straightened her shoulders and faced Nicolas with an unflinching stare. "All I ever wanted was to help you. I have done nothing that warrants an apology. I owe her nothing." Desperation twisted Nicolas' features as he scrambled to his feet, snatching a whip from the wall in a blind rage. "That's it! You're going to push me into an early grave! Why can't you ever listen?" he shouted. "Get out! I don't want you here!" Before the whip could lash out, Rylie shifted away, nimble and unafraid. From the upper landing, someone's measured steps echoed, and a battered backpack landed at her toes. Leland Kirk, her second brother, stood at the base of the stairs. His tone cut through the air. "Let's lay it out plainly. You're just an outsider, and Stacey is our true sibling. We've kept this secret for your sake, hoping you wouldn't resent her, but today, we see just how cruel you can be. If you refuse to admit your mistakes, pack your things. We'll announce Stacey as our one and only sister. Your fortune goes with your name -- you'll have to go back to your birth family and live as they do." Such a threat didn't faze Rylie. Years of living in the Kirk household had worn down her patience. However, the revelation that she was not bound to them by bl**d came almost as a blessing. Her ch**t felt unburdened, lighter than it had in years. There was no need to waste any more of her knowledge or talent on a house that never valued her. The thought had struck her as odd -- she always wondered why she stood out among siblings who never seemed to measure up. "That suits me just fine." Rylie's voice held not a hint of regret. With quick fingers, she snatched up the backpack, plucked a candy from the bowl, and let it dissolve on her tongue as she strode for the door. Left in the hallway, Stacey could not hold back a grin of satisfaction. Five years of plotting had finally paid off. With Rylie gone, she would be the Kirk family's prized daughter, adored and indulged by her brothers. Still, she could not resist a final performance. She darted after Rylie, her voice ringing out. "Rylie! Don't leave like this! You'll always have a place here! Please, don't make me feel like the villain. I'm begging you!" Nicolas interjected sharply, "Enough, Stacey! Let her go. A heart as cold as hers belongs to her own impoverished family. She never deserved this home." A cold laugh escaped Rylie when she overheard him. Was everyone in the Kirk family so easily fooled? Did they genuinely believe that it was sheer luck that had brought Nicolas back to health, gotten him out of bed, and made him able to walk again? Without her hands and her medicine, they'd see soon enough just how far good fortune could take him. Drawing the hood over her head, Rylie let the breeze whip strands of hair across her vivid lips, a flicker of scorn glinting in her eyes. ... Far away, inside the bustling capital city of Kouhron, the imposing Owen Mansion stood as a symbol of influence and wealth. Within that opulent hall, Kendrick Owen struck his ornate cane against the marble floor. "You all promised she'd been located. Why is she still not here?" Arrayed around him stood his three grandsons -- each a commanding presence in his own right, men whose names carried enough weight that even the highest government officials paid their respects. Yet, despite their stature, the shadow of their missing youngest sister dimmed their confidence, and their faces bore deep lines of worry. "Our search stalled in Crolens. According to the latest report, she spent some years in a mountain village, but after being trafficked, her whereabouts vanished from every record." Agony creased Kendrick's expression. "For eighteen years, that child has been gone. Imagine the hardships she's endured in a place like that." "Grandfather, there's been progress. One of the kidnappers came forward and claimed she was later sold to a rich woman in Crolens. We only need a bit more time -- her discovery is within reach." Relief softened Kendrick's features. No trace of irritation remained as he rose from his chair, hope radiating from his gaze. "In that case, let's not delay. I'm coming with you. We'll search together." Chapter 2 Versatile Rylie A heavy backpack slung over her shoulder, Rylie walked out of the Kirk residence without a backward glance, heading directly to the parking lot where her prized, limited-edition motorcycle waited. Years of downplaying her skills and masking her sharpness for the sake of the Kirk family's fragile peace were finally behind her. Freedom now tasted real. Down the city streets, her motorcycle roared, slicing through the afternoon air until she arrived at the imposing entrance of a gated community near a military compound. At the checkpoint, security protocols ran tight as always, but the instant Rylie's motorcycle appeared, the guard broke into a broad smile and opened the gate wide. "Miss Kirk, your visits are always a welcome surprise." With a practiced motion, Rylie flipped up her visor and gave a polite nod. Inside, cherry blossom petals scented the breeze, and several retired officers meandered beneath the blooming trees. Spotting her approach, they made their way over. "Look who's back -- Rylie, I was just about to see you. I've run out of those pills you mixed up for me last time." Her motorcycle came to a halt as she peeled off her helmet, her gentle features drawing nods of approval. "You can swing by the clinic tomorrow. I'll be here all day if you need a refill." Catching sight of another familiar face, she gestured toward an elderly man still sporting a neck brace. "As for you, I've told you before that brace is only making things worse for your neck." An embarrassed grin spread across his face as he removed the brace. "Would you at least allow me to try a few easy exercises?" "Take it slow, and don't do anything reckless," said Rylie, stepping inside an apartment building. Long ago, her connection to this community began unexpectedly. During a visit to the Military General Hospital to buy medicine, she had encountered an elderly man suffering from epilepsy. With a prescription that targeted his condition at the root, she gave him relief that no other doctor had managed. That stranger turned out to be a celebrated, now-retired clinical specialist. Awed by Rylie's abilities, he insisted on calling her his savior and offered her an apartment in the community as thanks. Easy rapport filled the community, and its prime location made life peaceful and convenient. In time, Rylie had come to see this place as the home that she had always needed. As soon as she stepped inside her apartment, lights flickered on and a soft, familiar mechanical voice greeted her. "Welcome home, Rylie. You've been gone for three days. There are two encrypted voicemails waiting, your email inbox has new messages, and your bath is ready." Her backpack landed with a thud on the floor, sending the zipper flying open. A thick bundle of cash spilled out, scattering across the entryway. She stared at the pile of bills, guessing that it must total around ten grand. The sound that escaped her lips was half a chuckle, half a sneer. Was that really all the Kirks thought she was worth, tossing money her way like she was some beggar? "Play my messages," she said. Britton Davies' voice filled the room first, recorded late the previous evening. "Hey, Rylie, registration for the relay's almost up -- two practice runs down already! Are you honestly still clinging to the Kirks? For real? I've been wiping the floor with Phillip these past few days!" A slight arch in her brow gave away her recognition. Phillip Kirk, her third brother, ran one of the most exclusive racing clubs in the world, churning out champions and stacking up prize money. Long nights spent behind the wheel were her secret, pushing his team to one victory after another. Yet each season, as the finals approached, Phillip would swap her out for Stacey, handing over the glory and the gold. Year after year, her skills powered their success, but when the spotlight appeared, Stacey was ushered in for the celebration, leaving Rylie invisible to the crowd. Trophies meant little to her. In those days, protecting her family's ego mattered more. But now... A grin spread across her face as she called Britton. "I want half of the prize money." Whatever disappointment Britton had felt vanished at once. "Done! Phillip's team doesn't scare me. I've mapped out every move they make, but when you're behind the wheel, nobody can keep up. I never lose to him, Rylie -- I always lose to you!" A small laugh escaped Rylie as she let out a soft sigh. "You've noticed it too. Funny how obvious it is, but they still manage to overlook everything I do." Curiosity lit Britton's voice as he switched topics. "By the way, something else came up. There's been chatter on the dark web about the Owen family -- the wealthiest folks in Kouhron. Word is, they're here in Crolens, searching for their missing daughter and throwing around serious money for information. Think we should get involved?" Without hesitation, Rylie answered, "No interest. I have finals coming up, so I'll pass. See you." On Britton's end, confusion crept in. Of all the reasons to bail, exams were the last thing that he would expect from Rylie. As far as he could recall, she never even showed up for tests. The truth was, she was the one who wrote them. Chapter 3 Invitation Rylie moved on to the next voicemail, which turned out to be from Rory Carter, one of the most respected physicians at the Military General Hospital. A note of flattery colored Rory's tone as he spoke. "Rylie, I'm really in a bind. One of my old friend's sons has battled a rare illness for years, and his health is declining again. Those special pills you provided aren't helping him any longer. Is there any chance you could stop by and take a look?" Pulling out her phone, Rylie dialed him back. "I'll come to the clinic after classes tomorrow evening. Tell him to swing by then." Rory cut in with an apologetic sigh, saying, "He's stuck in the VIP wing at the hospital, and strict protocols mean he can't leave." Drumming her fingers on the tabletop, Rylie pressed for details. "Enough stalling, Rory. Who's the patient?" After a pause, Rory's voice dropped to a whisper, saying, "It's Brad Morgan. Yes, the grandson of General Sean Morgan. This isn't just any case -- the Morgans have discreetly reached out to top doctors nationwide. They're offering twenty million dollars to anyone who can cure him." An arched eyebrow was all the reaction Rylie gave. The Morgan family was legendary, led by Sean Morgan, a formidable general. He was a man even the President deferred to. The name Brad Morgan brought back memories -- she remembered reading about him in the news. Only thirty and already hailed as the youngest admiral of his era, his string of military victories made headlines everywhere. That revelation puzzled Rylie. Something could actually bring down a man like Brad? Her next move was to check her encrypted contract inbox, and sure enough, there sat an official invitation from the National Healthcare Department. Working under the codename "Healing Hand" on the dark web, she had built a reputation for tackling medical mysteries, and eventually gathered an elite team of her own. It seemed natural that the government would come looking for her. Keeping her composure, Rylie responded, "I see the message. That reward would tempt anyone. I'll take the case." Meanwhile, word of the Morgan family's urgent call reached the Kirks as well. Leland sprang into action, already strategizing and dialing contacts in hopes of getting their foot in the door. Always just out of reach of the upper society, the Kirk family saw this as their shot. Healing Brad would mean acceptance into the highest social circles at last. Another rumor had set the city abuzz: the wealthiest family in Kouhron landed in Crolens, promising a mind-blowing sum to anyone who could lead them to their missing daughter. People all across town had dropped everything, desperate for a piece of the reward. ... The next day. The shrill ring of her phone yanked Rylie from sleep. She stretched and dragged herself out of bed. On the other end was Timothy Powell -- her research advisor -- barely masking his irritation. "Rylie! I told you to handle the data organization, but you're nowhere in sight. Are you trying to get yourself kicked out of my research group? Stacey was here right at dawn. I expect you here immediately!" She offered no answer, choosing instead to end the call and glance at the clock. The digits read ten o'clock. Her mind flashed back to the previous night. Lost in old medical texts, she'd worked long hours sorting through ancient prescriptions, and now she had overslept, letting Timothy's task slip her mind. A yawn escaped as she flipped open her laptop, sent off a quick email, and hurried to get ready. Backpack in tow, she stepped out the door. Her motorcycle zipped through city streets until she pulled up in front of the university lab. After finding a spot, she strode toward the entrance. She pulled out her pass and swiped it, only to watch the screen blink and flash a denial -- her access had been revoked. At that moment, the lab doors swung open and out came Stacey, flanked by two upperclassmen from the research team. A mocking smile twisted one guy's lips as he spotted her dilemma. "So, Rylie, you think you're special? Turning up late, ditching your work -- looks like you finally pushed Professor Powell too far. Lab access is locked, and your days here are over!" Chapter 4 I'm Expelling You Stacey tugged at the man's sleeve and said with a hint of grievance, "Rylie was late because she was in a bad mood. You should go and plead with Professor Powell on her behalf. If she's kicked out of this project, how will she maintain her reputation at school? No professor would risk taking her on, and she'd never graduate." Even as she spoke, excitement flickered in Stacey's eyes, barely masked by her sympathetic tone. The prospect of Rylie's downfall was almost too delicious to hide. If Rylie really got expelled, surely she would have no choice but to come back pleading. But the scene didn't play out the way Stacey had hoped. Rylie's answer was blunt and left no room for argument. "That's perfect. I never intended to stick around. I'm out of the project. I already sent my withdrawal report to Professor Powell this morning. Tell him to approve it." Her trip here wasn't for the team -- it was to collect her carefully developed Nexo-7 compound, the key ingredient that she had been growing for months for a rare genetic remedy. Stacey's face faltered at that. "You're quitting the group?" Without missing a beat, Rylie nodded and stepped past them, but Stacey's grip shot out, latching onto her wrist. "Please don't let impulse get the better of you, Rylie! We're nearly done with this phase, and the medical competition's coming up. This isn't just about you -- there's a team counting on you! You can't just walk away." The man cast Stacey a critical look. "You shouldn't give her special treatment just because you're related, Stacey." Rylie turned her gaze on Stacey, arching a brow. "Is your concern for me genuine, or is this just another act?" "Absolutely, I am really concerned," Stacey insisted, nodding eagerly. The urge to laugh nearly escaped Rylie, her tone laced with derision. "Be serious. You've seen what your team can do even with my help -- and it's not much. Six months, and you haven't achieved a thing. You're all lost causes, so of course I'm leaving." Everything about the research group's progress came down to Rylie -- her organization, her direction, her experimental designs. Without her, Timothy's grand ambitions in clinical medicine and AI were just wishful thinking. The others fumbled through experiments, never getting close to real breakthroughs. With a dismissive snort, Rylie reached out and tapped Stacey's cheek, her words cold. "Don't fool yourself. You're not family, and I'm not here to babysit incompetence in the lab." A surge of tears filled Stacey's eyes, her voice tight with shock. Ever since Rylie had been shown the door at home, she had turned into someone unrecognizable -- brazen, stubborn, completely unwilling to listen. It drove Stacey mad. "Rylie! Don't flatter yourself -- the research doesn't revolve around you. You wouldn't even be part of this team if Stacey hadn't vouched for you in the first place!" Patience snapping, the man lunged at Rylie, intending to shove her aside. But Rylie moved first, gripping his wrist and twisting it sharply. "Ah!" A cry of pain erupted from him as he doubled over, hand clutching his now-dislocated arm, disbelief written all over his face. Rylie merely dusted off her hands and shot the group a cold glance. "Aren't you all future doctors? Surely setting a joint isn't beyond your skills." Without wasting another word, she brushed past them, entered the lab through the open doors, and collected her prized compound. While inside, she fed the latest core AI research notes into the shredder, ensuring that her work would not be stolen. Moments later, Rylie stepped back out, vial in hand, just as Timothy stormed into the hallway. One glance at the scene -- a student whimpering, the others shaken -- and Timothy's anger boiled over. He jabbed a finger at Rylie. "You're always scraping by in class, using the lab for naps, and now you're assaulting your own teammates? Do you honestly believe my research team has any need for someone like you? From now on, you're no longer a member of the team! And I--" Growing impatient, Rylie interjected, "Didn't you read my email? I already sent in my resignation." Timothy hesitated, then fumbled for his phone and scanned his inbox. Sure enough, there was Rylie's formal withdrawal. He scoffed, shaking his head as if the idea was ridiculous, "You must be out of your mind, Rylie. Do you know how many students would k**l for a place on my team? Let me make this clear: you don't get to quit -- I'm expelling you. I'll post the official notice on the university website for everyone to see." Timothy had expected her to back down, maybe beg for another chance. But he had clearly misjudged her resolve. Rylie shrugged, tossing out a dismissive, "Whatever," and was halfway out the door when sudden shouts erupted nearby. A frantic voice cut through the noise. "Somebody just collapsed!" Instinct overriding her exit, Rylie pivoted toward the commotion. A small knot of medical students clustered around the person sprawled on the floor. She wasted no time barking instructions. "Give him space -- don't crowd, let some air in." These were all medical students, and certainly, they knew this knowledge. Immediately, they stepped back, forming a loose circle. Dropping to one knee, Rylie sized up the unconscious man. His face, pale but striking, caught her attention for only a second before her hands moved to assess his condition. Her fingers quickly found his trachea -- shifted, not where it should be. She was about to examine his ch**t when Timothy charged onto the scene, voice booming. "Out of the way! Let me through!" Without hesitating, Rylie grabbed her portable medical kit, but Timothy shouted at her, "You have no business treating anyone! You're just an inexperienced student, not a doctor!" Stacey hustled over, siding with Timothy. "Rylie, listen to Professor Powell. If something goes wrong, it's on you. He's the expert here, not you." Chapter 5 Anything But Ordinary Rylie ignored Timothy and Stacey and busied herself with the medical kit. She took out a decompression needle, felt the patient's ch**t, and unbuttoned his shirt to prepare for the procedure. Her calm defiance caught Timothy's eye, prompting him to step directly in her path. "Look at him -- clammy skin, ghostly complexion, and he collapsed in this sweltering heat. This is textbook heatstroke, maybe worsened by heart trouble. The right call is CPR. Bring him back that way!" Stacey didn't waste a moment piling on. "Rylie, for once, just do as Professor Powell says. You nearly k**led Nicolas with the wrong medicine yesterday. If you keep going like this, you'll end up in court!" With Stacey stirring things up, murmurs rippled through the crowd. Hidden among the onlookers, some of Stacey's friends chimed in about Rylie's supposed poor grades, spreading doubt and fanning resentment. At the edge of the crowd, a team from the nearby bio-research institute took notice and started moving closer. Rylie's expression chilled as she seized Timothy's hands, halting his attempt at ch**t compressions. "This man's not drawing a single breath, and his trachea's off-center. He's got a tension pneumothorax. If you start CPR now, you'll just make things worse." Such a challenge to his expertise -- especially in front of his students -- left Timothy red-faced. Yet, several research group members rallied around him, echoing his diagnosis. "Rylie, stop spreading nonsense. Professor Powell's the expert here, not you!" Unfazed, Rylie shook off Timothy's grasp, disinfected her instruments, and replied, "Cold sweats, pallor, collapse -- pneumothorax can look just like heatstroke. But if you bother to check for a shifted trachea or a drum-like ch**t, you'll see the difference. Guess that's lost on a quack." Her sharp words prompted a few medical students to lean in and study the patient themselves, curiosity overtaking their doubt. "It looks like Rylie's diagnosis holds up," one student admitted, and Timothy's expression turned even grimmer. Back straight and voice steady, Timothy retorted, "You're nothing more than a glorified assistant who just files paperwork, yet you think you're an expert? If you can revive him with that needle, the mentor's chair is yours!" Rylie didn't waste another word. She finished sterilizing, deftly inserted the decompression needle, and with a sharp hiss, trapped air rushed out. Color crept back into the patient's face as his breathing returned at once. "She was right all along! He had a pneumothorax!" a student shouted, awe coloring every word. Recognition dawned across the faces in the room as those with medical training pieced together what had just happened -- Timothy's assessment had been mistaken. One student voiced what everyone was thinking. "If Rylie hadn't stood her ground and Professor Powell had pushed on with CPR, we would have had a disaster on our hands." Even so, Timothy scrambled for justification. "Well... you've all misunderstood me. I actually recognized it was pneumothorax all along." In an attempt to salvage his authority, he looked down at Rylie and the group, adding, "My intention was only to test Rylie. She has a reputation for cutting corners, after all." Before she could get a word out, the patient -- still weak, yet now radiating a quiet power -- interrupted from the floor. "Did you risk my life just to prove a point with your student? That hardly qualifies you as a doctor, let alone a teacher." Despite his lingering frailty, this man rose, his commanding presence impossible to ignore. Those striking features, combined with an unmistakable force of will, made Rylie sense that his identity was anything but ordinary. She regarded him calmly and gave a simple instruction. "Save your strength and let the campus hospital run further tests." The man nodded and, with a hoarse voice, said to Timothy, "You should apologize to my savior." When he heard this, Timothy's composure slipped. "Excuse me? What did you just say?" Not missing her chance to gain approval, Stacey chimed in quickly, "Rylie, Professor Powell's intentions were good. He cares about your growth. A kind teacher like him shouldn't have to apologize." A sharp retort cut through the crowd. "And why shouldn't he?" The voice belonged to the dean, who had just arrived with several white-coated physicians in tow. All eyes shifted as the dean hurried to the patient's side, bowing in recognition. "Mr. Owen, we're so sorry for this incident. You shouldn't have had to experience this chaos. Please, let us escort you to our facility for a proper check-up." The name Owen rang out in Rylie's mind. She remembered hearing about the powerful family from Kouhron searching for their lost sibling. The gravity and presence this man carried left her with little doubt -- she was looking at a member of that very family. A team of doctors quickly appeared with a wheelchair, helping Felix Owen settle in. Despite their urgency, Felix stayed put, his presence radiating icy authority as he leveled his gaze. "Offer her an apology," he said, voice sharp as steel. Any harm to an Owen family member on campus would have spelled disaster for the school. Sweat gathered on the dean's brow as he spun toward Timothy, his voice sharp. "You will apologize to Rylie right now! Do you value your position here or not?" Surrounded by witnesses and cornered by the dean's command, Timothy could do nothing but lower his head. "I was wrong, Rylie. I apologize," he said, each word heavy with reluctant humiliation. Anger simmered in Timothy's eyes even as he spoke. His fists clenched, and inwardly, he promised himself that Rylie would pay for this humiliation one day. Packing her vial away, Rylie was just about to leave when Felix stopped her with a call. He pressed a carved wooden token into her hand. "This is an Owen family token -- redeemable for any favor. If you ever run into trouble or need something, just call the number on the back. Whatever you ask, it's yours." The gesture gave Rylie pause. Recognizing its weight, she quietly accepted the token. Once Felix was wheeled off under the dean's watchful eye, murmurs spread among the students nearby. "So that's why there were luxury cars lining the parking lot this morning. Looks like the Owen family really is here, searching for their lost daughter." Shock rippled through the group. "Wait, are you saying their missing daughter is somewhere on campus? Who could it be?" A shrug and a whisper followed, answering, "Nobody knows for sure. I just heard they traced her here." &16&

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