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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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“No more running, Sweets.” THEY FOUND ME. Kylian. Ozias. Chayton. Evander. Tae. The five demon riders I spent nine years trying to escape. Pinned to the mattress, I clench my thighs. Kylian shoves them apart. “We’ll take turns reminding you who you belong to.” ****** Blythe's P.O.V. ******************************************************* ~ Flashback, age 13 ~ ******************************************************* "Come on, you promised you'd sit with me while Tae finished our project," Ozias whined as he tried to drag me to the computer lab. "I know, but Evander just asked me if I could meet him in the library really quickly," I said, trying not to laugh at the pout on Ozias' face. "I'll only be a minute." "Oh, please, Evander is going to keep you the whole time," Ozias sulked. "I won't let him," I replied, but he wasn't convinced. "What if I just go with you?" he suggested, shrugging his shoulders. "That would leave Tae all alone, and you know I hate that," I said. "You only hate it because he hacks into your socials every time you give us more attention than him," Ozias teased. "Yeah, and last time, he posted a ton of embarrassing pictures of me," I replied with a laugh. "The double chins... I was so hideous." Ozias laughed as he reached up to cup the side of my face, brushing his thumb across my chin. My laughter died down as he stared at me. Electricity was crackling between us, and I held my breath, unsure of what to do. I don't want to pull away, but I'm also a little bit scared. "Double chins... Hideous," Ozias scoffed softly. "Would it make you feel better to know that I done things to those pictures?" My face flamed as embarrassment coiled in my belly. "W-what?" I stuttered. Ozias, as usual, wasn't phased in the slightest. "It was real, it was raw, it was unfiltered you," he replied. "And nothing gets me going more than you, Sweets. At any angle." He's joking, right? He has to be. We've been friends our whole lives pretty much. Ever since the first day of fourth grade. Ozias had stood up for me when some boys were pushing me around on the playground. I had been at school for a few days and couldn't seem to make any friends. We moved in the middle of the school year and everyone pretty much had their friend groups already. I never seemed to fit in. That day was the first day anyone was nice to me. Ozias and his friends had been on an extended weekend vacation, so it was the first day I had met any of them. Even as kids, they were all very protective of me. That day, Ozias had threatened the boys who were pushing me, and then took me inside to meet his friends. The six of us have been practically inseparable ever since. That being said, this charming attitude that Ozias has isn't new. Ever since we were old enough to know what se.x is, he's made comments similar to this. However, this is the boldest thing he's ever said to me. I blame the fact that they were all raised in a motorcycle club. The Inferno's Demon Riders MC. The demons are great, don't get me wrong. I've spent so much time in the clubhouse that it's like a second home to me. I know that they party and party hard. I also know that they make sure I don't see everything that happens there either. "Did I break you?" Ozais teased me when I just stood there with my mouth open like a mor.on. "Break her? That's my job, isn't it?" I groaned at the sound of that voice. I didn't even get the chance to turn around, or plan an escape before Chayton slung his long arm around my shoulders. Ozias smiled at our friend before they fist bumped. "You'd never break Bly and you know it," Ozais told him, shooting me a wink. "You have no idea how much I want to," Chayton muttered. I looked up at him with a frown. Chayton is just a big bully. He's rude as , but he has a big heart under it all. He's just a big ol' sassy pants. But he's so dang tall and buff, you'd never guess he was kind. You just have to dig for it. "Anyway," Chayton continued without looking at me. "What are you guys doing?" "Well, Peaches here thinks she's going to meet Evander all alone in the library," Ozias told him. "I told her that I should come with." "Oh, definitely," Chayton said, spinning us around in the direction of the library. "Let's all go have a little bit of fun." Ozias was on my other side within seconds. He was so close that his fingers brushed against my hand. I looked at him and he winked at me. My face flushed with heat and I quickly looked away. "So," Ozias said. "Want to come to the clubhouse-" *********************************************** ~ Present, age 25 ~ *********************************************** Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! My alarm clock going off pulled me from my dream. Or my memory, I should say. I groaned as I reached out to slap it, making it stop. I rolled over in my bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking about that dream. It's been years since I've even seen them. Almost ten whole years. Why do I keep dreaming about them? Probably because my time with those five were the only times in my life that I was happy, that I felt safe. Still, I wish it would stop. I hate having to be reminded of everything I lost every time I try to sleep. The good memories hurt just as much as the bad ones now. Although I would rather dream about them then- I shook my head, clearing the thoughts from my mind. I'm not going down that road first thing in the morning. Or ever, if I can help it. Slowly, I dragged myself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. My apartment is tiny, but it's just me. Well, me and Butter, my black cat that I saved about a year ago. Found him outside the diner I work at, licking a stick of butter that didn't quite make it into the dumpster. Hence, the name Butter. He was wounded, scared, and only a kitten when I found him. We've been together ever since, and he is my dearest and only friend. I talk to the girls at the diner, and we're friendly, except Abby, but... After everything I went through with my first set of friends, and everything after... I can't bring myself to trust anyone. Understandably so, but it's lonely. Lonely or not, at least I'm free now. I sighed as I looked at myself in the mirror. I look like I barely slept. I was crying in my sleep again, so my eyes are a bit puffy. I can't believe I was crying over a memory like that. I guess it wasn't that. Not for the 13-year-old Blythe. The one that thought those five hung the stars in the sky. That day was the day that we all found out Ozias was moving. The party he was trying to invite me to at the clubhouse was his family's going-away party. Ozias didn't even know himself until that night. Honestly, Ozias is the only one of them that I don't actually harbor any hard feelings for. Other than his lack of communication when he moved, he never did anything to me. Ozias never bullied me, he was never mean to me, and he always knew how to make me smile. I wonder if the reason he never wrote me a letter, or texted, or even added me on any of my socials was because of the others. Or maybe he just outgrew me and forgot about me. I don't blame him. We were kids and he didn't know. Or maybe he did know and just didn't care. Ozias' family was deep in the MC. His father was part of the club and owned a gym in town. The whole reason they moved was because The Inferno's Demon Riders opened a new chapter. It was right in the heart of whatever state was the biggest MMA scene. Ozias' dad jumped at the opportunity. I remember how the six of us spent that party. We were all sad, devastated really. We tucked ourselves in Kylian's room for the entire night. We reminisced. We promised to never lose contact. We cried and laughed and... And it all turned out to be a lie anyway. It doesn't matter anymore. We were just kids, and I was foolish for thinking that we would remain the way we were forever. My mom picked me up from the clubhouse the next day. It was something she had been doing for the last few years. I never questioned it because I was just happy that she would let me stay the night. After she announced her engagement though, I realized that I had been overlooking a lot. Like the small, lingering glances they made. The way that Tusk would always make sure he was near us in some way. The way that he would already be talking to my mom when I came down the hall. How comfortable she seemed to be there. Tusk was a great guy. He was the club's enforcer, and he was always kind to me. That didn't change when he married my mom either. No, it was other people that changed. Like his son and his son's friends. I thought that living with one of my best friends was going to be the coolest. It was anything but. My whole life changed after that. That's what happens when people around you start scheming. I rolled my eyes at my reflection before jumping into the shower, the water as hot as it could go. I need to stop thinking about them. All of them. The MC, my mom, the guys. They're all in my past. I'm moving forward now. Moving past it all. Past the MC. Past my fake friends. Past my delusional mother. And most importantly... Past my abusive husband and the scars he left me. Blythe's P.O.V. ******************************************************* "Hey, you're here a bit early for your shift," Mary said as I walked around the counter to clock in. "Jason asked me to before I left last night," I told her. "But... you worked a double yesterday... and closed..." Mary said, putting the pieces together. And here it comes. "Bly, you worked until past 1 in the morning, and you're back already?" The way she said it was accusing, like I was the one that asked for this shift. Great, so she knows that it took me forever to close last night because I had to do everything alone. Jason was supposed to help, but spent the whole night shooting the sh.it with the cook who was also supposed to be helping. I'm not even sure how long they ended up staying. Of course, Mary knows all of this already. "I was asked to come in early today. I said yes, Mary," I replied. "It's no big deal." "No big deal?" She asked incredulously. "Bly, it's only seven in the morning right now. You have to close again tonight-" "Mary, please," I cut her off as I turned to face her. "I know you're worried, but I'm fine, okay? I got bills to pay. That's all." Which was a total lie. I need this job. Not because it pays well, or because the diner is just doing so well that I make incredible tips. Because those would both be lies. It's because Jason pays me under the table and doesn't ask questions. Plus, I need a job that I can make cash at every day. Just in case I need to run again. "You're going to burn out though, and then what?" Mary muttered under her breath. I let it go, mostly because we had tables to look after. I know that even if Mary knew that she'd be short-staffed today, she would have told me to stay home and sleep. I doubt that Mary could handle waiting tables, bussing tables, and taking food and drinks out all by herself though. It's hard enough with just the two of us. Thankfully, the morning kept me busy enough that I remained wide awake. I was used to not sleeping much anyway. It also made time fly by and, before we knew it, we were in our less busy time of day. I was busy preparing silverware and marrying the ketchups when Mary stood next to me, leaning on the counter. "I cannot believe that it's already almost eight o'clock," she said. I whipped my head at the clock hanging on the way and then looked at Mary. "You were out at four," I said, frowning. "Where is Abby? She was supposed to take over for you." Mary shrugged as she started helping me. "Guess she called in to say she was going to be late or something," she replied. "Jason asked me to stay until she got here. He said he had to run to go get her because of car trouble." I rolled my eyes. Right. Car trouble. Couldn't possibly have anything to do with the fact that she and Jason are fu.cking on the side. You see, Jason is actually a married man. Not happily, which is understandable because his wife is a mega-cu.nt, but still. Jason's wife, Lora, will come in here at least once a week. She always has something rude to say, she degrades the place and all of us workers, and then she and Jason spend at least two hours fighting in his office. I try to stay out of it, but I often wonder why they're even together still. Regardless of their reasons or anything else, Jason cheats a lot. Abby is not the only one, but she is the only one who works here. And not for lack of trying either. I guess Mary and I just have standards. All the kitchen cooks are men, and I guess Jason doesn't swing that way. However, this means that Abby gets everything she wants and Mary and I have to suffer for it. We're already short-staffed because Jason keeps scaring off the waitresses. Apparently, Mary and I were just built to handle a lot. Still, I have no idea how the man hasn't been sued for se.xual harassment. If only I wasn't so afraid to be found. "Do you think that Abby's boyfriend knows that she has something with her boss?" Mary asked me, genuinely curious. I snorted. I love Mary. If I were a more trusting person, I think we could be really good friends. She's funny and bubbly and tends to be a lot of fun when we work together. She's tried to get me to hang out several times, but... I just can't. "I didn't know Abby had a boyfriend," I replied. "I thought she had multiple, and they all knew about each other." Mary let out a burst of laughter. Luckily, we only had one customer at the moment, who happened to be Silent Jay. He's an elderly, grumpy man who glares at us while he takes two hours to drink his cup of coffee and eats his dinner, and then he leaves. And with barely a tip, I might add. "Gosh, you're too much," Mary teased me, gently pushing my arm as she snorted. I only smiled and kept doing my job. I'm glad I made Mary laugh, but I was actually being serious. I've seen a few different guys come in and claim to be her boyfriend. Maybe because I work more shifts with Abby than Mary does. "Anyway, her boyfriend that I know about is a guy from the motorcycle gang in the next town over," Mary continued. I froze. There's a motorcycle club near here? I've never seen any club members around before. Though, I just work and go to the grocery store, so maybe I just never saw them? The fact that I'm so close to some random MC scares me a little. Just a little though. Despite how shi.tty my supposed friends ended up being, the club was always a safe place for me. Until it wasn't, but that was my sh.itty friends and my even shi.ttier stepsister, Everly. I never blamed the club though. The older guys were like father figures to me. After Tusk became my stepdad, they were like uncles. They were never mean or rude to me and always treated me like family. That was probably just because of my mom though. Nobody actually wanted me around. I figured that out the hard way. Anyway, being close to an MC shouldn't be a big deal. They obviously never come in here, and why would they? As long as they aren't affiliated with The Inferno's Demon Riders, then all should be fine. Even if they were, the only worry I'd really have is word getting back to my father and husband about my whereabouts. Just like last time. Whatever, I doubt that anyone would even recognize me. Right? I mean, I haven't seen the majority of them in nine years. The last time I was there, I only saw Evander. That was still eight years ago. "The guy came in here the other night, and he was fine as girl," Mary continued. I tried to keep up with all her gushing about how such a hot guy could be with an STD-riddled ska.nk like Abby. It was difficult though. My mind kept wandering towards the past, reminding me of the good ol' days. Or were they good? I thought so at the time. Those memories used to be the safe place I'd escape to when things got bad at Silent Divine. Then I came to learn the truth though. The cold, hard, ugly truth. None of them wanted me. Not my mom, not Kylian, not Tae, not Evander, definitely not Chayton. I wonder if Ozias ever even truly liked me. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if they were all told to befriend me and be nice to me. At least at some point they were told that. Probably when my mom started seeing Tusk behind our backs. Tusk wouldn't want to upset his ol' lady. Maybe I was always just a nuisance to everyone. "I told you to stay away from me for a while." "God, you're always in the fu.cking way, Shorty." "What are you doing here, Spark? We told you to stay out of the clubhouse." "Maybe you should take the hint, Dimples. No one wants you here." "Bly, are you listening to me?" Mary asked, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. I blinked away the wetness filling my eyes and plastered a smile on my face. "Sorry, zoned out a bit," I mumbled. "Understandable," she replied. "You're probably dog-tired." Of life, yes. "Anyway, I was saying that we should go out tomorrow night after work," Mary said. "We close together again. Let's go get a drink after." "I don't know, Mary," I mumbled. "Oh, come on! Please?" She asked, pouting at me. "Just a couple of drinks?" "I'll think about it," I replied. Mary squealed like I had told her yes instead of maybe. Perhaps she took it as a yes, since I always say no, no matter what. I could probably go out for one night. I can handle that. Everything will be fine. No one knows me here. What's the worst that could happen? Blythe's P.O.V. ******************************************************* "It's Friday night, are they seriously going to stay locked in the office all night instead of helping?" Mary asked angrily. Steven, the only cook on for tonight, and I shared a look through the small widow we set food down to stay heated. "You know he love gettin' his di.ck wet, girl, let a playa play," he told Mary. I shook my head at him because I knew what was coming next. "Let a playa play?" Mary asked in a cold tone with her eyes narrowed, plates stacked in her arms. "That playa can play when his business isn't crumbling because he has no workers!" With that, Mary stormed off, flipping her hair as she did so. "Why'd you have to rile her up?" I asked as I started grabbing plates for one of my tables. "She's already angry as it is." Steven laughed. "Come on, that girl is too fun to not rile up," he said before going back to fulfilling the orders. Tonight is one of the busiest Fridays we've had in a while. The diner always gets busy in spurts. Busy enough to keep us employed and the place open, but tonight is different. The place is packed. I wonder if there's some kind of event happening in town tonight that drew in a crowd, but I don't know what that could possibly be. I mean, this is Gering, Nebraska. Nothing ever happens here. That was why I settled in this place. I spent the first two and a half years of my freedom bouncing around from town to town. I was too afraid to stay in one place for more than three months. The longer I did that though, the harder it got. Eventually, three months turned into four, then five, then six. When I came across this little town, I found myself liking it more and more. So, I decided to stay. They'll never find me here. Besides, I'm ready to run at a moment's notice. I have everything covered. ****************************************** The night was passing by in a blur. The diner stayed packed the entire time. Abby was in and out of Jason's office. I'm starting to wonder if the man has a se.x addiction. It would explain a lot. However, I'm growing more and more frustrated. I've had to stop Mary from interrupting them several times. If she does, she might get fired, and I don't know if this job is worth it without her. Still, it's getting old. Does Jason not care about his business at least? I was behind the counter wrapping up utensils and muttering under my breath about how much bullsh.it this was. The diner had cleared out some, but not enough for us to have a break. It's well after 7 o'clock now too. The diner closes at 11 p.m. Only four more hours to go. "Excuse me." I looked up at the polite, deep voice that was trying to get my connection. The first thing I noticed was his megawatt smile and then his bright blue eyes. The guy looked to be around my age and was leaning on the counter. His golden blonde hair was hanging down to his shoulders in a se.xy rugged kind of way. He was extremely attractive, and for a moment, I forgot how my mouth worked. "Uh..." I mumbled lamely. The guy smirked at me. "Sorry to bother you while you're so busy," he said politely. "Came in here and sat in my girl's section, but I ain't seen her. She's here, right? I didn't get her schedule wrong? Her name is Abby." My eyebrows shot up at that. No wonder why Mary was so shocked. Abby isn't an ugly girl by any means, but this man is a god. What is he doing with someone like Abby? As if my brain was working in slow motion, another thought dawned on me. Mary also said he was part of an MC. For the first time, I noticed the cut he was wearing. The Devils MC with their logo on it. Right next to that is a patch that says: Treasurer. "I'm not here to cause trouble," he said quickly, noticing me staring at his cut. I shrugged and looked back down at what I was doing. "Didn't think you were," I replied. "Hmm," he hummed thoughtfully. I was too afraid to look at his face in fear that he might see something in me. Like that, I was familiar with his world. I don't remember anyone ever saying anything about The Devils, but I don't want to get involved with bikers. Or anyone for that matter. "So... my girl?" he asked after a silent moment. Before I could reply, Mary came stomping up next to me. "Are you trying to pay? Most customers let us do the walking," she joked. "Ah, no, haven't ordered yet actually," he replied. "Right, because you're sitting in Abby's section," she grumbled under her breath, but it was apparently loud enough for him to hear. "So she is here!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands out before resting them on the counter. "Where is she? She on break or something?" Mary stared at him like he was some kind of puzzle she was trying to solve. I know that she recognizes him as Abby's boyfriend. I tried to mind my own business, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't love what was happening. Mary is about to blow a gasket, and as much as I hate to see her so worked up, I love it at the same time. "Oh, you want me to take you to her?" Mary asked sweetly. Wait, what? "Mary," I scolded her quietly. Mary met my eyes, but hers were full of defiance. She wasn't going to listen to me. Bad idea or not, when Mary was fed up with something, she was fed up. And tonight, I kind of agreed with her. "He deserves to know anyway," she whispered to me. I looked back at the guy who was still watching us. He clearly heard everything, but that smile was still on his face. He seems so upbeat and... nice. "Why are you even with her?" I blurted before I could stop myself. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline and his eyes hardened. "What's that supposed to mean? 'Cause she's a waitress, and I'm a biker? You think she works too hard for me, or that I'll bring her down or something?" he spat. "Don't be jealous, sweetheart. It's not a good look." Now it was my turn to be surprised. "Jealous!?" Mary practically screamed, more offended than I was. Before he could reply, I busted out in laughter. It started as a sputtering of noises until I was bent over holding my belly. I couldn't help it, and it had been so long since I laughed like that. "It wasn't that fu.cking funny," the guy muttered. "Actually, it was," Mary replied. "Because jealous is the last thing we are of Abby." Just then, the door to Jason's office opened. We heard Abby giggling, followed by hushed tones. Speak of the devil and she shall appear. From this spot, the biker guy has a clear view of whatever is happening. My back is to them, but based off of past experiences, they're probably all over each other still. The way the biker just tensed tells me that's most likely what's happening. His jaw is ticking, and he looks moments away from storming back there. "I can give you his home address if you want," Mary said excitedly. "He has a wife." "Nah, fu.ck that sh.it. That bit.ch ain't worth it," he grumbled. "Okay, but can you make a scene or something?" Mary whined. "This is the highlight of our night." The guy looked at Mary like she was insane as she gave him her best puppy-dog-eyes. He looked between the two of us like we were crazy, but didn't comment if that's what he thought. "Sorry that I made assumptions," he said. "Shouldn't have done that." "It's fine, I get it," I replied, waving him off. "So, anyway," Mary said, drawing the attention back to herself. "For starters, I feel obligated to let you know that you are one fine specimen of a man, and you can do way better than a ska.nk like Abby." The biker ran his hand threw his hair, looking past us. "I liked that she was going to school and working her a.ss off," he mumbled. "Thought she was real, ya know? I mean, how many chicks do you know that are fun to be around and smart? She's going to school to be a children's therapist. She takes care of her grandmother, who raised her. I thought she was sweet and kind." Mary and I blinked at him. He furrowed his brow, clearly confused by our reaction, or lack there of. Well, it was lacking until Mary spun around with more fury in her eyes than I'd ever seen before. "You psychotic bit.ch!" Mary screamed, causing the entire place to go silent. I tried my best not to laugh as I watched Mary storm up to Abby, who finally noticed that her se.xy biker boyfriend was watching. "You're going around pretending to be to snatch up hot biker guys!" Mary continued to scream. "You've crossed the line! I don't care what lies you make up to your freaking harem of men, but leave me out of it! And how is that even fair!? You literally stole my life and landed the hottest guy I have ever seen, and I can't even get a text back! I can't take it anymore!" "Her life?" The biker asked me, leaning on the counter as his eyes roamed over Mary. I smiled because I knew what that look meant. "Yeah," I replied. "Mary is the one going to school and working and taking care of her grandmother. I don't know Abby's situation, but I can tell you that she doesn't work very hard or very often." "But Mary...?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Well," I said with a smile. "Why don't you ask her yourself?" "You think she really thinks I'm the hottest guy she's ever seen?" he asked. I busted out a laugh. "Better schedule that STD screening," I told him. "Fu.ck, I'll get one tomorrow." Blythe's P.O.V. ******************************************************* "I can't believe all of that just happened," Mary said as we walked out of the back door of the diner. She still has that dazed look on her face. I don't blame her. I think we both thought she was about to be fired. I was already forming a speech about how I would quit if Jason really fired Mary. I knew he wouldn't take Abby over the two of us. He can always hire another bimbo willing to spread her legs for him. Jason was going to argue with Mary for a hot minute, until he saw the intimidating biker watching the scene. Abby tried to play the victim, but Biker Guy wasn't having it. He made it very clear that the diner would be on The Devils MC's sh.it list if he fired Mary or kept Abby working there. Abby threw a huge fit when Jason told her to leave. It was actually hilarious. Until Biker Guy had to take Abby outside himself so she'd chill out. Mary wasn't too thrilled about that, but she didn't say anything. Thankfully, the biker came right back in after sending Abby on her way. He said he was staying with his small group of friends and asked Mary to be their server. After they left, she came rushing up to me to tell me that he had asked for her number and apparently wanted to take her on a date. "Do you really think he's going to go get checked tomorrow?" She asked as we walked down the street. It's such a nice fall night out. Not too hot or cold. The sky is clear, and the stars are out. It reminded me of the days that I used to lay on the roof of my home and pick out the constellations with Kylian. He knew every constellation. It was impressive for an 11-year-old. "I hope so," I replied. "Really?" She asked nervously. "You don't think this is... Well, silly?" "Silly?" I asked, scrunching my face up. "Well, I mean, he just caught his girlfriend cheating," she said. "The girl that we hate and know spreads her legs for everyone. Is it crazy that I'd be willing to date him after all that?" I shrugged as we kept walking. "Dunno," I replied honestly. "I don't think it's fair to call it crazy. If it feels right, then go for it. It was a crazy situation, but... clearly the person he thought Abby was... was you." "I mean... it's kind of nerve-racking," she admitted. "Take things slow then," I offered. "Being involved with someone in an MC can get kind of wild too, so you should think about that. About if you can handle it and want in that life. Some of these MCs are nuts. They don't treat women well. Your guy seemed different, but just be careful." Mary was silent for a moment. "You say that like you know from experience," she commented. I only shrugged. "That what you're running from?" she asked. I stopped dead in my tracks. Mary took a couple of steps before stopping and turning to face me. She had her hands in the pockets of her jacket as she watched me with a small smile. "You don't have to tell me anything," she said softly. "I..." I trailed off, unsure of what else to say. "Hey, it's okay. I shouldn't have pried." Mary said, waving me off before coming over to loop her arm through mine. "Let's go get those drinks!" Mary chatted my ear off the whole way to the bar. It was almost a 20-minute walk for us after just working the busy shift of our lives. I was thankful that Mary kept the conversation going though. I was too drained to. By the time we reached the bar, it was pretty packed. There was still room around the bar to sit though. Mary and I took two seats and shrugged our jackets off. I glanced around, taking in the scene. It's a hole-in-the-wall kind of place. My favorite. It reminds me a little of the demon's clubhouse. "So, I can't believe I talked you into coming out," Mary said. "Sorry, I'm a bit of a loner," I replied with a half smile. The bartender slid us our drinks. After a little while, I started to loosen up. Maybe it was the couple of drinks, or maybe I was just letting go. I leaned back in my chair and pulled the hair tie from my hair. My long, thick, black waves cascaded around me, falling down past my waist. Mary gasped as her eyes went wide. "Holy sh.it, I didn't know you had all that hair!" She exclaimed. I shrugged, but Mary wanted to go on and on about it. Honestly, I hated it. That was why I always wore it in a messy bun on the top of my head. I thought about cutting it so many times over the years, but there were two voices arguing in my head about it, stopping me from ever making a decision. "I love your hair. Never cut it. It's so beautiful and long. Promise me you'll never change it." "You'd look better if you cut your hair to your shoulders. You know that's the trend these days. It'll be easier to handle too. I think you'd look hot. Think about it." Mary's loud gasp pulled me from my thoughts. I looked at her to see she was looking down at her phone. She looked up at me with a face-splitting grin. "Look! He already texted me!" She squealed before shoving her phone in my face. "Good for you," I replied. "I hope he turns out to be everything you want." And I truly meant that. ******************************************* "Blythe, I need you to do this!" "Blythe, take out the trash!" "Blythe, we need more coffee made!" "Blythe, I need you to help cook in between tables!" "Blythe, table three needs more coffee!" "Blythe, I need-" "Jason!" I snapped before biting my tongue and trying again. "Jason, I am only one person. I can't do everything." Jason's eyes narrowed at me. "No, but you can bust your a.ss and try," he said. "Considering it was your fault that I had to fire Abby." "My fault?!" I asked incredulously. "Yours and Mary's," he replied, nodding. The audacity! "Maybe if you stopped fu.cking your employees, or trying to, you'd be able to hold onto more of them, and we wouldn't have this problem in the first place!" I hissed at him. "Firing Abby was your own fault. You shouldn't sh.it where you eat to start off with, and blaming two women because you were too afraid to stand up to the big, bad biker makes you look even more like a pansy. Regardless, that girl never worked anyway. Firing her was a blessing in disguise, and unless you want to be running this show all on your own, I suggest you cut me some fu.cking slack. And if you're still hellbent on blaming someone, I just cleaned the mirror in the men's bathroom." With that, I picked up the coffee pot and made my rounds. I've never talked back like that to Jason in the almost two years that I've worked here, but god. I had a headache from drinking last night. I barely got any sleep, and Jason is driving me up a wall! I deserve to snap every now and then. Thankfully, the morning flew by after that. The diner calmed down enough that being on my own wasn't bad. Just before our lunch rush, Mary came in for her shift. I was making more coffee and getting set up when she came to join me. We heard the bell ding, signaling that someone had just walked in. "Oof, they sat at your table, but Shadow is with them," Mary mumbled. "What's with all the bikers lately? Is there a convention?" I smiled at her joke. It's probably more of her boyfriend's friends. I saw the look in his eyes last night. Mary is officially his, and bikers take that sh.it seriously. "I'll take them some coffee," I said as I picked up the half-full pot. I spun around and walked around the counter. I hadn't made it that far when I had finally looked up. I froze mid-step. I recognize a couple of those faces. I recognize those cuts. I recognize that logo; the black demon with blood-red wings surrounded by flames, riding a motorcycle. My heart started beating wildly in my chest. I needed to calm down, and think this through. Okay, I recognize them, but they're nobody I was close to. Just older kids who I had seen in passing. Ones that knew my friends, but didn't really know me. It'll be fine. I'll just have Mary take their table. They won't even notice me. She'll be happy about it. I spun around on my heels just as the bell on the door dinged again. Either I have unfortunate timing, or the universe hates me, because what I came face-to-face with had me trembling with nerves. The urge to run was nearly unbearable, but my feet felt nailed to the floor. We were staring at each other. He sees me. His green eyes are on me. My god, he looks the same, but different. More muscles, stronger jaw, crooked nose. His dark brown hair is still short and styled like he ran his hands through it and called it good. He looks like the last time I saw him, but aged. Aged in the best way. Kylian Clyde MacQuoid. I held my breath. My knuckles went white with how hard I was gripping the coffee pot. I had no idea what to do. It's been so long since I've seen them. Is he here because he was looking for me? Is he going to take me back? Are they working with my father and husband? Just when I thought I was going to pass out... Kylian walked right past me. Like he didn't recognize me. Like he didn't know who I was at all. And that hurt worse than I expected it to.

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"Me encantan estos ejercicios. Voy a comenzar a hacerlos durante la hora de almuerzo en la oficina. Me encanta que puedes hacerlos en cualquier lugar con poco tiempo y espacio."- Ian A. "Primero, quiero decir que amo esta app. En serio me ha guiado sobre cómo comenzar en el gimnasio y también me encantan los ejercicios en casa." - carollee227 "¡Esta app es genial y creo que la van a usar millones de personas un montón! ¡Buen trabajo creando una herramienta tan útil!"- Derek84 "Quiero comenzar diciendo que me encanta la app y que realmente me ha ayudado a alcanzar mis metas de condición física." - cedricjb14

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"Is your father... still on the way?" Under Ms. Gable's sympathetic gaze, Lucy sat up straight. Her small hand unconsciously tightened around the edge of the table. "Yes. He'll come." She lifted her face, her voice clear and steady. "I believe he will." Ms. Gable looked away awkwardly. We both knew that last year, at the same science fair, Lucy had said the same thing. And her father, Ethan, never arrived before the gym lights were turned off. At 6:15 p.m., most of the crowd had already left the gym. Other children had long been gathered by their parents, taken across the street for ice cream to celebrate. Only Lucy was still sitting in the last row of folding chairs. In front of her stood a volcano model she had spent three full weeks making, along with a first-place certificate. Every time the door opened with a creak, her eyes lit up instantly. Then, after recognizing who had come in, that light quietly faded again. Until the janitor started turning off the lights one by one, Ethan never made it through that door. On the drive home, the car felt as if all the air had been drained out of it. My phone suddenly vibrated, breaking the silence. Ethan's name flashed on the screen. I pressed the steering wheel control to answer. His voice came through the car speakers, carrying a familiar, matter-of-fact exhaustion. "Claire, listen. Noah has a last-minute playoff game in his youth baseball league. I need to be there for him. I'm not going to make it to the science fair tonight. Just take a few photos and send them to me." He didn't even pause to ask whether Lucy's project had won. I glanced at my daughter in the back seat through the rearview mirror. She was looking down, quietly unzipping her backpack and folding her first-place certificate, then slipping it into the deepest compartment. When we got home that night, I sat on the living room floor and helped Lucy clean dried paint residue out of her backpack while she slept. When I opened the outer zipper, my hand stopped. Inside was a pair of black binoculars. On the strap hung a cartoon luggage tag from a spring break trip to Yellowstone National Park that I had bought for her. That trip had been canceled the night before departure. Ethan had said he needed to take Noah to an out-of-state baseball training camp, and that Rachel couldn't safely drive alone at night. The binoculars had stayed in her backpack for a full month. She never took them out once. Exhausted, I leaned back on the sofa, took a deep breath, and opened Instagram. Ethan's latest post from twenty minutes earlier appeared on the screen. The photo was taken at a baseball field. Ethan stood beside Rachel, his widowed sister-in-law. They were holding a gold championship trophy together. Nine-year-old Noah stood between them in a muddy baseball uniform. The caption below was only one line: "Proud of our boy." "Mom." A faint voice came from behind me. I turned sharply. Lucy was standing barefoot in the shadow of the hallway, holding an empty glass. Her hair was slightly messy. Her eyes were fixed directly on my lit phone screen. The air held for five seconds. Only the low hum of the ice maker filled the silence. "Did Noah win?" she asked softly. I tightened my throat and nodded. "Yes." Lucy was silent for a few seconds. Her gaze moved away from the screen and down to the carpet. "Good." She gave a small, distant smile. "I guess Dad had to be there." The next day was the traditional Sunday family dinner. Ethan's mother, Eleanor, lived in an upscale neighborhood. When I walked into the familiar dining room holding Lucy's hand, Rachel had just come out of the kitchen carrying a bowl of salad. Eleanor greeted her warmly. "Rachel, come here. We saved you a seat." It was the first seat on the right side of the table, the one I had always sat in for the past five years. Ethan was already seated beside her, carefully cutting Noah's steak into perfect bite-sized pieces. No one treated the change in seating as unusual. I led Lucy to the far end of the long table and sat down quietly. Lucy carefully took out her science fair certificate, its edges already creased, and placed it flat on the table. "Grandma," she said, a trace of hope in her voice, "my volcano got first place yesterday..." "Noah's coach called me this morning. He said the boy has real potential for the starting lineup." Eleanor didn't even look toward our end of the table. She turned excitedly to Ethan instead. The conversation immediately shifted to batting averages and baseball equipment. After a few minutes, Lucy took a deep breath and spoke again. "Grandma?" No one responded. Ethan was showing Rachel something on his phone. "Ms. Gable said—" "So do you think the elite training camp in California is too far for Noah?" Rachel said with a smile, turning toward Ethan and cutting her off mid-sentence. At that moment, Rachel reached for the pepper shaker. Her iced lemonade was set down casually. The bottom of the glass landed directly on the edge of Lucy's certificate. Water spread across the gold seal. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry," Rachel said immediately, grabbing napkins. Her apology looked perfect and controlled. She turned to Lucy with a smile. "Congratulations on first place, sweetheart." Then she stopped looking at it and turned back to Ethan. "Did you finish the California application?" After dinner, I went into Ethan's study. His iPad was left unlocked on the desk. On the screen was a PDF application for Noah's baseball training camp, already fully filled out and signed. In his inbox was an email I had sent three weeks ago with a registration form for Lucy's robotics club. It was still unopened. "You spent nights researching and preparing everything for Noah," I said, holding up the iPad, "but you couldn't even open a form that only needed your signature?" Ethan frowned. "Wait, she never reminded me," he said, rubbing his temple. "Just send it again." He shifted all responsibility away from himself. Eleanor walked in with coffee. After hearing the conversation, her expression darkened slightly. "No one is saying Lucy isn't important," she said calmly. "We're talking about urgency. Rachel is a widow trying to rebuild her life. We are family. You can't punish her over something that can wait until next month." Lucy stood in the hallway, partially hidden by the doorframe. "Dad has never missed any of Noah's games," she said quietly. "But he has missed all of mine." Ethan's face tightened instantly. "Adults are talking. Don't interrupt." I pulled Lucy behind me and walked out of the house. A month later, winter arrived in Detroit. At the indoor arena of the state university, Lucy competed in the regional robotics championship she had prepared for over six months. Before leaving home, Ethan had promised she would be there at 1 p.m. without fail. At the venue, Lucy asked for a piece of white cardboard and wrote "Reserved For Dad" in black marker. She taped it carefully to the center of the front row. At 2 p.m., the first qualifying round began. A staff member looked at the seat and asked Lucy if anyone would be sitting there. "Yes," Lucy said. "My dad." The staff member nodded and walked away. At 2:30 p.m., the first round ended. Lucy ran down from the control station and looked at the seat. It was empty. At 3:45 p.m., the semifinals ended. She looked again. Still empty. At 4:50 p.m., the final whistle sounded. The arena erupted in applause when the winner was announced. But Lucy kept staring at the empty seat in the front row. On the stage, under the lights, the host handed her the microphone. "So, amazing result. Who would you like to thank?" The arena quieted. Lucy looked once at the empty seat in the front row with the "Reserved" sign. "My mother," she said. She handed back the microphone and walked off the stage. In the car, I started the engine and turned on the heater. A Facebook notification appeared. It was Rachel's post from earlier that morning. A bright bedroom under renovation. Ethan in a dress shirt, holding a paint roller, standing with Noah as they painted the wall sky blue. The caption read: "Prepping Noah's new room! So grateful for the man helping us build our new beginning. Here's to our future." Right then, Ethan's call came in. I pressed answer. "Claire, Rachel's car is acting up, and I'm stuck helping them with the kid's room. Can you swing by and pick up Noah?" I looked at the road ahead and ended the call. Silence settled in the car. After a while, Lucy's voice came from the backseat. "Mom?" I checked the rearview mirror. She was holding the golden championship trophy tightly, looking out at the passing streetlights. After a moment, she asked softly, "Did Dad ever call?" My throat tightened. My hands stayed on the wheel. "No, sweetheart." Lucy lowered her head, her fingers tracing the cold metal edge of the trophy. She was calm in a way that unsettled me, as if she had already known the answer. A few seconds later, she looked up again. "Mom... I don't want to save him a seat anymore." I watched her in the mirror. Then I picked up my phone and opened a family attorney website I had saved some time ago.

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Chapter 1 KISAREL. I still heard his cold voice in my head as I stepped out of the taxi. "Get your ass back here in two hours, if you want to keep your new position." Mr. Oceans Stark’s words had a way of following me even in my sleep, like they were branded into my skin. Cold, merciless, and ruthless... Getting promoted from a receptionist to his personal assistant felt less like climbing the ladder and more like walking into a gilded cage. It both excited and terrified me. The pay was beautiful, and the perks were enviable. I would travel with him on business trips, see the world, and for once, escape the mess I’d been born into. But the price of it? Being tied to him almost every second of the day. Mr. Oceans Stark, a man so ruthless he once shredded a senior executive’s twenty-year career in under five minutes without even breaking a sweat. He was escorted out in handcuffs, on charges Mr. Stark’s lawyers dug up overnight. One day, the man was running meetings, the next he was begging for bail money. By then, everyone knew: one wrong step, and he could erase you from your career, your reputation, maybe even your freedom. Still, today calls for celebration. And I had just about an hour to celebrate my new promotion with my fiancé, Jace, before packing my bags and meeting my boss at his private jet for our first business trip together. I had already rehearsed every line I'd say to Jace the moment I pushed his door open. He hadn’t answered my calls, but that only made the surprise sweeter. Ja-ce always told me to let him know before visiting — rules I followed without question because I loved him, and because he said he loved me too. He was obsessive and possessive in ways I found... Thrilling? I never said no to him. Never once. But today, just once, I would. I clutched the promotion letter like it was a trophy, and walked through the gates with a smile so wide even the guard seemed taken aback. "Good evening," I greeted, but he answered me in a weird kind of way that I didn't really want to read meanings into. I adjusted my round glasses, clutching my handbag securely to my shoulder. The moment I pushed the front door open, I came face to face with Tisha, the very maid Jace had refused to let go of, no matter how many times I'd told him I didn't like her. She seemed not to like me either, but tonight her face carried something different — pity, like I’d already lost a game I didn’t know I was playing. “Hey…” Her voice was softer than I’d ever heard it, the word dragged out like a quiet warning. That was strange. “Hi, Tisha,” I replied, already heading for the stairs. “He’s in, right?” Not that I needed an answer. She hesitated, wringing the edge of her apron. “You… might want to wait down here.” She stuttered, and I almost scoffed. "Why?" I paused and looked at her over my shoulder, but she just stood there like she had seen a ghost. I'd be a liar if I said uneasiness hadn't begun to spread through me at the weird behaviors of the staff. My heart picked up an erratic rhythm, the kind that makes your palms sweat and your breath shorten, no matter how much you try to calm yourself. My rehearsed smile faltered instantly. But I took in a shaky breath and told myself I was only being dramatic. If Jace were in any kind of danger, it would have been on the news already. So... No news... Meaning he was fine. I forced a smile for myself, tightened my grip on the letter, and continued walking, even though my breath kept stuttering as though my own body knew a truth my mind didn't know. The moment I approached his door, my legs went weak as I stopped dead in my tracks. I heard something... A sound that made my stomach cave in on itself "Fuck, baby, open up..." a moan, "Just like that. Fuck." That was Jace's voice. It sounded more like a grunt and a moan put together. It wasn’t just his moan that punched my heart — it was the rawness of it, the sound of him unraveling in ways he had never once done with me. Then I heard a voice that wasn’t mine. "Jace... Yes, baby... Right there..." And that was... That was Moonie. My oh-so-perfect cousin. The one who was supposed to be walking down the aisle with my boss, Mr. Oceanss Stark, in a matter of weeks. My eyes became blurry, and my brain blurred too, because I didn't even know when I moved. My legs propelled me straight to the door, and my trembling hands gripped the knob before my brain could scream Don’t. I pushed the door open with so much force that the hinges rattled. And then the floor seemed to vanish beneath me, as I saw my fiancé and the "perfect" woman my boss was crazy about, lying totally naked on the floor. She was on her hands and knees, hair wild, her head thrown back in shameless pleasure. Jace’s hands clamped her hips, driving into her with a hunger he had never once touched me with. My chest constricted, and my breath vanished as I struggled to speak. "Jesus, Jace!" Try as I may, my voice only came out as a shaky whisper. Jace froze. For a full second, he just stared at me, pale and stupid, before he jerked away from her and started fumbling for his shorts. Moonie didn’t even flinch. She just dropped onto the floor, panting, her hair sticking to her sweaty face like she’d just finished a workout. The air in the room was thick and sour. I could hear my own heartbeat thudding in my ears. “What the hell is this?” My voice cracked halfway through. I was shaking so badly that the letter in my hand fluttered to the carpet. Jace pulled the towel from the chair and wrapped it around his waist. “Arel — listen — it’s not —” "What I think?" I scoffed and completed the words for him. “Not you inside my cousin?” I snapped, my throat burning. Moonie laughed, letting out a low, ugly sound that scraped at my skin. “Oh, cut the bullshit, Jace. She walked in on us. The show’s over.” “Shut the fuck up, Moonie,” he barked, eyes wild. She rose slowly, completely unbothered, stretching her neck like a cat. “What did you expect, Kisarel? You really thought you could keep a man like Jace? Please.” She grabbed her dress from the vanity and slipped it on without looking away from me. “You’ve been too busy playing the good girl — glasses, neat hair, that stupid receptionist job — acting like brains make you desirable. Meanwhile, this man has needs. Real ones.” My stomach twisted. “Stop talking.” She stepped closer. “He told me himself. Said you’re boring in bed, that you blush when he touches you, that you act like sex is a favor instead of a need.” “Moonie, I swear to God…” Jace’s voice came out like a growl. She turned on him, smirking. “What? You’re going to hit me now? You already said you didn’t love her. Remember? You said even after we both get married, we’ll keep this going. Those were your words, baby.” Jace lunged, grabbing her arm. “Shut up!” I just stood there, watching the two of them — him, red-faced and desperate, her, grinning as if she’d already won. Something cold spread through my chest until I couldn’t even feel my fingers. “You both disgust me,” I said quietly. “Arel, please...” Jace took a step toward me. “Don’t.” My voice snapped. “Don’t come near me.” He froze. The look on his face — panic, guilt, something like fear — made me want to scream. Instead, I laughed, "Was this why you said I should always inform you before visiting? Oh, God." I broke down. I wanted to run until my lungs gave out, hide somewhere no one knew my name, bury my face in a pillow that didn’t smell like him, and cry until my throat burned. But everything I owned reminded me of Jace. The sheets, the pillow, the stupid mug he bought for my desk. I’d built my entire life around him these past two years, and now every inch of it felt contaminated. Moonie tilted her head, “You’ll thank me one day. At least now you know what he really wants. Maybe start by dressing like a woman, not a twelve-year-old schoolboy. Jace hates your boring cardigans, big, shapeless gowns, and baggy skirts.” My heart shattered again. Because Jace always told me he loved my clothes — that he liked that no man ever saw what was his. I blinked at him, my voice small. “So that was a lie, too?” He looked away, jaw tight, saying nothing. I turned my attention to Moon, “You’re engaged to Mr. Stark, Moonie. Aren’t you even scared I might tell him about this?” She laughed mockingly, “Oh, please. You? Tell him? You’ve never had the spine for that. You're just a pushover. The weak little orphan who should’ve been grateful we didn’t dump you in some shelter.” She took a step closer, gazing dead into my eyes. Her tone was like acid. Every word burned. I felt the sting crawl up my throat, but I bit it back. She wanted to see me break. “And I know you won't do anything to tarnish the image of the family who took you in when your pathetic parents decided to check out early, and left you in this world to suffer!" The vernon in her voice. God. "So, dear Kisarel, you won’t say a word. You never do. That’s why people like me win and people like you just… exist." She got me there. I owed Moon and her parents my life. I truly did. But God, I didn’t owe them my dignity. And let's see how far this goes. I picked up my promotion letter. There was no point sharing the great news anymore. The celebration died the moment I opened that door. I turned to Jace. He couldn’t even meet my eyes. “You know what’s fun-ny? I used to think you were the one person who’d never humiliate me. Guess I was wrong.” He reached for me again, stammering my name, but I stepped back. The movement felt like tearing myself out of glue. “Don’t ever call me again.” Now more than ever, I needed that business trip I had cursed some hours ago. Chapter 2 KISAREL. The cab stopped at the far end of the airport, where regular passengers weren’t even allowed. Through the tinted glass, I saw the silver body of Mr. Stark’s jet gleaming under the floodlights, his initials, O.S., painted near the tail. I wiped my face, grabbed the small luggage I’d thrown together after getting home from the betrayal scene, and stepped out. Since Moon's words about my choice of clothes, I began to doubt myself. I felt... Stupid and inadequate. I’d always thought I was beautiful — Jace said so a thousand times — but maybe I was never enough. Maybe I was the joke everyone else saw, and he just forgot to tell me. For all I know, I might even be the ugliest woman on earth right now. I tried to take off my glasses – not that they were medicated or anything – but I felt naked without them. So, I left them on. Trying to be who I was not made me feel even more stupid. The air was cold, but the moment I saw him, heat crept up the back of my neck. Mr. Oceans Stark. He stood beside the stairs to his jet, hands in his pockets, suit pressed within an inch of perfection. Even from here, he radiated total control. He wasn’t the kind of man you looked at twice. You looked once — because you couldn’t help it — and then you looked away before he caught you staring. Six foot three of controlled violence in a perfectly tailored suit. Broad shoulders, dark hair brushed back in a way that didn’t dare fall out of place, and those eyes… cold, emotionless, like they could undress you, dissect you, and dismiss you in one motion. "Good evening, Mr. Stark," I managed. He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at me, a faint arch in his brow like the sound of my voice had interrupted his thoughts, and he was deciding whether to forgive that or not. Then his gaze flicked down, slowly assessing me. Jesus. I greeted his best friend, who was also his MD. "Mr. Harold." He managed half a smile before turning back to his phone. Of course, no one noticed this pathetic little girl trying to hold herself together during the hour-and-a-half flight. No one ever did. Inside the hotel lobby, I adjusted my blazer and forced my hands to stop trembling as I faced the receptionist. “Reservation for Mr. Stark, Mr. Harold, and Miss Harry,” I said, forcing steadiness into my voice. The woman smiled politely, then glanced at the fourth member of our group, Mandy, Harold’s girlfriend. Perfect and glossy as ever. “Oh, they’re together.” I gestured toward them, pretending confidence I didn’t feel. God, my eyes were becoming teary again. I just needed a room, a bathtub, and a place to cry without witnesses. After a moment, the receptionist frowned at the screen. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s no reservation under Miss Harry. Only Mr. Stark and Mr. Harold.” My pulse jumped. “What?” Behind me, that low, rich, controlled baritone rolled out. “Then make one.” Mr. Stark. I swallowed hard, staring at the counter. Even his voice had a certain effect on me that I had come to categorize as "fear," even though it doesn't fit that category. The clerk looked uneasy. “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re fully booked for the night.” Of course. The National Electorate Conference will be taking place tomorrow. Every powerful name in the country was under this roof tonight. My stomach dropped. I must have forgotten to complete the reservation while I was busy calling Jace… before everything fell apart. I didn’t dare turn around. I could feel Mr. Stark’s gaze drilling through my spine. My palms were damp; my mind blank. “I... I'll find something... Another hotel...” "Hand us the key cards." I finally turned around, and the look in his eyes told me one thing clearly: I’d pay for this mistake. * Staying in the same room with Mr. Stark didn't even give me the alone time I looked forward to spending in a bathtub. I barely showered properly. My instincts kept flying around: What if Mr. Stark opens the bathroom door? What if I see a ghost and run out naked? What if... Every stupid possibility raced through my head until my heart started skipping beats. The idea of sharing a suite with the infamous Ocean Stark made every nerve in my body hum with panic. Although I cried a little, wiped my face, and did what any heartbroken idiot does at 11 p.m. — googled how to get over betrayal. The answers were ridiculous. ‘Go out with friends.’ I had none. ‘Do something spontaneous.’ I could barely breathe. ‘Revenge sex.’ I snorted out loud at that one. Revenge sex? With who? Jace was the only man I’d ever let close. No male friends, no flings, no one. Just me — pathetic, faithful, and now apparently obsolete. By the time I pulled myself together, Mr. Stark was seated on the couch, surrounded by files and his laptop, a half-empty glass of something dark sitting beside him. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms and the faint outline of veins that matched the precision in his movements. Everything about him was neat and intentional. And I always resisted the urge to admit how illegally handsome he was. I guess I had no right to even admit such a thing. It felt so wrong. I sat in the armchair beside him, careful not to brush against him. The distance between us was small but heavy, like sitting beside a thunderstorm before it breaks. My hands wouldn’t stop trembling. My chest still ached from everything I’d tried to bury, and somehow his calm made it worse. He hadn’t looked at me once since we entered the suite, not even during the flight. That was the thing about Ocean Stark — he could make you feel completely invisible while reminding you you’re being watched. We worked in silence. I was sorting out schedules when my phone buzzed beside me. Once. Twice. Then again — Jace’s name flashing on the screen. I froze, praying my boss hadn’t noticed. "Turn that off." His voice. That voice again. It sent a trail of goosebumps running down my arms. Thankfully, I was wearing a big polo shirt, so he wouldn't see it. I fumbled for the phone, thumbs slipping as I silenced it. I didn’t dare look up, but I could feel his eyes on me now. There was silence, making it difficult to hide the soft sobs and sniffles that were choking me and threatening to spill. “If you can’t compartmentalize, you’ll never last.” His chilling voice said, and I paused. For a second, I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined them. My heart skipped, then tripped over itself. I looked up slowly. His eyes — cold, grey, unreadable — met mine. I swallowed a dry lump as a tear escaped my eye. “I… I’m sorry?” My voice came out thin, breaking on the last syllable. He leaned back against the couch, posture unbothered. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, the faintest shadow of muscle visible beneath. His veins shifted under the light as he picked up another file. “Boyfriend issues?” he asked without looking away. My cheeks burned. "Yes... Uhm..." I sniffed, wiping my tears off as they fell freely now. "Yes." He studied me like he was analyzing numbers, not a person. “Caught him cheating?” I was tempted to scream and tell him, 'Yes, I caught him cheating with your fiancée!' but, just like Moon said, I could never. I owe her family that much. So, I swallowed and just gave a polite nod. He didn’t blink. “You’ll live. Pull yourself together and get back to work.” And that was it. No softness, no sympathy. Just dismissal. Still… he’d asked. Ocean Stark had actually spoken to me beyond orders. For a man who could end careers with a phone call, even that tiny fragment of attention felt dangerous. Was that concern or a warning? I couldn’t tell. My throat itched to keep the next words that threatened to come out of my mouth, but it failed, because I heard my own voice ask the most stupid question ever. "Do you think I am weak, Mr. Stark?" He froze mid-page. A faint crease appeared between his brows. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to stop with him, and my pulse was the only sound I could hear. “Do you?” he asked, still not looking up. “Do I what?” My voice wavered. “Think you’re weak.” He slowly peeled his gaze from the files, and his chilling eyes rested on me. The movement was so small, but it felt like the whole room leaned toward him. I almost slid into a panic attack. “I don’t know,” I whispered. “Maybe.” “What are you trying to prove, Miss Harry?” “I’m not sure,” I said. He studied me then like he was trying to decide if I was unstable or simply honest. “You’re crying over a man who isn’t worth the data it would take to delete his name from your phone,” he said. “That’s not weakness, that’s misallocation of focus.” I almost laughed. “So what would you recommend, Mr. Stark? Reallocate my focus?” “Yes.” His tone was flat and businesslike, as if we were still talking about quarterly losses. But something in his eyes shifted — interest, maybe curiosity. It made my stomach twist. I ran my tongue over my dry lips, "Mr. Stark...?" I called, but he only answered with his steady eyes on mine, “Do you…” My voice faltered, but I forced it out, “Do you really love my cousin?” I knew I was playing with fire. Such boldness? I'd never displayed it anywhere near my boss before. And I was terrified he was even entertaining me. “No.” Two letters. A brutally honest answer that shocked me. I blinked. “What?” My whisper cracked. “Why? But I thought…” His mouth curved in something close to contempt. He stood to his feet. "You want to know the truth?" He asked flatly, and I nodded, my gaze lifted up to meet his. "Because my heart only belongs to one woman. I've been searching for her for years now. And when I find her...?" He paused, and some muscle in his cheek twitched, like he was holding back more words. "What? You'll dump my cousin?" I found myself asking... Not because I care. But maybe I also wanted Moonie to suffer the way she'd made me suffer all these years. And I wanted her suffering to come naturally. He exhaled through his nose, "Your cousin is strictly business." With that, he made to walk away. The finality in his tone should have shut me up. Instead, something hot and reckless surged up my throat. I stood as he turned to go. “Wait.” He stopped. Slowly, he turned his head and gave me that look that meant, 'the audacity?' Too late to back down. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt. "Mr. Stark... I need a favor from you." I stood in front of him now, feeling so small and breakable before him. “I want…” I swallowed hard, hating the tremor in my throat. “I want to do something that reminds me I’m not weak.” His brows narrowed like he could read through me. He didn’t answer. Just watched me. The grey in his eyes looked darker now, colder, like deep water that could drown a person without a ripple. "Take me tonight. I want to forget all about Jace. Please don't say no." Chapter 3 KISAREL. The silence stretched so long it felt like punishment. He didn’t blink. He wasn't even looking at me anymore. He kept looking over my head like looking at me up close would kill him. I know this was reckless. I mean... The last time I did something this reckless was when I took a bullet for a stranger without even thinking. “Careful,” he said finally, “You have no idea what you’re asking for.” I drew in a shaky breath, “I know exactly what I’m asking for,” I whispered. That was when he looked at me fully. For the first time ever, I really understood why everyone feared Ocean Stark. He didn’t even need to speak to feel like danger. All he had to do was listen. I'd never looked at him so up close before. And my heart refused to stop racing when his eyes pinned me to the spot. "I don't fuck my employees, Kiss." My knees almost buckled at the way he bit off the word Fuck. Heat crawled up my neck to my cheeks. And… had he just called me Kiss? Moisture stung the corner of my eyes. "No one would know... I swear... Just this once. Let's be like two strangers who just hooked up for the night," I swallowed, searching his eyes. This was a stupid move, but I couldn't go back now. His gaze flicked down, then back to my eyes. I could almost feel the war happening inside him. "You don't get it, Kisarel." He took a step forward, closing what little space there was between us. My breath hitched as I tried to look away, but his fingers quickly caught my chin and forced my gaze to remain on his. “I’m getting married to your cousin,” he said softly. “And I don’t do scandals. Go to bed, hug your pillow, and cry about your boyfriend, before you ruin both of us.” The closeness made me dizzy, like stepping too close to fire. The crown of my head barely touched his lower chin. His voice was firm, but his pulse? I could see it beating hard at the side of his neck. "No one will ever know," I said and dared to push further, "Unless you're scared you can't match up with the man I am trying to forget... Sir?" With those words, I saw his eyes turn a shade darker, and something dangerous swirled in their depths. Before I could form another word, Mr. Stark wrapped his fingers around my neck and slammed my back against the nearest wall. “Do you always play with fire this way?” His voice had changed. Whatever cold professionalism lived in it during office hours was gone. Now it was rougher, colder and more detached. “Only when I’ve already been burned,” I whispered. I don't know where that came from. Some part of me that had stopped calculating risk somewhere between Jace's bedroom floor and this hotel room. Some part of me that had decided that if tonight was going to hurt regardless, it may as well hurt for something I chose. He looked at me for a long moment. Something moved in his jaw. His thumb pressed lightly against my pulse point and I felt my own heartbeat betray me. "You know what you want. You don't know what I take." His eyes moved over my face with no urgency at all, which was somehow more frightening than anger. His voice dropped to a near growl, "You want to get fucked by me?" He said through clenched teeth, like a lion whose ego was just tested. "Do you know what it means to get fucked by me?" My hands flew to his wrists, struggling against his grip. Instead, his free hand moved to the wall beside my head, and he leaned in slowly until there was almost no space left between us. I could feel the heat coming off him, and my heart was doing something embarrassing and uncontrollable that I was certain he could feel in his palm. "That little cunt of yours will get bruised by me. I don't make love. I'll fuck you so hard you'll beg for me to stop." He pressed me harder into the wall, “When I fuck, I don’t stop because you cry. I don’t stop because you can’t take it. I stop when I’m done. I’ll bruise you. Break you open until you forget every man who ever touched you before me. You won’t walk right for days.” His breathing turned ragged. "I won’t just fuck you, Kisarel. I’ll get inside your head and twist until the thought of anyone else feels wrong. I’ll become the ache you can’t cure, the ghost you’ll beg to haunt you again.” He leaned closer, his breath hot against my mouth. "One night won't be enough. Not for me. I want you to know that before you make this decision, because I won't pretend otherwise in the morning." My breath caught. "So…” His teeth grazed my jaw as his fingers tightened on my throat. “You still want to fuck with me, Kiss?” God, his threats terrified me. But right now, the rational part of me was dead. All I wanted was to forget about Jace tonight. "I want to see you try, sir," I blurted out the dare, pushing him to his limits. For a second, he didn't move. Then his hand slid to the back of my neck, and he crushed his lips against mine, kissing me so hard I almost lost my breath. "You'll be sorry you made this decision." *** OCEANS. Fuck. I’d been doing everything to keep the little, hot nerd-looking girl out of my line of sight, and fate kept shoving her back under it. When the board thought she was due for promotion and deemed my office the right place to insert her, that was when I knew I was fucked. Since the moment I set eyes on this girl, my cock forgot what dignity was. Always jerking like a damn teenager every time she walked in. The smell of her hair brings back memories that had been tormenting me for the past six years. I was getting married to her cousin. And she was getting married to a man whose head I could put a bullet through, just for being the one who owned her. I fought that lust I felt toward her. I buried it. Smothered it. Because the last time I got involved with an employee, it nearly cost me my legacy. Since then, I’d drawn a hard line. No mixing business with anything that had a pulse and a paycheck I signed. But right now — seeing the same woman who’d pulled something wild and starving out of me — standing in front of me, desperate, trembling, asking for the one thing my body had always craved? That was a temptation straight from hell that even the finest of God's angels would fall for without looking back. I tried to turn her down. I fucking did. That should have been the end of it. I tried to turn away, because that's what a man with functioning self-control does. I had work on the table. I had a flight the next day. I had a rule I shouldn't ignore, and I had exactly enough scotch in my system to drown out that rule, which meant I needed distance more than I needed to look at her. But she pushed really hard. And my control — usually bulletproof — buckled. "You'll do every fucking thing I say without question. Understood?" I warned her, and she nodded hesitantly, "Use your words, Kiss." She swallowed, and my tongue darted out and licked the movement that formed in her throat. She shuddered, "Yes, sir." "Good girl." I pressed into her mouth again. Harder. She tasted like heat and salt and bad decisions. Her scent and softness tried to swallow me whole. Fuck. I was doing all I could not to break her. She seemed so fragile, the crown of her head barely scraping my jawline. I pulled her off the wall and broke the kiss before I lost the rest of my senses. She was panting. Her small, plump lips were red and swollen. Her eyes were blown wide behind those damn glasses. I took them off. " Don't ever wear that shit again." Up close, without the frames, she was lethal. Big blue, almond eyes. Innocence and naivety dancing in them. I took her lips again, letting my hand roam all over her body — flat over ribs, curve of waist, the line of her hip - and what I felt made me curse against her lips. Those loose skirts and gowns she wore to work were lies. There was nothing shy under there. Every inch of her was pure fucking heaven. A full, high ass in my palms, hips that filled my grip, a body cut to make a man forget his rules. Jesus. I almost lost it. Her fingers clutched my shirt, tugging desperately. And when she whimpered, I knew it was over. I pulled away again, forcing a breath past my teeth. My body screamed to stay pressed to hers, but I needed space. Needed to see exactly what I was about to burn my life down for. Her chest rose and fell in ragged little jerks. "Strip," I growled and stepped back to the couch, pouring myself a glass of whiskey as I sat and watched her fingers shake as she reached for the hem of that oversized shirt. God. Who the hell wore something like that to bed? A shapeless tent that only made me want to rip it off. The shirt hit the floor. The shorts followed. She stood before me, naked, with some white cotton pants that did it's best to cover every corner of her ass like it was a secret she was trying so hard to hide. Her bra didn't look like something I'd choose for a young girl, if asked. But the body in those underwears...? Any man alive would kill to have that body under him, screaming his name. I dragged a thumb across my lower lip, staring at her. My cock throbbed so hard it hurt. “Kneel.” My voice dropped into something darker than a command. She narrowed her brows, a thousand questions probably swirling in her head, but one look from me, and she dropped all that hesitation. And the moment her knees hit the floor, something in me went feral. That submission. Fuck. Her hands were at her sides. Head bowed, hair sliding forward like a curtain. Christ. Seeing her like that — trembling, skin goose-pimpled, chest rising and falling as she tried to breathe — made my restraint splinter. I set the whiskey down without looking away from her. My palms flattened on my knees as I leaned forward. "Now, crawl to me."

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InactiveJun 27, 26
Schema Therapy Workbook — Go to the Root

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🔥📚Savvy in the Apocalypse: Super Prepper👉👉 Click to read👉👉
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"My biological father forced me to sell the shares my mother left behind. After being reborn, I signed the papers without hesitation, took the billion dollars, and walked away. Everyone laughed and called me stupid. What they didn't know was that one month later, the apocalypse would arrive—and money would become worthless paper. I used that billion dollars to rent out the warehouses of three massive supermarkets and stuffed my dimensional storage with rice, flour, meat, and bottled water..." ................................................................................ Chapter 1 Return From the Apocalypse "Hiss!" It hurt so much! A searing sting spread across the back of Cheryl Schneider's hand, slowly pulling her hazy consciousness back into focus. She lowered her head and saw a vivid red scratch. Warm sunlight streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling window to her left, dancing across her palm. Sunlight?! She remembered that after the world plunged into extreme cold, she hadn't seen sunlight that bright in a very long time. Instinctively, Cheryl looked outside the window. Blue sky, lush green grass, and rare blossoms carefully tended by gardeners... Cheryl was completely dumbfounded. Wasn't she dead in that world-shattering apocalypse? So why was she in the former Schneider Villa again? Her heart began pounding wildly. She stared wide-eyed, greedily taking in everything before her—until her gaze landed on the young woman beside her. At that moment, the woman was lifting a vibrant emerald pendant toward her neck. Cheryl's pupils shrank sharply. It's mine! The moment the thought formed, she shot forward and reached out. Smack! She yanked her pendant back from that woman's neck, leaving a glaring red mark across that woman's fair neck. At the same time, a piercing scream rang out. "Ah!" The young woman clutched her neck, her face twisting in pain. "Oh my God, Angela! What's wrong? Let me see!" "William, go get Dr. Zinn now!" A middle-aged couple, sitting nearby and drinking coffee while reading the newspaper, rushed over at the commotion and fussed anxiously over the young woman. Seeing the loving family of three before her, Cheryl let out a cold smile. Angela! Fiona! Gregory! It was her "sweet and adorable" younger sister, her "gentle and kind" stepmother, and her "fair and impartial" father. She never expected they would meet again like that. "Cheryl, what did you do to Angela?!" Gregory Schneider snapped without asking, immediately scolding her. Cheryl replied calmly, "I just took back what belongs to me. What's the problem with that?" Her voice was flat, and her expression was cold. Gregory froze for a moment at her tone of defiance, then grew even angrier. "It's just a damn necklace, not some priceless treasure. If Angela wants it, just give it to her! You're petty like your dead mother. Absolutely embarrassing!" Seeing the bloody mark on Angela Schneider's neck, Fiona Schneider looked distressed, but she still put on a fake peacemaker act. "Hubby, don't be mad. I'm sure Cheryl didn't mean to do it." Then she turned to Cheryl, wearing a look of false tolerance. "Cheryl, did you forget? You promised your father you'd give this to Angela as a birthday gift. If you changed your mind and don't want to give it anymore, you could've told me. Do you really think I'd force you? Snatching it back like that? That's something a robber would do. Look what you did—Angela's neck is bleeding." "Give it back to Angela right now and apologize!" Gregory said with open disgust. "If she doesn't forgive you, then get out of here!" Nestled in Fiona's arms, Angela watched Cheryl with barely concealed glee. She knew that as long as Gregory spoke, Cheryl would obey—no matter how reluctant she was. That emerald pendant she had inexplicably longed for day and night would soon be hers. But the next moment, Cheryl gave a soft laugh. Under their stunned gazes, she turned and walked away. "Stop right there!" Gregory roared. "If you dare walk out that door today, don't ever come back!" Cheryl paused briefly, letting out a mocking chuckle. "As you wish!" With that, she walked straight out without looking back. ... Once outside, standing beneath the blinding sunlight, Cheryl checked the time on her phone. It was August 25, 2040—08:58 a.m. Then she pinched her thigh hard. It hurts! So it's real. Not a dream! I've truly been reborn! She was reborn one month before the apocalypse. On September 25, 2040, fate played a cruel joke on humanity. Relentless torrential rains fell without pause, nearly submerging the entire planet. It marked the beginning of the apocalypse. In that apocalypse, she had struggled desperately and lived in misery. Like a feral dog, she fought countless others just to snatch scraps of food to survive. In sharp contrast, Angela and Fiona had remained polished and well-fed, while Angela always seemed able to produce endless supplies out of thin air. Cheryl had envied them before, but she believed it was simply because Gregory provided everything for them as a high-ranking official in the base. Only before her death, when she saw a chocolate cake appear in Angela's hand out of nowhere, did she learn the truth. Angela's fake, sugary voice echoed endlessly in her mind. "Thank you for giving me such a magical pendant, Cheryl!" The one in Angela's hand had been the emerald pendant left to Cheryl by her maternal grandmother before she passed away. Yet before the apocalypse arrived, Angela had snatched it away under the excuse of a birthday gift. A thought flashed through Cheryl's mind. Without hesitation, she bit her finger and squeezed a drop of blood onto the pendant. The instant the blood touched it, a flash of white light burst before her eyes. When the light faded, the pendant had disappeared, replaced by a small red birthmark in the center of her palm. With a shift of thought, a storage space appeared in her mind. Inside was a foggy, square-shaped, and empty area. But Cheryl was thrilled. It was real. Everything was real. Her rebirth was real. Her storage space was also real! She broke into a wide grin. Slowly, the grin turned into laughter. Then laughter mixed with tears. In her previous life, because she endured every grievance and backed down, she ended up dying without even a proper burial. With this second chance at life, she was determined to make them repay every injustice she had suffered! Ignoring the strange looks from passersby, Cheryl hailed a taxi and returned to the small apartment she once lived in. The moment she closed the door, she eagerly used her mind to open the storage space and began testing it. The space was enormous, about the size of two soccer fields. Thick fog stretched across all sides, sealed off by an invisible barrier. Cheryl silently thought about going in, but she remained standing exactly where she was. Only the phone in her hand had vanished, appearing soundlessly inside the storage space. Suppressing the excitement rising in her chest, she continued testing the space by using items from her room. She kept loading things in and pulling them back out, not calming down until she was completely worn out. Chapter 2 The Spatial Portal It was a static space measuring 300 feet in length, width, and height. It couldn't store living creatures, but it preserved freshness. Hot water placed inside stayed boiling, no matter how long it remained stored. When taken out, it was exactly as hot as when it had been put in. "Ding! Smart Q here with a reminder. It's 10:00 a.m. Drakoria time." The sudden voice notification snapped Cheryl out of her excitement of exploring the storage space. Today was August 25, 2040. There was only one month left before the apocalypse would arrive. Time was tight. She couldn't afford to waste a single moment. Cheryl sat at the main desk. As memories of the disasters from her previous life surfaced, she began organizing a list of supplies she would need. First came relentless rain, followed by endless flooding, then extreme heat, extreme cold... Each disaster was something humanity today could barely imagine. In her previous life, with nothing to her name, she had gritted her teeth and survived until the third year of the apocalypse, enduring almost every hardship imaginable. But this time, she would never allow herself to fall into such desperate circumstances again. Food and water were essential. Medicine, too. In the chaotic world of the apocalypse, sometimes a single, insignificant anti-inflammatory pill could save a life. Beyond that, she needed clothing, shoes, cold-weather gear, tents, and sleeping bags for outdoor survival, vehicles and speedboats for emergency escape, and essential materials like candles, matches, emergency lights, batteries, and power supplies. Cheryl wrote down anything that came to mind in her notebook without missing a single item. As she continued writing, she suddenly remembered a bandit gang from her previous life. They had lived in extreme luxury during the apocalypse, surviving through robbery, murder, and looting. Meanwhile, ordinary people with no weapons had struggled just to stay alive. So self-defense weapons were absolutely critical. Too bad firearm regulations here in Drakoria were extremely strict. Ordinary people had no realistic way to obtain guns. The same problem applied to gasoline for cars and speedboats. Without proper permits, it wasn't sold in bulk domestically. The only option was repeatedly driving to gas stations, filling the tank, then siphoning the fuel out afterward. It was a huge hassle, and she wouldn't collect much. If only I could go to Lumoria... She had too little time. The true catastrophic flooding wouldn't arrive until a month later. However, the continuous rain, the early signs of the apocalypse, would begin much sooner. Cheryl remembered that in another ten days, all international flights would be suspended due to worsening weather. Ten days probably wasn't even enough time for a visa to be approved. Just then, a glowing panel suddenly appeared in her mind. "Apocalypse Preparation Portal Activated. Destination: Any location on Earthspire. "Usage Method: Select coordinates from the spatial map to initiate teleportation. "Usage Rules: "1. Portal Availability Period: August 25, 2040, 8:58 a.m. to September 24, 2040, 11:59 p.m. "2. Number of Uses: 10 times. "3. Maximum Stay Duration at Destination: 72 hours. After time expires, automatic return to starting coordinates." Staring at the glowing panel in her mind, Cheryl froze, unable to react for a long time. An apocalypse preparation portal! It could send her anywhere on Earthspire! Didn't that mean she could go to Lumoria and collect gasoline and firearms? The surprise made Cheryl tremble with excitement. Lumoria didn't just have gasoline and weapons. There were also mountains of rice, flour, cooking oil, and milk that were unused and wasted by the ton. As long as she had money, she could buy anything in that country. Thinking about money, Cheryl's overheated mind finally cooled down a little. She glanced at her account balance. There was only 1,746,753 dollars. That was the Schneider Group's dividend. The greedy Schneiders hadn't yet spent every last cent because it had been delayed by a month. If a few more days went by, there might not be a single cent left. Over a million sounded like a lot, but it was nowhere near enough for her to stock up on supplies in Lumoria. After a moment's thought, she picked up her phone and typed quickly into the Schneider Group shareholders' chat, "I'm selling 20% of my shares. The starting price is one billion. Full payment only. First come first served!" Those 20% shares had been left to her by her late mother. In her previous life, Gregory had always tried to buy them at a dirt-cheap price, but her mother's will had prevented her from agreeing. This time, Cheryl knew the apocalypse was coming. All the money and shares would eventually be nothing but scraps of paper. So next, she would sell those shares to stock up on survival supplies for the apocalypse. But she definitely wasn't going to sell them for peanuts! The moment she sent out the message, her phone kept pinging nonstop. The whole group chat practically exploded. Some were asking if it was real; some were placing bids right away. Cheryl ignored them all and went back to reorganizing her inventory list. Since she was heading to Lumoria, some things didn't need to be bought in Drakoria, such as rice, flour, and cooking oil. Even though large-scale food sales weren't illegal in Drakoria, a few hundred to a thousand tons would still attract attention. And unlike Lumoria, Drakoria was crowded with less land, so she wasn't going to fight locals for it. But those Drakoria-exclusive delicacies? Absolutely essential. God knew how much she had missed fondue, barbecue, and spicy noodle soup during the apocalypse. Thinking about it, she just bought it. Opening an online shopping app, she saw all kinds of foods and clicked without hesitation, then started placing orders like crazy. She stocked up on instant noodles—beef, chicken, sour, spicy—every flavor up to the sellers' stock limit. She also grabbed spicy ramen, beef ramen, spicy noodle soup, beef vermicelli, microwavable meal kits, and frozen rice meals. With staple foods covered, she couldn't skip side dishes and snacks. She ordered ten boxes each of ham sausages—pork, chicken, and fish varieties. When she saw spicy chicken wings, lemon chicken wings, and crispy fried wings, she instantly cleared the entire stock. Seeing the recommended canned foods below, Cheryl's eyes lit up, and she added them to her cart. That was good stuff. Even without the space's preservation effect, it would still stay good for a long time. Along with compressed biscuits, those were hard currency for trading in a supply-short apocalypse. And the taste was way better than compressed biscuits. There were canned ham, canned pork stew, canned sardines, canned mackerel, canned tuna, canned green beans, canned peaches, canned oranges, canned strawberries, and canned mixed vegetables. She added anything the store had. Of course, easy-to-store, filling compressed biscuits couldn't be skipped. It was 48 packs per box, and she picked 100 boxes right away. Then there was energy-storing chocolate—dark and white—999 of each type. The stock limit was 999. Soon, her cart was full. She quickly checked out and paid. The total was 476,484 dollars. Money really burned fast; just a fraction of what she bought ate up a quarter of her savings. Chapter 3 Keep Buying As one order after another went through, confirmations kept popping up from sellers. They were all checking if Cheryl had accidentally clicked the wrong quantity. To avoid any delay in shipping due to their doubts, she quickly replied, "No mistake. Please ship as soon as possible!" After sending that, she was about to move on to the next round when a call interface popped up. Seeing the name on the screen, Cheryl let out a cold snort and answered. The moment she picked up, Gregory's roar came through the phone. "Cheryl! What the hell are you doing? Who allowed you to sell your shares? Get into the group and retract that message right now!" Cheryl held the phone a few inches away. Only after the harsh shouting stopped did she speak calmly, "The shares are mine. So what if I'm selling them? What does it have to do with you?" Gregory fumed, "What do you mean? Those are Schneider Group shares! They belong to the Schneiders—they're mine! How can you sell them to outsiders?" Cheryl sneered. "I can't sell them to outsiders? Want me to sell them to you? Give me one billion then! Since you're my father by blood, I'll set that as the starting price. You have three days. If you transfer one billion to my account, I'll transfer all my shares to you." Gregory took a deep breath, trying to soothe her. "Cheryl, I know you're mad at me, but I'm doing this for your own good. You're my daughter. That means my stuff is yours too." Even though 20% of Schneider Group was worth far more than one billion, Cheryl was his child. So in his opinion, her possessions were his. He didn't want to spend a penny, let alone one billion. "If you need money, just tell me. I won't refuse. You're still young. You can't safely keep a billion in your hands. Maybe I can hold it for you first..." Cheryl didn't bother with his nonsense and cut him off. "You know the value of these shares. If you're not interested, I'm sure others will be. Remember—one billion within three days, or the shares go to someone else. No extensions!" Without waiting for a reply, she hung up. Not long after, the phone rang again. Cheryl ignored it, put it on silent, and went inside to change into a set of workout clothes. Before that billion hit her account, she only had a little over one million left. Every bit needed to be turned into supplies. After all, money would become the least useful thing in the apocalypse. ... Leaving the neighborhood, Cheryl picked a small street-side restaurant to grab a meal. She directly ordered a beef stir-fry with rice and egg drop soup. Tender beef, the heat of chili, the sourness of green beans—all the aromas rising in steam made her mouth water. A big spoonful went in, and her taste buds were overwhelmed by the long-missed flavor, nearly bringing her to tears. How many years had it been since she'd eaten something that good? The simplest comfort foods made Cheryl devour them like a starved wolf. Thinking about how she wouldn't be able to eat food like this anymore after the apocalypse, she grabbed the menu and started rattling off orders. "Spicy sausage stew, fish stew, Cajun-style chicken, beef stir-fry, grilled chicken skewers, rotisserie chicken, seasoned fries, sautéed cabbage..." The more dishes she read, the more the small restaurant owner stared in disbelief. What kind of quirk is this? Reading the menu aloud like she's performing? "Fifty orders of each dish," she said. If not for fear of scaring the owner, she'd have ordered 1,000. After all, time in her storage space was completely frozen. What went in would stay perfectly preserved until she took it out. Hot meals stored now could be eaten later, saving cooking time. In the apocalypse, even lighting a fire for food would be a luxury. Despite her restraint, the owner was still shocked by the almost-cleared-out menu. "F-fifty orders?" Cheryl calmly explained, "Yes, for my staff's meals. I'll pick them up in three batches. Any problem?" "N-no problem. No problem at all!" Doing this deal practically equaled a month's business for his little restaurant. Problem or not, he had to make it work. He would even call his parents or in-laws to help if needed. After scheduling the pickup, Cheryl scanned to pay a deposit of 30,000. Then she dashed to the nearest dealership and spent tens of thousands to buy a small cargo van. The cargo space measured 13.6 ft × 7.5 ft × 7.5 ft. It was perfect for a mobile warehouse. She climbed in and immediately headed to the city's largest outdoor gear mall. The three-story mall was stocked with everything from inflatable boats to alcohol stoves and flint. The first floor was for major outdoor equipment, such as watercraft, mountain bikes, ski gear, and scuba gear. Cheryl didn't think twice and bought the flagship item from every store. In less than half an hour, she had purchased two small speedboats, two jet skis, four inflatable boats, four inflatable rafts, four fat-tire bikes, two snowmobiles, four sets of scuba gear, two paragliders, and two high-powered diesel generators. All of those were indispensable in an apocalypse. Life-saving supplies couldn't be taken lightly, and everything had to be top quality. Although Lumoria might offer more advanced products, Cheryl believed in the principle of better too much than too little, so she decided to buy a full batch domestically first. As for the gasoline and diesel needed for speedboats and jet ski engines, she naturally planned to stockpile those in Lumoria. After finishing the first floor, Cheryl headed straight to the second floor. At a glance, it was filled with mountaineering and rock-climbing gear. Those were also essential equipment for surviving the apocalypse. She bought tents, backpacks, sleeping bags, sleeping pads, air mattresses, fire axes, climbing ropes, rock anchors, climbing harnesses, ascenders, descenders, big and small carabiners, slings, and climbing hammers. Then she bought alcohol lamps, alcohol stoves, solid fuel tablets, portable gas stoves, propane canisters, multi-tool water bottles, reusable straws, water purification bottles, compasses, binoculars, waterproof flashlights, knives, and high-capacity solar chargers. As for entrenching shovels, the must-have outdoor camping tool that could double as both a utility tool and a self-defense weapon, she bought them by the case. Condor BG05 Entrenching Shovel—manganese steel, 3 adjustable positions, 200 units. Gerber D57 Multipurpose Folding Shovel—all-in-one, outdoor essential, 200 units. SOG Emergency Folding Shovel—collapsible for easy storage, 200 units. Fiskars Multifunctional Shovel—convert between shovel and hoe, foldable, 200 units. Estwing 205 Entrenching Shovel—ash wood handle, hardened steel blade, 200 units. Cheryl moved like a gust of wind, sweeping through every corner of the mall. Every store clerk was grinning from ear to ear.

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🔥🔥 Click to Read 👉🏻👉🏻

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I hear the very clear sounds of people screwing from my husband Elliott's office. I push down the door on the lever and slide it open enough for me to get a glimpse of Elliott's hip, pants around his ankles, as he screws a chick from behind over his desk. His tatted back is contracting as his black curls bounce on his head. "Oh, Elli-ott, you're so deep," this bimbo screeches. God, I couldn't keep it up if I was a man with that screwing voice. Another moan, louder this time. And then Elliott's voice, rough and breathless: "God, yes. Right there." My body is shaking from the sight of his betrayal. Elliott stood behind the woman, his pants around his ankles, his hands gripping her hips, his face contorted in an expression I recognized intimately. I bring out my phone to record, you know, just in case. I recorded for two minutes. Three. Four even as my world collapsed. I organize my next steps in my head, and let me tell you, he's going to regret it. ———————— The autumn sun filtered through the glass towers of downtown Manhattan, casting long shadows across the polished marble floors of Carmichael Industries' headquarters. Lucy Carmichael adjusted the Hermès scarf around her neck—a gift from Elliott on their tenth anniversary—and smiled at her reflection in the elevator's mirrored walls. In her hands, she carried a carefully prepared lunch: Elliott's favorite chicken parmesan from Carbone, still warm in its insulated bag, along with a bottle of the 2015 Barolo he'd been saving for a special occasion. There was no special occasion. That was the point. After fifteen years of marriage, Lucy had learned that the small gestures mattered most. The unexpected visit. The favorite meal. The reminder that someone was thinking of you in the middle of a chaotic day. Elliott had been working such long hours lately—coming home after midnight, leaving before dawn, his mind always elsewhere even when his body occupied the same room. She'd decided that morning, while doing her Pilates routine in their penthouse gym, that she would surprise him. Reconnect. Remind him of what waited for him at home. The elevator climbed smoothly toward the forty-seventh floor, where Elliott's corner office commanded views of the Hudson River and the sprawling cityscape beyond. Lucy watched the numbers tick upward: 42... 43... 44... She'd been to his office countless times over the years, but always announced. Always expected. Today would be different. Today would be spontaneous, romantic even. The elevator chimed softly as it reached the forty-seventh floor. The doors slid open to reveal the executive suite, all glass and steel and expensive minimalism. Elliott's assistant, Marcus, usually sat at the desk directly facing the elevator, but his chair was empty. His computer screen glowed with an abandoned spreadsheet. A half-drunk cup of coffee sat beside his keyboard, still steaming. Lucy frowned slightly. Marcus was never away from his post during business hours. Elliott demanded constant availability from his staff, a trait that had made him both feared and respected in the industry. She stepped out of the elevator, her Louboutin heels clicking against the polished floor, the sound echoing in the unusual silence. "Marcus?" she called out, her voice carrying across the empty reception area. No response. The entire floor seemed deserted. Through the glass walls of the conference rooms, she could see empty chairs pushed neatly under tables. The open-plan workspace where junior executives typically buzzed with activity stood vacant, computers humming quietly to themselves. It was 2:30 on a Tuesday afternoon. Where was everyone? Lucy walked toward Elliott's office, the insulated bag growing heavier in her hands. His door was closed—unusual, but not unprecedented. Elliott often closed his door during important calls or when reviewing sensitive documents. She raised her hand to knock, then hesitated. Through the frosted glass panel beside the door, she could see movement. Shadows shifting. She smiled, preparing her surprise entrance, her hand reaching for the door handle. Then she heard it. A sound that didn't belong in an office. A sound that made her hand freeze inches from the polished chrome handle. A moan. Low, feminine, unmistakable in its meaning. Lucy's heart began to pound, a sick, heavy rhythm that seemed to fill her ears. She told herself she was mistaken. That she'd misheard. That there was some reasonable explanation for what she thought she'd heard. Another moan, louder this time. And then Elliott's voice, rough and breathless: "God, yes. Right there." The insulated bag slipped from Lucy's fingers, hitting the floor with a muffled thud. The bottle of Barolo inside clinked against the container of chicken parmesan. She didn't notice. Her entire world had narrowed to that frosted glass panel and the shadows moving behind it. Her hand moved of its own accord, no longer reaching for the handle but instead pulling her phone from her purse. Her fingers trembled as she opened the camera app. Some distant, rational part of her brain was already thinking ahead, already calculating, already planning. But the rest of her—the part that had spent fifteen years building a life with Elliott Carmichael, the part that had sacrificed her own career ambitions to support his, the part that had endured countless lonely nights and postponed dreams—that part was simply trying to breathe. She pressed record. The phone's camera focused on the frosted glass, capturing the shadows in their unmistakable rhythm. Lucy stepped closer, her movements silent despite her heels, years of ballet training lending her an unconscious grace even in this moment of horror. She could see more clearly now through the gaps in the frosting, through the narrow strip of clear glass at the door's edge. Elliott's desk. His massive mahogany desk that had cost forty thousand dollars, that he'd insisted was an investment, a symbol of his success. And bent over it, her skirt hiked up around her waist, her hands gripping the edge of that expensive wood, was Melissa Chen. His secretary. His twenty-eight-year-old secretary with her perfect figure and her Stanford MBA and her eager-to-please smile. The woman Lucy had invited to their home for dinner parties. The woman she'd made small talk with at company events. The woman who'd sent Lucy a thoughtful birthday card just last month. Elliott stood behind Melissa, his pants around his ankles, his hands gripping her hips, his face contorted in an expression Lucy recognized intimately. She'd seen that expression countless times over fifteen years of marriage. She'd thought it belonged to her. The phone captured it all. The rhythmic movement. The abandoned clothing scattered across the floor. Elliott's jacket—the Tom Ford she'd helped him pick out—draped over his chair. Melissa's blouse—silk, expensive, probably purchased with the generous salary Elliott paid her—crumpled on the couch. Lucy's hand remained steady even as her world collapsed. She recorded for two minutes. Three. Four. She captured Elliott's hands moving from Melissa's hips to her hair, pulling her head back. She captured Melissa's mouth opening in a silent cry of pleasure. She captured the moment when Elliott's body tensed, when his fingers dug into Melissa's flesh hard enough to leave marks, when he threw his head back in climax. She captured everything. Then she stopped recording, saved the video to her cloud storage, and backed away from the door. Her movements were mechanical now, her mind operating on some autopilot she didn't know she possessed. She picked up the insulated bag from where it had fallen. She walked back to the elevator. She pressed the button. The elevator arrived with a soft chime. Lucy stepped inside and watched the doors close, watched the frosted glass of Elliott's office disappear from view. She watched the numbers descend: 46... 45... 44... It wasn't until she reached the ground floor, wasn't until she walked out into the autumn sunshine and felt the cool air on her face, that she realized she was crying. Silent tears streaming down her carefully made-up face, ruining the foundation she'd applied so carefully that morning when she'd still been a woman who believed in her marriage. Lucy stood on the sidewalk outside Carmichael Industries, watching people hurry past her, all of them absorbed in their own lives, their own dramas, completely unaware that her entire existence had just shattered. She looked down at the insulated bag in her hands, at the lunch she'd prepared with such care, such love, such stupid, blind devotion. Then she walked to the nearest trash can and threw it all away. The chicken parmesan. The Barolo. The carefully folded napkin. The little note she'd written: "Thinking of you. Love always, L." Love always. The words mocked her now. Lucy pulled out her phone and looked at the video file, safely stored in her cloud. Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds of her husband screwing his secretary. Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds of evidence. Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds of ammunition. She didn't cry anymore. The tears had stopped as suddenly as they'd started, replaced by something else. Something cold and hard and calculating. Something that felt almost like clarity. Lucy Carmichael had spent fifteen years being the perfect wife. The supportive partner. The gracious hostess. The understanding spouse who never complained about the long hours or the missed anniversaries or the growing distance between them. She'd sublimated her own ambitions, her own desires, her own identity into the project of being Mrs. Elliott Carmichael. And this was her reward. This betrayal. This humiliation. This casual destruction of everything she'd built. But as she stood there on that sidewalk, her phone clutched in her hand, Lucy made a decision. She wouldn't confront Elliott. She wouldn't scream or cry or beg for explanations. She wouldn't give him the opportunity to lie, to manipulate, to convince her that what she'd seen wasn't what it seemed. No. She would do something else entirely. She would destroy him. The thought came to her fully formed, crystal clear, almost exhilarating in its simplicity. Elliott had built an empire on his reputation. His image as a devoted family man, a pillar of the community, a leader of industry. He'd leveraged their marriage, their seemingly perfect life, into business opportunities and social connections. How many times had he brought her to events, introduced her to potential investors, used their relationship as proof of his stability, his trustworthiness? She would take it all away from him. Every bit of it. And she would do it in the most public, most devastating way possible. Lucy opened her phone's browser and began to search. Private investigators in Manhattan. Divorce attorneys specializing in high-worth cases. Forensic accountants. She bookmarked pages, made notes, began building a mental framework for what came next. A woman walked past her, talking loudly on her phone about some office drama, some minor betrayal by a coworker. Lucy almost laughed. This woman had no idea what betrayal really meant. What it felt like to have your entire life revealed as a lie. What it cost to smile and nod and play the role of the happy wife while your husband was screwing someone else. But she would learn. They would all learn. Elliott, Melissa, everyone who'd ever looked at Lucy Carmichael and seen nothing more than a decorative accessory to a powerful man's life. They would learn exactly what she was capable of. Lucy hailed a cab and gave the driver her address. As the car pulled into traffic, she looked back at the gleaming tower of Carmichael Industries, at the building that bore her husband's name, that stood as a monument to his success. Not for much longer, she thought. Not for much longer.

🇬🇧

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