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Why women over 50 keep gaining weight, even when they're doing everything right. If you're eating less than you did at 40, moving more than you did at 40, and the scale still won't budge, it isn't your fault. It isn't your diet. It isn't your workouts. It is something in your body that has been depleted for years, and almost no one is testing for it. You can't out-restrict it. You can't out-walk it. You can't out-Pilates it. I know because I tried all of it. I'm 53. I went to my GP twice. Once at 49 when the weight first started creeping on. Again at 51 when my clothes had gone up two sizes despite eating less than I had in my entire adult life. Both times the answer was the same. It's just menopause. It happens. Try walking more. Try cutting wine. I had been walking more. I'd been walking more for two years. I tried keto for three months. Lost six pounds, gained eight back the moment I reintroduced anything because I couldn't live on butter and chicken forever. I tried 1,200 calories a day for four months. My hair started coming out. The scale didn't move. I tried intermittent fasting. Sixteen hours, then eighteen, then twenty. I felt foggy and irritable and the belly stayed exactly where it was. I joined a gym and went five mornings a week. The scale went up by three pounds. My personal trainer told me that was muscle. It wasn't muscle. I bought a tub of inositol because Mumsnet swore by it. Then collagen. Then magnesium. Then sea moss. Then a powder that promised to "target stubborn menopausal belly fat." My bathroom cupboard looked like a Holland & Barrett. I'd spent £600 in six months on supplements that did nothing. Every new tub was a fresh round of hope. Every Monday weigh-in was the hope dying. And the woman in the mirror was wider every time I looked. I started getting dressed in the bathroom with the door locked. I didn't want my husband to see my body anymore. I bought clothes with elastic waistbands. I stopped going to dinner with friends. Nothing in my wardrobe fitted. The thought of trying things on in a shop made me cry. One Tuesday afternoon I caught my reflection in a shop window on the high street. I didn't recognise myself. I rang my friend Caterina that night. I'd known Caterina for fifteen years. We'd worked together in marketing in our forties. She married an Italian man. Moved to a small village outside Florence in her late forties. Has been there ever since. We rang each other once a month and saw each other twice a year when she came back to visit her sister. I told her everything. The weight. The cupboard full of supplements. The two GP visits. The walking. The crying in the changing rooms. She was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, "Italian women don't go through this the way we do." "What?" "They get older. They go through the change. They don't end up with the belly. They don't end up exhausted at 4pm. They don't end up not recognising themselves at 53. I have been watching the women in this village for nine years. I am 56. My mother-in-law is 79. My neighbour is 71. None of them look or move like the women I trained with in London do now." "What's different?" "What's in their kitchens. Specifically what's in the oil." She came over the following Saturday. She'd flown back to see her sister and drove out to me on the Saturday morning with a small dark bottle in her bag. Sat at my kitchen table while I made coffee. "This is what every woman in my village takes. Every morning. Before anything else. One spoonful." "Olive oil." "Not the supermarket sort. The supermarket sort is dead. Heated. Processed. Sat in containers for two years. Nothing alive left in it. This is real. Cold-pressed within hours of harvest. Volcanic soil in Tuscany. Ultra-high polyphenol." "Polyphenols?" She'd been waiting for me to ask. "Plant compounds. Your body cannot make them. Think of them as fuel for your repair crew. The cells whose entire job is fighting inflammation and rebuilding tissue. After 40, the repair load doubles. Hormones shifting. Years of cellular wear piling up. If polyphenol intake doesn't go up to match, the crew runs out of materials. They stop showing up. And everything starts breaking down at once." She tapped the bottle. "Italian women have been topping their bodies up with this every day. All day. Their whole lives. British women get almost none. By the time menopause arrives, the repair crew has been running on empty for decades. Then the oestrogen drops and there is nothing left to buffer it." She poured a small glass into a tumbler. "It isn't menopause being unkind to you. It's menopause arriving at a body that has been depleted for years." She handed me the glass. "Drink it. You will feel the burn. That burn is the medicine. If your oil at home doesn't burn, it is dead." I drank it. My throat caught fire. I coughed so hard my eyes watered. Caterina laughed and went to fill the kettle. She told me about the women in her village. Her mother-in-law at 79 still gardens every morning. Weeds for two hours. No joint problems. No extra weight. No exhaustion. The women in their seventies at the market every Friday in fitted dresses. The 80-year-old who runs the village shop and lifts crates of olive oil her grand-nephew won't touch. "They didn't get lucky with their genes. They got fed. Every single morning of their lives. Starting before they could walk. We never did." I asked her where I could get the same oil. She'd already thought of it. "My sister-in-law's daughter lives in Birmingham. She had the same question two years ago. She found a company that does it the way our village does. Sources from the same region. Presses the same day. Ships in dark glass before the polyphenols have time to die. She tested it against ours. Same burn. Same compounds. She was shocked." She wrote the name down on the back of a receipt from her bag. Ancient Roots. "Take it the way I take it. Every morning. Before anything else. The first thing your body sees that day." I ordered two bottles that night. Two weeks in, I woke up and my stomach was flat for the first time before noon. The waistband on the trousers I'd been avoiding stopped digging in by mid-afternoon. I didn't say anything to anyone. I didn't trust it yet. By the end of the third week the bloat that had been my baseline since 50 was gone. Not occasionally gone. Gone gone. I'd put on a pair of jeans I hadn't fastened in eighteen months and they zipped up on the second try. By six weeks something had shifted in the bigger picture too. The 4pm crash had stopped. I was waking up at 6.30 instead of dragging myself out of bed at 8. My hair was less in the brush. My skin caught the light in a way it hadn't in three years. I'd gone from one symptom to five symptoms quietly disappearing. They were never separate problems. They were the same body finally getting fed. I went into a shop in town that I'd avoided for a year and bought two things that fitted the way I wanted them to. The shop assistant asked if I'd lost weight and I said yes but that wasn't really it. I'd stopped fighting my body and started feeding it. I hadn't done that in three years. My husband came up behind me in the kitchen last Sunday and put his hands on my hips. The way he used to. Before I'd started locking the bathroom door to get dressed. He didn't say anything. Neither did I. That was enough. I rang Caterina last weekend. "It's working. Everything is working." She laughed. "I told you. It isn't the food. It is what your body has been missing while it was eating it." I don't have a menopause weight problem. I had a body that had been running on empty for ten years before menopause even started. When it arrived there was nothing left to buffer it. The Mediterranean women aren't lucky. They're fed. There's a full breakdown of the bottle Caterina drinks every morning on the page below. The same one her sister-in-law's daughter tracked down for the UK. The polyphenol count to look for. Why the harvest timing matters more than the brand. How to get a bottle shipped to your door in the next few days. It comes with a 60-day money-back guarantee. If a spoonful every morning hasn't done what it did for me by then, you send it back and they refund you. No phone calls. No forms. It's what every woman in that village takes before anything else. What I take now ❤️ One spoonful. Every morning. That is the whole thing. → See the bottle and get it shipped here (The harvest is once a year. Last year's batch sold through in six weeks. When it goes again, it's months before the next press.)
I bought a wig last spring. Not a topper. A wig. I sat on the edge of the bed and cried because I thought that was my life now. I'm 62. My hair had been thinning for three years. It started slowly. Extra strands in the brush. A bit more on the pillow. Then handfuls in the shower drain. Then the parting widened until I could see scalp under the bathroom lights and started parting it on the other side to hide it. Then there was no other side to part it on. The crown got worse every month. I bought powder, then headbands, then a topper. The topper itched. I started keeping my hair clipped back at home so my husband wouldn't see how much was missing. I started turning down photographs. Twenty-eight years of family Christmases and I have a wall of frames in the dining room. The last three years are missing. I am the one taking the photos now. I tell people I prefer it that way. I'd spent £3,000. Three different dermatologists, two of them private. Every hair-loss supplement on the Holland & Barrett shelf, twice over. The topical the consultant prescribed that made my scalp itch and stained my pillowcases. A nutritionist who put me on a programme of biotin and zinc and iron and told me to give it six months. Two private trichologists, both of whom said the same thing in different words. "It's quite normal at your age, but unfortunately the pattern is progressive." The PRP injections were quoted at £1,800 a session and I almost booked it. Then last spring I went into a wig shop in town. The woman who fitted me was kind. She kept saying things like "This one really suits the shape of your face" and "Nobody will ever know." Nobody will ever know. I bought it. Brought it home in a black box. Put it on the wardrobe shelf. Sat on the edge of the bed and cried for an hour. My husband moved into the spare room about six months before I bought the wig. He said it was because of his snoring. I knew what it really was. He'd stopped running his fingers through my hair years before that. I'd stopped letting him. The night I bought the wig I didn't tell him. I put it on the shelf and shut the wardrobe door. I had quietly accepted I was going to be the wig lady at church. Then I went to book club two weeks later. We meet once a month at the same little coffee place in town. I'd been going for fifteen years. Same six women, give or take. We'd seen each other through divorces, illnesses, grandchildren, two house moves and one funeral. I walked in that night and didn't recognise the woman sitting in my usual seat. I thought she was someone's plus-one. A new member maybe. I sat down opposite her and smiled politely and waited to be introduced. Then she said, "Linda. It's me." It was Barbara. Sixty-two. Same age as me. Last time I'd seen her at book club, six months earlier, she'd had the same pattern of thinning I had. Crown, parting, the scalp visible under direct light. I'd recognised it because it was mine. The woman sitting in front of me had a head of hair thicker than I'd had at fifty. "OMG. Your hair. What happened?" She laughed. "Everyone asks about new shampoos. New treatments. New supplements. That's not it." We finished book club but neither of us talked about the book. Afterwards we walked to her house and sat in her kitchen drinking tea while her dog wandered between us. She told me she had a friend who'd married an Italian and moved to a small village near Naples about ten years ago. Barbara had been to visit her three times. She'd mentioned to her friend, on the last trip, that she was starting to lose her hair. Her friend had looked at her like the question was odd. "Italian women don't lose their hair the way English women do." Barbara had thought she was joking. Until she walked through the piazza that afternoon and started counting. Women in their seventies. Women in their eighties. Hair pinned up, hair down, hair coming out from under headscarves. Thick hair. Not all of them. But enough that once you noticed it, you couldn't stop noticing it. Her friend's mother-in-law was 81. Her hair was the same colour as Barbara's but twice as thick. Her friend's neighbour was 76. Hair down to the middle of her back, in a single grey plait. "What's different?" Barbara had asked. Her friend had taken her into the kitchen. Pulled a small dark bottle out of the cupboard. Cold-pressed. Volcanic. Within hours of harvest. "Every morning. Before anything else. One spoonful." Barbara told me what her friend had explained to her the first time. Cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil, the real kind, is full of compounds called polyphenols. Plant chemicals you can't make on your own. They are what feeds the body's repair crew. The cells whose entire job is fighting inflammation and rebuilding tissue. Hair follicles depend on them too. After 40, the repair load doubles. If polyphenol intake doesn't go up to match, the crew runs out of materials. They stop showing up. The follicles thin. The hair shaft narrows. The shedding starts and the regrowth stops. "It isn't genetic," Barbara said. "It's what they're putting into their bodies every single morning. Italian women in that region get more of these compounds in their daily diet than almost anyone in Europe. And their hair shows it." "Not the supermarket sort," she added. "The supermarket sort is dead. Heated. Processed. Sat in containers for two years. Nothing alive left in it. The real kind comes from volcanic soil. Pressed within hours." She got up and showed me the bottle she kept on her own kitchen counter. Then she opened a drawer and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "My friend's husband has a niece who lives in Manchester. She had the same problem two years ago. She found a company that does it the way her aunt's village does. Sources from the same region. Presses the same day. Ships in dark glass before the polyphenols have time to die. She tested it against her aunt's own kitchen oil. Same burn. Same compounds. She was shocked." She handed me the piece of paper. Ancient Roots. "One spoonful every morning. Before anything else. That has been the whole thing." I'd never heard of it. I almost didn't look it up that night. I'd been burned by three years of things that didn't work and the thought of one more was almost more than I could face. But the wig was still on the wardrobe shelf at home. And Barbara's hair was real. I'd touched it on the way out. I ordered two bottles before bed. The first three weeks I noticed nothing. The shedding was the same. I kept the wig in its box and tried not to be disappointed. Week three, I cleaned the brush in the bathroom and there was less hair than I'd expected. I didn't trust it. I cleaned it again the next morning to check. It was a tenth of what it had been. Week six, I came out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror with the towel still around me. There were tiny new hairs at my temples. Soft. Fine. The kind of hair I hadn't seen on my own head in five years. My husband walked past the bathroom door. Stopped. Looked at me. "Linda." "What?" "Your hair." He came back into the bathroom and stood behind me looking at my reflection. He hadn't done that in maybe two years. He reached up and ran his fingers through it. There was enough there for him to do it again. Two months in he moved back into our bedroom. He didn't make a big speech about it. He just brought his pillow back one night and got into bed beside me. Three months in, the wig is still in the wardrobe. I haven't touched it. I have not put it on once. I am thinking of donating it. Last week I went to my granddaughter's nativity play. My daughter took a photo of the two of us afterwards in the school hall. The first photo of me in three years. I went home and looked at the wall in my dining room. Twenty-eight years of Christmases hanging in frames. Three of them missing. I held the photo from the nativity in my hand and I knew where it was going. I'm going back into the frames. It wasn't my age. It wasn't my genes. My body had been running on empty for years and I had been treating the wrong problem the whole time. There's a full breakdown of the bottle Barbara handed me on a piece of paper that night on the page below. The same one her friend's niece tracked down for the UK. The polyphenol count to look for. Why the harvest timing matters more than the brand. How to get a bottle shipped to your door in the next few days. It comes with a 60-day money-back guarantee. If a spoonful every morning hasn't done what it did for me by then, you send it back and they refund you. No phone calls. No forms. It's what every woman in that village takes before anything else. What I take now ❤️ One spoonful. Every morning. That is the whole thing. → See the bottle and get it shipped here (The harvest is once a year. Last year's batch sold through in six weeks. When it goes again, it's months before the next press.)
I bought a wig last spring. Not a topper. A wig. I sat on the edge of the bed and cried because I thought that was my life now. I'm 62. My hair had been thinning for three years. It started slowly. Extra strands in the brush. A bit more on the pillow. Then handfuls in the shower drain. Then the parting widened until I could see scalp under the bathroom lights and started parting it on the other side to hide it. Then there was no other side to part it on. The crown got worse every month. I bought powder, then headbands, then a topper. The topper itched. I started keeping my hair clipped back at home so my husband wouldn't see how much was missing. I started turning down photographs. Twenty-eight years of family Christmases and I have a wall of frames in the dining room. The last three years are missing. I am the one taking the photos now. I tell people I prefer it that way. I'd spent £3,000. Three different dermatologists, two of them private. Every hair-loss supplement on the Holland & Barrett shelf, twice over. The topical the consultant prescribed that made my scalp itch and stained my pillowcases. A nutritionist who put me on a programme of biotin and zinc and iron and told me to give it six months. Two private trichologists, both of whom said the same thing in different words. "It's quite normal at your age, but unfortunately the pattern is progressive." The PRP injections were quoted at £1,800 a session and I almost booked it. Then last spring I went into a wig shop in town. The woman who fitted me was kind. She kept saying things like "This one really suits the shape of your face" and "Nobody will ever know." Nobody will ever know. I bought it. Brought it home in a black box. Put it on the wardrobe shelf. Sat on the edge of the bed and cried for an hour. My husband moved into the spare room about six months before I bought the wig. He said it was because of his snoring. I knew what it really was. He'd stopped running his fingers through my hair years before that. I'd stopped letting him. The night I bought the wig I didn't tell him. I put it on the shelf and shut the wardrobe door. I had quietly accepted I was going to be the wig lady at church. Then I went to book club two weeks later. We meet once a month at the same little coffee place in town. I'd been going for fifteen years. Same six women, give or take. We'd seen each other through divorces, illnesses, grandchildren, two house moves and one funeral. I walked in that night and didn't recognise the woman sitting in my usual seat. I thought she was someone's plus-one. A new member maybe. I sat down opposite her and smiled politely and waited to be introduced. Then she said, "Linda. It's me." It was Barbara. Sixty-two. Same age as me. Last time I'd seen her at book club, six months earlier, she'd had the same pattern of thinning I had. Crown, parting, the scalp visible under direct light. I'd recognised it because it was mine. The woman sitting in front of me had a head of hair thicker than I'd had at fifty. "OMG. Your hair. What happened?" She laughed. "Everyone asks about new shampoos. New treatments. New supplements. That's not it." We finished book club but neither of us talked about the book. Afterwards we walked to her house and sat in her kitchen drinking tea while her dog wandered between us. She told me she had a friend who'd married an Italian and moved to a small village near Naples about ten years ago. Barbara had been to visit her three times. She'd mentioned to her friend, on the last trip, that she was starting to lose her hair. Her friend had looked at her like the question was odd. "Italian women don't lose their hair the way English women do." Barbara had thought she was joking. Until she walked through the piazza that afternoon and started counting. Women in their seventies. Women in their eighties. Hair pinned up, hair down, hair coming out from under headscarves. Thick hair. Not all of them. But enough that once you noticed it, you couldn't stop noticing it. Her friend's mother-in-law was 81. Her hair was the same colour as Barbara's but twice as thick. Her friend's neighbour was 76. Hair down to the middle of her back, in a single grey plait. "What's different?" Barbara had asked. Her friend had taken her into the kitchen. Pulled a small dark bottle out of the cupboard. Cold-pressed. Volcanic. Within hours of harvest. "Every morning. Before anything else. One spoonful." Barbara told me what her friend had explained to her the first time. Cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil, the real kind, is full of compounds called polyphenols. Plant chemicals you can't make on your own. They are what feeds the body's repair crew. The cells whose entire job is fighting inflammation and rebuilding tissue. Hair follicles depend on them too. After 40, the repair load doubles. If polyphenol intake doesn't go up to match, the crew runs out of materials. They stop showing up. The follicles thin. The hair shaft narrows. The shedding starts and the regrowth stops. "It isn't genetic," Barbara said. "It's what they're putting into their bodies every single morning. Italian women in that region get more of these compounds in their daily diet than almost anyone in Europe. And their hair shows it." "Not the supermarket sort," she added. "The supermarket sort is dead. Heated. Processed. Sat in containers for two years. Nothing alive left in it. The real kind comes from volcanic soil. Pressed within hours." She got up and showed me the bottle she kept on her own kitchen counter. Then she opened a drawer and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "My friend's husband has a niece who lives in Manchester. She had the same problem two years ago. She found a company that does it the way her aunt's village does. Sources from the same region. Presses the same day. Ships in dark glass before the polyphenols have time to die. She tested it against her aunt's own kitchen oil. Same burn. Same compounds. She was shocked." She handed me the piece of paper. Ancient Roots. "One spoonful every morning. Before anything else. That has been the whole thing." I'd never heard of it. I almost didn't look it up that night. I'd been burned by three years of things that didn't work and the thought of one more was almost more than I could face. But the wig was still on the wardrobe shelf at home. And Barbara's hair was real. I'd touched it on the way out. I ordered two bottles before bed. The first three weeks I noticed nothing. The shedding was the same. I kept the wig in its box and tried not to be disappointed. Week three, I cleaned the brush in the bathroom and there was less hair than I'd expected. I didn't trust it. I cleaned it again the next morning to check. It was a tenth of what it had been. Week six, I came out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror with the towel still around me. There were tiny new hairs at my temples. Soft. Fine. The kind of hair I hadn't seen on my own head in five years. My husband walked past the bathroom door. Stopped. Looked at me. "Linda." "What?" "Your hair." He came back into the bathroom and stood behind me looking at my reflection. He hadn't done that in maybe two years. He reached up and ran his fingers through it. There was enough there for him to do it again. Two months in he moved back into our bedroom. He didn't make a big speech about it. He just brought his pillow back one night and got into bed beside me. Three months in, the wig is still in the wardrobe. I haven't touched it. I have not put it on once. I am thinking of donating it. Last week I went to my granddaughter's nativity play. My daughter took a photo of the two of us afterwards in the school hall. The first photo of me in three years. I went home and looked at the wall in my dining room. Twenty-eight years of Christmases hanging in frames. Three of them missing. I held the photo from the nativity in my hand and I knew where it was going. I'm going back into the frames. It wasn't my age. It wasn't my genes. My body had been running on empty for years and I had been treating the wrong problem the whole time. There's a full breakdown of the bottle Barbara handed me on a piece of paper that night on the page below. The same one her friend's niece tracked down for the UK. The polyphenol count to look for. Why the harvest timing matters more than the brand. How to get a bottle shipped to your door in the next few days. It comes with a 60-day money-back guarantee. If a spoonful every morning hasn't done what it did for me by then, you send it back and they refund you. No phone calls. No forms. It's what every woman in that village takes before anything else. What I take now ❤️ One spoonful. Every morning. That is the whole thing. → See the bottle and get it shipped here (The harvest is once a year. Last year's batch sold through in six weeks. When it goes again, it's months before the next press.)
Why women over 50 keep gaining weight, even when they're doing everything right. If you're eating less than you did at 40, moving more than you did at 40, and the scale still won't budge, it isn't your fault. It isn't your diet. It isn't your workouts. It is something in your body that has been depleted for years, and almost no one is testing for it. You can't out-restrict it. You can't out-walk it. You can't out-Pilates it. I know because I tried all of it. I'm 53. I went to my GP twice. Once at 49 when the weight first started creeping on. Again at 51 when my clothes had gone up two sizes despite eating less than I had in my entire adult life. Both times the answer was the same. It's just menopause. It happens. Try walking more. Try cutting wine. I had been walking more. I'd been walking more for two years. I tried keto for three months. Lost six pounds, gained eight back the moment I reintroduced anything because I couldn't live on butter and chicken forever. I tried 1,200 calories a day for four months. My hair started coming out. The scale didn't move. I tried intermittent fasting. Sixteen hours, then eighteen, then twenty. I felt foggy and irritable and the belly stayed exactly where it was. I joined a gym and went five mornings a week. The scale went up by three pounds. My personal trainer told me that was muscle. It wasn't muscle. I bought a tub of inositol because Mumsnet swore by it. Then collagen. Then magnesium. Then sea moss. Then a powder that promised to "target stubborn menopausal belly fat." My bathroom cupboard looked like a Holland & Barrett. I'd spent £600 in six months on supplements that did nothing. Every new tub was a fresh round of hope. Every Monday weigh-in was the hope dying. And the woman in the mirror was wider every time I looked. I started getting dressed in the bathroom with the door locked. I didn't want my husband to see my body anymore. I bought clothes with elastic waistbands. I stopped going to dinner with friends. Nothing in my wardrobe fitted. The thought of trying things on in a shop made me cry. One Tuesday afternoon I caught my reflection in a shop window on the high street. I didn't recognise myself. I rang my friend Caterina that night. I'd known Caterina for fifteen years. We'd worked together in marketing in our forties. She married an Italian man. Moved to a small village outside Florence in her late forties. Has been there ever since. We rang each other once a month and saw each other twice a year when she came back to visit her sister. I told her everything. The weight. The cupboard full of supplements. The two GP visits. The walking. The crying in the changing rooms. She was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, "Italian women don't go through this the way we do." "What?" "They get older. They go through the change. They don't end up with the belly. They don't end up exhausted at 4pm. They don't end up not recognising themselves at 53. I have been watching the women in this village for nine years. I am 56. My mother-in-law is 79. My neighbour is 71. None of them look or move like the women I trained with in London do now." "What's different?" "What's in their kitchens. Specifically what's in the oil." She came over the following Saturday. She'd flown back to see her sister and drove out to me on the Saturday morning with a small dark bottle in her bag. Sat at my kitchen table while I made coffee. "This is what every woman in my village takes. Every morning. Before anything else. One spoonful." "Olive oil." "Not the supermarket sort. The supermarket sort is dead. Heated. Processed. Sat in containers for two years. Nothing alive left in it. This is real. Cold-pressed within hours of harvest. Volcanic soil in Tuscany. Ultra-high polyphenol." "Polyphenols?" She'd been waiting for me to ask. "Plant compounds. Your body cannot make them. Think of them as fuel for your repair crew. The cells whose entire job is fighting inflammation and rebuilding tissue. After 40, the repair load doubles. Hormones shifting. Years of cellular wear piling up. If polyphenol intake doesn't go up to match, the crew runs out of materials. They stop showing up. And everything starts breaking down at once." She tapped the bottle. "Italian women have been topping their bodies up with this every day. All day. Their whole lives. British women get almost none. By the time menopause arrives, the repair crew has been running on empty for decades. Then the oestrogen drops and there is nothing left to buffer it." She poured a small glass into a tumbler. "It isn't menopause being unkind to you. It's menopause arriving at a body that has been depleted for years." She handed me the glass. "Drink it. You will feel the burn. That burn is the medicine. If your oil at home doesn't burn, it is dead." I drank it. My throat caught fire. I coughed so hard my eyes watered. Caterina laughed and went to fill the kettle. She told me about the women in her village. Her mother-in-law at 79 still gardens every morning. Weeds for two hours. No joint problems. No extra weight. No exhaustion. The women in their seventies at the market every Friday in fitted dresses. The 80-year-old who runs the village shop and lifts crates of olive oil her grand-nephew won't touch. "They didn't get lucky with their genes. They got fed. Every single morning of their lives. Starting before they could walk. We never did." I asked her where I could get the same oil. She'd already thought of it. "My sister-in-law's daughter lives in Birmingham. She had the same question two years ago. She found a company that does it the way our village does. Sources from the same region. Presses the same day. Ships in dark glass before the polyphenols have time to die. She tested it against ours. Same burn. Same compounds. She was shocked." She wrote the name down on the back of a receipt from her bag. Ancient Roots. "Take it the way I take it. Every morning. Before anything else. The first thing your body sees that day." I ordered two bottles that night. Two weeks in, I woke up and my stomach was flat for the first time before noon. The waistband on the trousers I'd been avoiding stopped digging in by mid-afternoon. I didn't say anything to anyone. I didn't trust it yet. By the end of the third week the bloat that had been my baseline since 50 was gone. Not occasionally gone. Gone gone. I'd put on a pair of jeans I hadn't fastened in eighteen months and they zipped up on the second try. By six weeks something had shifted in the bigger picture too. The 4pm crash had stopped. I was waking up at 6.30 instead of dragging myself out of bed at 8. My hair was less in the brush. My skin caught the light in a way it hadn't in three years. I'd gone from one symptom to five symptoms quietly disappearing. They were never separate problems. They were the same body finally getting fed. I went into a shop in town that I'd avoided for a year and bought two things that fitted the way I wanted them to. The shop assistant asked if I'd lost weight and I said yes but that wasn't really it. I'd stopped fighting my body and started feeding it. I hadn't done that in three years. My husband came up behind me in the kitchen last Sunday and put his hands on my hips. The way he used to. Before I'd started locking the bathroom door to get dressed. He didn't say anything. Neither did I. That was enough. I rang Caterina last weekend. "It's working. Everything is working." She laughed. "I told you. It isn't the food. It is what your body has been missing while it was eating it." I don't have a menopause weight problem. I had a body that had been running on empty for ten years before menopause even started. When it arrived there was nothing left to buffer it. The Mediterranean women aren't lucky. They're fed. There's a full breakdown of the bottle Caterina drinks every morning on the page below. The same one her sister-in-law's daughter tracked down for the UK. The polyphenol count to look for. Why the harvest timing matters more than the brand. How to get a bottle shipped to your door in the next few days. It comes with a 60-day money-back guarantee. If a spoonful every morning hasn't done what it did for me by then, you send it back and they refund you. No phone calls. No forms. It's what every woman in that village takes before anything else. What I take now ❤️ One spoonful. Every morning. That is the whole thing. → See the bottle and get it shipped here (The harvest is once a year. Last year's batch sold through in six weeks. When it goes again, it's months before the next press.)
Why women over 50 keep gaining weight, even when they're doing everything right. If you're eating less than you did at 40, moving more than you did at 40, and the scale still won't budge, it isn't your fault. It isn't your diet. It isn't your workouts. It is something in your body that has been depleted for years, and almost no one is testing for it. You can't out-restrict it. You can't out-walk it. You can't out-Pilates it. I know because I tried all of it. I'm 53. I went to my GP twice. Once at 49 when the weight first started creeping on. Again at 51 when my clothes had gone up two sizes despite eating less than I had in my entire adult life. Both times the answer was the same. It's just menopause. It happens. Try walking more. Try cutting wine. I had been walking more. I'd been walking more for two years. I tried keto for three months. Lost six pounds, gained eight back the moment I reintroduced anything because I couldn't live on butter and chicken forever. I tried 1,200 calories a day for four months. My hair started coming out. The scale didn't move. I tried intermittent fasting. Sixteen hours, then eighteen, then twenty. I felt foggy and irritable and the belly stayed exactly where it was. I joined a gym and went five mornings a week. The scale went up by three pounds. My personal trainer told me that was muscle. It wasn't muscle. I bought a tub of inositol because Mumsnet swore by it. Then collagen. Then magnesium. Then sea moss. Then a powder that promised to "target stubborn menopausal belly fat." My bathroom cupboard looked like a Holland & Barrett. I'd spent £600 in six months on supplements that did nothing. Every new tub was a fresh round of hope. Every Monday weigh-in was the hope dying. And the woman in the mirror was wider every time I looked. I started getting dressed in the bathroom with the door locked. I didn't want my husband to see my body anymore. I bought clothes with elastic waistbands. I stopped going to dinner with friends. Nothing in my wardrobe fitted. The thought of trying things on in a shop made me cry. One Tuesday afternoon I caught my reflection in a shop window on the high street. I didn't recognise myself. I rang my friend Caterina that night. I'd known Caterina for fifteen years. We'd worked together in marketing in our forties. She married an Italian man. Moved to a small village outside Florence in her late forties. Has been there ever since. We rang each other once a month and saw each other twice a year when she came back to visit her sister. I told her everything. The weight. The cupboard full of supplements. The two GP visits. The walking. The crying in the changing rooms. She was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, "Italian women don't go through this the way we do." "What?" "They get older. They go through the change. They don't end up with the belly. They don't end up exhausted at 4pm. They don't end up not recognising themselves at 53. I have been watching the women in this village for nine years. I am 56. My mother-in-law is 79. My neighbour is 71. None of them look or move like the women I trained with in London do now." "What's different?" "What's in their kitchens. Specifically what's in the oil." She came over the following Saturday. She'd flown back to see her sister and drove out to me on the Saturday morning with a small dark bottle in her bag. Sat at my kitchen table while I made coffee. "This is what every woman in my village takes. Every morning. Before anything else. One spoonful." "Olive oil." "Not the supermarket sort. The supermarket sort is dead. Heated. Processed. Sat in containers for two years. Nothing alive left in it. This is real. Cold-pressed within hours of harvest. Volcanic soil in Tuscany. Ultra-high polyphenol." "Polyphenols?" She'd been waiting for me to ask. "Plant compounds. Your body cannot make them. Think of them as fuel for your repair crew. The cells whose entire job is fighting inflammation and rebuilding tissue. After 40, the repair load doubles. Hormones shifting. Years of cellular wear piling up. If polyphenol intake doesn't go up to match, the crew runs out of materials. They stop showing up. And everything starts breaking down at once." She tapped the bottle. "Italian women have been topping their bodies up with this every day. All day. Their whole lives. British women get almost none. By the time menopause arrives, the repair crew has been running on empty for decades. Then the oestrogen drops and there is nothing left to buffer it." She poured a small glass into a tumbler. "It isn't menopause being unkind to you. It's menopause arriving at a body that has been depleted for years." She handed me the glass. "Drink it. You will feel the burn. That burn is the medicine. If your oil at home doesn't burn, it is dead." I drank it. My throat caught fire. I coughed so hard my eyes watered. Caterina laughed and went to fill the kettle. She told me about the women in her village. Her mother-in-law at 79 still gardens every morning. Weeds for two hours. No joint problems. No extra weight. No exhaustion. The women in their seventies at the market every Friday in fitted dresses. The 80-year-old who runs the village shop and lifts crates of olive oil her grand-nephew won't touch. "They didn't get lucky with their genes. They got fed. Every single morning of their lives. Starting before they could walk. We never did." I asked her where I could get the same oil. She'd already thought of it. "My sister-in-law's daughter lives in Birmingham. She had the same question two years ago. She found a company that does it the way our village does. Sources from the same region. Presses the same day. Ships in dark glass before the polyphenols have time to die. She tested it against ours. Same burn. Same compounds. She was shocked." She wrote the name down on the back of a receipt from her bag. Ancient Roots. "Take it the way I take it. Every morning. Before anything else. The first thing your body sees that day." I ordered two bottles that night. Two weeks in, I woke up and my stomach was flat for the first time before noon. The waistband on the trousers I'd been avoiding stopped digging in by mid-afternoon. I didn't say anything to anyone. I didn't trust it yet. By the end of the third week the bloat that had been my baseline since 50 was gone. Not occasionally gone. Gone gone. I'd put on a pair of jeans I hadn't fastened in eighteen months and they zipped up on the second try. By six weeks something had shifted in the bigger picture too. The 4pm crash had stopped. I was waking up at 6.30 instead of dragging myself out of bed at 8. My hair was less in the brush. My skin caught the light in a way it hadn't in three years. I'd gone from one symptom to five symptoms quietly disappearing. They were never separate problems. They were the same body finally getting fed. I went into a shop in town that I'd avoided for a year and bought two things that fitted the way I wanted them to. The shop assistant asked if I'd lost weight and I said yes but that wasn't really it. I'd stopped fighting my body and started feeding it. I hadn't done that in three years. My husband came up behind me in the kitchen last Sunday and put his hands on my hips. The way he used to. Before I'd started locking the bathroom door to get dressed. He didn't say anything. Neither did I. That was enough. I rang Caterina last weekend. "It's working. Everything is working." She laughed. "I told you. It isn't the food. It is what your body has been missing while it was eating it." I don't have a menopause weight problem. I had a body that had been running on empty for ten years before menopause even started. When it arrived there was nothing left to buffer it. The Mediterranean women aren't lucky. They're fed. There's a full breakdown of the bottle Caterina drinks every morning on the page below. The same one her sister-in-law's daughter tracked down for the UK. The polyphenol count to look for. Why the harvest timing matters more than the brand. How to get a bottle shipped to your door in the next few days. It comes with a 60-day money-back guarantee. If a spoonful every morning hasn't done what it did for me by then, you send it back and they refund you. No phone calls. No forms. It's what every woman in that village takes before anything else. What I take now ❤️ One spoonful. Every morning. That is the whole thing. → See the bottle and get it shipped here (The harvest is once a year. Last year's batch sold through in six weeks. When it goes again, it's months before the next press.)
I bought a wig last spring. Not a topper. A wig. I sat on the edge of the bed and cried because I thought that was my life now. I'm 62. My hair had been thinning for three years. It started slowly. Extra strands in the brush. A bit more on the pillow. Then handfuls in the shower drain. Then the parting widened until I could see scalp under the bathroom lights and started parting it on the other side to hide it. Then there was no other side to part it on. The crown got worse every month. I bought powder, then headbands, then a topper. The topper itched. I started keeping my hair clipped back at home so my husband wouldn't see how much was missing. I started turning down photographs. Twenty-eight years of family Christmases and I have a wall of frames in the dining room. The last three years are missing. I am the one taking the photos now. I tell people I prefer it that way. I'd spent £3,000. Three different dermatologists, two of them private. Every hair-loss supplement on the Holland & Barrett shelf, twice over. The topical the consultant prescribed that made my scalp itch and stained my pillowcases. A nutritionist who put me on a programme of biotin and zinc and iron and told me to give it six months. Two private trichologists, both of whom said the same thing in different words. "It's quite normal at your age, but unfortunately the pattern is progressive." The PRP injections were quoted at £1,800 a session and I almost booked it. Then last spring I went into a wig shop in town. The woman who fitted me was kind. She kept saying things like "This one really suits the shape of your face" and "Nobody will ever know." Nobody will ever know. I bought it. Brought it home in a black box. Put it on the wardrobe shelf. Sat on the edge of the bed and cried for an hour. My husband moved into the spare room about six months before I bought the wig. He said it was because of his snoring. I knew what it really was. He'd stopped running his fingers through my hair years before that. I'd stopped letting him. The night I bought the wig I didn't tell him. I put it on the shelf and shut the wardrobe door. I had quietly accepted I was going to be the wig lady at church. Then I went to book club two weeks later. We meet once a month at the same little coffee place in town. I'd been going for fifteen years. Same six women, give or take. We'd seen each other through divorces, illnesses, grandchildren, two house moves and one funeral. I walked in that night and didn't recognise the woman sitting in my usual seat. I thought she was someone's plus-one. A new member maybe. I sat down opposite her and smiled politely and waited to be introduced. Then she said, "Linda. It's me." It was Barbara. Sixty-two. Same age as me. Last time I'd seen her at book club, six months earlier, she'd had the same pattern of thinning I had. Crown, parting, the scalp visible under direct light. I'd recognised it because it was mine. The woman sitting in front of me had a head of hair thicker than I'd had at fifty. "OMG. Your hair. What happened?" She laughed. "Everyone asks about new shampoos. New treatments. New supplements. That's not it." We finished book club but neither of us talked about the book. Afterwards we walked to her house and sat in her kitchen drinking tea while her dog wandered between us. She told me she had a friend who'd married an Italian and moved to a small village near Naples about ten years ago. Barbara had been to visit her three times. She'd mentioned to her friend, on the last trip, that she was starting to lose her hair. Her friend had looked at her like the question was odd. "Italian women don't lose their hair the way English women do." Barbara had thought she was joking. Until she walked through the piazza that afternoon and started counting. Women in their seventies. Women in their eighties. Hair pinned up, hair down, hair coming out from under headscarves. Thick hair. Not all of them. But enough that once you noticed it, you couldn't stop noticing it. Her friend's mother-in-law was 81. Her hair was the same colour as Barbara's but twice as thick. Her friend's neighbour was 76. Hair down to the middle of her back, in a single grey plait. "What's different?" Barbara had asked. Her friend had taken her into the kitchen. Pulled a small dark bottle out of the cupboard. Cold-pressed. Volcanic. Within hours of harvest. "Every morning. Before anything else. One spoonful." Barbara told me what her friend had explained to her the first time. Cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil, the real kind, is full of compounds called polyphenols. Plant chemicals you can't make on your own. They are what feeds the body's repair crew. The cells whose entire job is fighting inflammation and rebuilding tissue. Hair follicles depend on them too. After 40, the repair load doubles. If polyphenol intake doesn't go up to match, the crew runs out of materials. They stop showing up. The follicles thin. The hair shaft narrows. The shedding starts and the regrowth stops. "It isn't genetic," Barbara said. "It's what they're putting into their bodies every single morning. Italian women in that region get more of these compounds in their daily diet than almost anyone in Europe. And their hair shows it." "Not the supermarket sort," she added. "The supermarket sort is dead. Heated. Processed. Sat in containers for two years. Nothing alive left in it. The real kind comes from volcanic soil. Pressed within hours." She got up and showed me the bottle she kept on her own kitchen counter. Then she opened a drawer and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "My friend's husband has a niece who lives in Manchester. She had the same problem two years ago. She found a company that does it the way her aunt's village does. Sources from the same region. Presses the same day. Ships in dark glass before the polyphenols have time to die. She tested it against her aunt's own kitchen oil. Same burn. Same compounds. She was shocked." She handed me the piece of paper. Ancient Roots. "One spoonful every morning. Before anything else. That has been the whole thing." I'd never heard of it. I almost didn't look it up that night. I'd been burned by three years of things that didn't work and the thought of one more was almost more than I could face. But the wig was still on the wardrobe shelf at home. And Barbara's hair was real. I'd touched it on the way out. I ordered two bottles before bed. The first three weeks I noticed nothing. The shedding was the same. I kept the wig in its box and tried not to be disappointed. Week three, I cleaned the brush in the bathroom and there was less hair than I'd expected. I didn't trust it. I cleaned it again the next morning to check. It was a tenth of what it had been. Week six, I came out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror with the towel still around me. There were tiny new hairs at my temples. Soft. Fine. The kind of hair I hadn't seen on my own head in five years. My husband walked past the bathroom door. Stopped. Looked at me. "Linda." "What?" "Your hair." He came back into the bathroom and stood behind me looking at my reflection. He hadn't done that in maybe two years. He reached up and ran his fingers through it. There was enough there for him to do it again. Two months in he moved back into our bedroom. He didn't make a big speech about it. He just brought his pillow back one night and got into bed beside me. Three months in, the wig is still in the wardrobe. I haven't touched it. I have not put it on once. I am thinking of donating it. Last week I went to my granddaughter's nativity play. My daughter took a photo of the two of us afterwards in the school hall. The first photo of me in three years. I went home and looked at the wall in my dining room. Twenty-eight years of Christmases hanging in frames. Three of them missing. I held the photo from the nativity in my hand and I knew where it was going. I'm going back into the frames. It wasn't my age. It wasn't my genes. My body had been running on empty for years and I had been treating the wrong problem the whole time. There's a full breakdown of the bottle Barbara handed me on a piece of paper that night on the page below. The same one her friend's niece tracked down for the UK. The polyphenol count to look for. Why the harvest timing matters more than the brand. How to get a bottle shipped to your door in the next few days. It comes with a 60-day money-back guarantee. If a spoonful every morning hasn't done what it did for me by then, you send it back and they refund you. No phone calls. No forms. It's what every woman in that village takes before anything else. What I take now ❤️ One spoonful. Every morning. That is the whole thing. → See the bottle and get it shipped here (The harvest is once a year. Last year's batch sold through in six weeks. When it goes again, it's months before the next press.)
I bought a wig last spring. Not a topper. A wig. I sat on the edge of the bed and cried because I thought that was my life now. I'm 62. My hair had been thinning for three years. It started slowly. Extra strands in the brush. A bit more on the pillow. Then handfuls in the shower drain. Then the parting widened until I could see scalp under the bathroom lights and started parting it on the other side to hide it. Then there was no other side to part it on. The crown got worse every month. I bought powder, then headbands, then a topper. The topper itched. I started keeping my hair clipped back at home so my husband wouldn't see how much was missing. I started turning down photographs. Twenty-eight years of family Christmases and I have a wall of frames in the dining room. The last three years are missing. I am the one taking the photos now. I tell people I prefer it that way. I'd spent £3,000. Three different dermatologists, two of them private. Every hair-loss supplement on the Holland & Barrett shelf, twice over. The topical the consultant prescribed that made my scalp itch and stained my pillowcases. A nutritionist who put me on a programme of biotin and zinc and iron and told me to give it six months. Two private trichologists, both of whom said the same thing in different words. "It's quite normal at your age, but unfortunately the pattern is progressive." The PRP injections were quoted at £1,800 a session and I almost booked it. Then last spring I went into a wig shop in town. The woman who fitted me was kind. She kept saying things like "This one really suits the shape of your face" and "Nobody will ever know." Nobody will ever know. I bought it. Brought it home in a black box. Put it on the wardrobe shelf. Sat on the edge of the bed and cried for an hour. My husband moved into the spare room about six months before I bought the wig. He said it was because of his snoring. I knew what it really was. He'd stopped running his fingers through my hair years before that. I'd stopped letting him. The night I bought the wig I didn't tell him. I put it on the shelf and shut the wardrobe door. I had quietly accepted I was going to be the wig lady at church. Then I went to book club two weeks later. We meet once a month at the same little coffee place in town. I'd been going for fifteen years. Same six women, give or take. We'd seen each other through divorces, illnesses, grandchildren, two house moves and one funeral. I walked in that night and didn't recognise the woman sitting in my usual seat. I thought she was someone's plus-one. A new member maybe. I sat down opposite her and smiled politely and waited to be introduced. Then she said, "Linda. It's me." It was Barbara. Sixty-two. Same age as me. Last time I'd seen her at book club, six months earlier, she'd had the same pattern of thinning I had. Crown, parting, the scalp visible under direct light. I'd recognised it because it was mine. The woman sitting in front of me had a head of hair thicker than I'd had at fifty. "OMG. Your hair. What happened?" She laughed. "Everyone asks about new shampoos. New treatments. New supplements. That's not it." We finished book club but neither of us talked about the book. Afterwards we walked to her house and sat in her kitchen drinking tea while her dog wandered between us. She told me she had a friend who'd married an Italian and moved to a small village near Naples about ten years ago. Barbara had been to visit her three times. She'd mentioned to her friend, on the last trip, that she was starting to lose her hair. Her friend had looked at her like the question was odd. "Italian women don't lose their hair the way English women do." Barbara had thought she was joking. Until she walked through the piazza that afternoon and started counting. Women in their seventies. Women in their eighties. Hair pinned up, hair down, hair coming out from under headscarves. Thick hair. Not all of them. But enough that once you noticed it, you couldn't stop noticing it. Her friend's mother-in-law was 81. Her hair was the same colour as Barbara's but twice as thick. Her friend's neighbour was 76. Hair down to the middle of her back, in a single grey plait. "What's different?" Barbara had asked. Her friend had taken her into the kitchen. Pulled a small dark bottle out of the cupboard. Cold-pressed. Volcanic. Within hours of harvest. "Every morning. Before anything else. One spoonful." Barbara told me what her friend had explained to her the first time. Cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil, the real kind, is full of compounds called polyphenols. Plant chemicals you can't make on your own. They are what feeds the body's repair crew. The cells whose entire job is fighting inflammation and rebuilding tissue. Hair follicles depend on them too. After 40, the repair load doubles. If polyphenol intake doesn't go up to match, the crew runs out of materials. They stop showing up. The follicles thin. The hair shaft narrows. The shedding starts and the regrowth stops. "It isn't genetic," Barbara said. "It's what they're putting into their bodies every single morning. Italian women in that region get more of these compounds in their daily diet than almost anyone in Europe. And their hair shows it." "Not the supermarket sort," she added. "The supermarket sort is dead. Heated. Processed. Sat in containers for two years. Nothing alive left in it. The real kind comes from volcanic soil. Pressed within hours." She got up and showed me the bottle she kept on her own kitchen counter. Then she opened a drawer and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "My friend's husband has a niece who lives in Manchester. She had the same problem two years ago. She found a company that does it the way her aunt's village does. Sources from the same region. Presses the same day. Ships in dark glass before the polyphenols have time to die. She tested it against her aunt's own kitchen oil. Same burn. Same compounds. She was shocked." She handed me the piece of paper. Ancient Roots. "One spoonful every morning. Before anything else. That has been the whole thing." I'd never heard of it. I almost didn't look it up that night. I'd been burned by three years of things that didn't work and the thought of one more was almost more than I could face. But the wig was still on the wardrobe shelf at home. And Barbara's hair was real. I'd touched it on the way out. I ordered two bottles before bed. The first three weeks I noticed nothing. The shedding was the same. I kept the wig in its box and tried not to be disappointed. Week three, I cleaned the brush in the bathroom and there was less hair than I'd expected. I didn't trust it. I cleaned it again the next morning to check. It was a tenth of what it had been. Week six, I came out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror with the towel still around me. There were tiny new hairs at my temples. Soft. Fine. The kind of hair I hadn't seen on my own head in five years. My husband walked past the bathroom door. Stopped. Looked at me. "Linda." "What?" "Your hair." He came back into the bathroom and stood behind me looking at my reflection. He hadn't done that in maybe two years. He reached up and ran his fingers through it. There was enough there for him to do it again. Two months in he moved back into our bedroom. He didn't make a big speech about it. He just brought his pillow back one night and got into bed beside me. Three months in, the wig is still in the wardrobe. I haven't touched it. I have not put it on once. I am thinking of donating it. Last week I went to my granddaughter's nativity play. My daughter took a photo of the two of us afterwards in the school hall. The first photo of me in three years. I went home and looked at the wall in my dining room. Twenty-eight years of Christmases hanging in frames. Three of them missing. I held the photo from the nativity in my hand and I knew where it was going. I'm going back into the frames. It wasn't my age. It wasn't my genes. My body had been running on empty for years and I had been treating the wrong problem the whole time. There's a full breakdown of the bottle Barbara handed me on a piece of paper that night on the page below. The same one her friend's niece tracked down for the UK. The polyphenol count to look for. Why the harvest timing matters more than the brand. How to get a bottle shipped to your door in the next few days. It comes with a 60-day money-back guarantee. If a spoonful every morning hasn't done what it did for me by then, you send it back and they refund you. No phone calls. No forms. It's what every woman in that village takes before anything else. What I take now ❤️ One spoonful. Every morning. That is the whole thing. → See the bottle and get it shipped here (The harvest is once a year. Last year's batch sold through in six weeks. When it goes again, it's months before the next press.)
I bought a wig last spring. Not a topper. A wig. I sat on the edge of the bed and cried because I thought that was my life now. I'm 62. My hair had been thinning for three years. It started slowly. Extra strands in the brush. A bit more on the pillow. Then handfuls in the shower drain. Then the parting widened until I could see scalp under the bathroom lights and started parting it on the other side to hide it. Then there was no other side to part it on. The crown got worse every month. I bought powder, then headbands, then a topper. The topper itched. I started keeping my hair clipped back at home so my husband wouldn't see how much was missing. I started turning down photographs. Twenty-eight years of family Christmases and I have a wall of frames in the dining room. The last three years are missing. I am the one taking the photos now. I tell people I prefer it that way. I'd spent £3,000. Three different dermatologists, two of them private. Every hair-loss supplement on the Holland & Barrett shelf, twice over. The topical the consultant prescribed that made my scalp itch and stained my pillowcases. A nutritionist who put me on a programme of biotin and zinc and iron and told me to give it six months. Two private trichologists, both of whom said the same thing in different words. "It's quite normal at your age, but unfortunately the pattern is progressive." The PRP injections were quoted at £1,800 a session and I almost booked it. Then last spring I went into a wig shop in town. The woman who fitted me was kind. She kept saying things like "This one really suits the shape of your face" and "Nobody will ever know." Nobody will ever know. I bought it. Brought it home in a black box. Put it on the wardrobe shelf. Sat on the edge of the bed and cried for an hour. My husband moved into the spare room about six months before I bought the wig. He said it was because of his snoring. I knew what it really was. He'd stopped running his fingers through my hair years before that. I'd stopped letting him. The night I bought the wig I didn't tell him. I put it on the shelf and shut the wardrobe door. I had quietly accepted I was going to be the wig lady at church. Then I went to book club two weeks later. We meet once a month at the same little coffee place in town. I'd been going for fifteen years. Same six women, give or take. We'd seen each other through divorces, illnesses, grandchildren, two house moves and one funeral. I walked in that night and didn't recognise the woman sitting in my usual seat. I thought she was someone's plus-one. A new member maybe. I sat down opposite her and smiled politely and waited to be introduced. Then she said, "Linda. It's me." It was Barbara. Sixty-two. Same age as me. Last time I'd seen her at book club, six months earlier, she'd had the same pattern of thinning I had. Crown, parting, the scalp visible under direct light. I'd recognised it because it was mine. The woman sitting in front of me had a head of hair thicker than I'd had at fifty. "OMG. Your hair. What happened?" She laughed. "Everyone asks about new shampoos. New treatments. New supplements. That's not it." We finished book club but neither of us talked about the book. Afterwards we walked to her house and sat in her kitchen drinking tea while her dog wandered between us. She told me she had a friend who'd married an Italian and moved to a small village near Naples about ten years ago. Barbara had been to visit her three times. She'd mentioned to her friend, on the last trip, that she was starting to lose her hair. Her friend had looked at her like the question was odd. "Italian women don't lose their hair the way English women do." Barbara had thought she was joking. Until she walked through the piazza that afternoon and started counting. Women in their seventies. Women in their eighties. Hair pinned up, hair down, hair coming out from under headscarves. Thick hair. Not all of them. But enough that once you noticed it, you couldn't stop noticing it. Her friend's mother-in-law was 81. Her hair was the same colour as Barbara's but twice as thick. Her friend's neighbour was 76. Hair down to the middle of her back, in a single grey plait. "What's different?" Barbara had asked. Her friend had taken her into the kitchen. Pulled a small dark bottle out of the cupboard. Cold-pressed. Volcanic. Within hours of harvest. "Every morning. Before anything else. One spoonful." Barbara told me what her friend had explained to her the first time. Cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil, the real kind, is full of compounds called polyphenols. Plant chemicals you can't make on your own. They are what feeds the body's repair crew. The cells whose entire job is fighting inflammation and rebuilding tissue. Hair follicles depend on them too. After 40, the repair load doubles. If polyphenol intake doesn't go up to match, the crew runs out of materials. They stop showing up. The follicles thin. The hair shaft narrows. The shedding starts and the regrowth stops. "It isn't genetic," Barbara said. "It's what they're putting into their bodies every single morning. Italian women in that region get more of these compounds in their daily diet than almost anyone in Europe. And their hair shows it." "Not the supermarket sort," she added. "The supermarket sort is dead. Heated. Processed. Sat in containers for two years. Nothing alive left in it. The real kind comes from volcanic soil. Pressed within hours." She got up and showed me the bottle she kept on her own kitchen counter. Then she opened a drawer and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "My friend's husband has a niece who lives in Manchester. She had the same problem two years ago. She found a company that does it the way her aunt's village does. Sources from the same region. Presses the same day. Ships in dark glass before the polyphenols have time to die. She tested it against her aunt's own kitchen oil. Same burn. Same compounds. She was shocked." She handed me the piece of paper. Ancient Roots. "One spoonful every morning. Before anything else. That has been the whole thing." I'd never heard of it. I almost didn't look it up that night. I'd been burned by three years of things that didn't work and the thought of one more was almost more than I could face. But the wig was still on the wardrobe shelf at home. And Barbara's hair was real. I'd touched it on the way out. I ordered two bottles before bed. The first three weeks I noticed nothing. The shedding was the same. I kept the wig in its box and tried not to be disappointed. Week three, I cleaned the brush in the bathroom and there was less hair than I'd expected. I didn't trust it. I cleaned it again the next morning to check. It was a tenth of what it had been. Week six, I came out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror with the towel still around me. There were tiny new hairs at my temples. Soft. Fine. The kind of hair I hadn't seen on my own head in five years. My husband walked past the bathroom door. Stopped. Looked at me. "Linda." "What?" "Your hair." He came back into the bathroom and stood behind me looking at my reflection. He hadn't done that in maybe two years. He reached up and ran his fingers through it. There was enough there for him to do it again. Two months in he moved back into our bedroom. He didn't make a big speech about it. He just brought his pillow back one night and got into bed beside me. Three months in, the wig is still in the wardrobe. I haven't touched it. I have not put it on once. I am thinking of donating it. Last week I went to my granddaughter's nativity play. My daughter took a photo of the two of us afterwards in the school hall. The first photo of me in three years. I went home and looked at the wall in my dining room. Twenty-eight years of Christmases hanging in frames. Three of them missing. I held the photo from the nativity in my hand and I knew where it was going. I'm going back into the frames. It wasn't my age. It wasn't my genes. My body had been running on empty for years and I had been treating the wrong problem the whole time. There's a full breakdown of the bottle Barbara handed me on a piece of paper that night on the page below. The same one her friend's niece tracked down for the UK. The polyphenol count to look for. Why the harvest timing matters more than the brand. How to get a bottle shipped to your door in the next few days. It comes with a 60-day money-back guarantee. If a spoonful every morning hasn't done what it did for me by then, you send it back and they refund you. No phone calls. No forms. It's what every woman in that village takes before anything else. What I take now ❤️ One spoonful. Every morning. That is the whole thing. → See the bottle and get it shipped here (The harvest is once a year. Last year's batch sold through in six weeks. When it goes again, it's months before the next press.)
I bought a wig last spring. Not a topper. A wig. I sat on the edge of the bed and cried because I thought that was my life now. I'm 62. My hair had been thinning for three years. It started slowly. Extra strands in the brush. A bit more on the pillow. Then handfuls in the shower drain. Then the parting widened until I could see scalp under the bathroom lights and started parting it on the other side to hide it. Then there was no other side to part it on. The crown got worse every month. I bought powder, then headbands, then a topper. The topper itched. I started keeping my hair clipped back at home so my husband wouldn't see how much was missing. I started turning down photographs. Twenty-eight years of family Christmases and I have a wall of frames in the dining room. The last three years are missing. I am the one taking the photos now. I tell people I prefer it that way. I'd spent £3,000. Three different dermatologists, two of them private. Every hair-loss supplement on the Holland & Barrett shelf, twice over. The topical the consultant prescribed that made my scalp itch and stained my pillowcases. A nutritionist who put me on a programme of biotin and zinc and iron and told me to give it six months. Two private trichologists, both of whom said the same thing in different words. "It's quite normal at your age, but unfortunately the pattern is progressive." The PRP injections were quoted at £1,800 a session and I almost booked it. Then last spring I went into a wig shop in town. The woman who fitted me was kind. She kept saying things like "This one really suits the shape of your face" and "Nobody will ever know." Nobody will ever know. I bought it. Brought it home in a black box. Put it on the wardrobe shelf. Sat on the edge of the bed and cried for an hour. My husband moved into the spare room about six months before I bought the wig. He said it was because of his snoring. I knew what it really was. He'd stopped running his fingers through my hair years before that. I'd stopped letting him. The night I bought the wig I didn't tell him. I put it on the shelf and shut the wardrobe door. I had quietly accepted I was going to be the wig lady at church. Then I went to book club two weeks later. We meet once a month at the same little coffee place in town. I'd been going for fifteen years. Same six women, give or take. We'd seen each other through divorces, illnesses, grandchildren, two house moves and one funeral. I walked in that night and didn't recognise the woman sitting in my usual seat. I thought she was someone's plus-one. A new member maybe. I sat down opposite her and smiled politely and waited to be introduced. Then she said, "Linda. It's me." It was Barbara. Sixty-two. Same age as me. Last time I'd seen her at book club, six months earlier, she'd had the same pattern of thinning I had. Crown, parting, the scalp visible under direct light. I'd recognised it because it was mine. The woman sitting in front of me had a head of hair thicker than I'd had at fifty. "OMG. Your hair. What happened?" She laughed. "Everyone asks about new shampoos. New treatments. New supplements. That's not it." We finished book club but neither of us talked about the book. Afterwards we walked to her house and sat in her kitchen drinking tea while her dog wandered between us. She told me she had a friend who'd married an Italian and moved to a small village near Naples about ten years ago. Barbara had been to visit her three times. She'd mentioned to her friend, on the last trip, that she was starting to lose her hair. Her friend had looked at her like the question was odd. "Italian women don't lose their hair the way English women do." Barbara had thought she was joking. Until she walked through the piazza that afternoon and started counting. Women in their seventies. Women in their eighties. Hair pinned up, hair down, hair coming out from under headscarves. Thick hair. Not all of them. But enough that once you noticed it, you couldn't stop noticing it. Her friend's mother-in-law was 81. Her hair was the same colour as Barbara's but twice as thick. Her friend's neighbour was 76. Hair down to the middle of her back, in a single grey plait. "What's different?" Barbara had asked. Her friend had taken her into the kitchen. Pulled a small dark bottle out of the cupboard. Cold-pressed. Volcanic. Within hours of harvest. "Every morning. Before anything else. One spoonful." Barbara told me what her friend had explained to her the first time. Cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil, the real kind, is full of compounds called polyphenols. Plant chemicals you can't make on your own. They are what feeds the body's repair crew. The cells whose entire job is fighting inflammation and rebuilding tissue. Hair follicles depend on them too. After 40, the repair load doubles. If polyphenol intake doesn't go up to match, the crew runs out of materials. They stop showing up. The follicles thin. The hair shaft narrows. The shedding starts and the regrowth stops. "It isn't genetic," Barbara said. "It's what they're putting into their bodies every single morning. Italian women in that region get more of these compounds in their daily diet than almost anyone in Europe. And their hair shows it." "Not the supermarket sort," she added. "The supermarket sort is dead. Heated. Processed. Sat in containers for two years. Nothing alive left in it. The real kind comes from volcanic soil. Pressed within hours." She got up and showed me the bottle she kept on her own kitchen counter. Then she opened a drawer and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "My friend's husband has a niece who lives in Manchester. She had the same problem two years ago. She found a company that does it the way her aunt's village does. Sources from the same region. Presses the same day. Ships in dark glass before the polyphenols have time to die. She tested it against her aunt's own kitchen oil. Same burn. Same compounds. She was shocked." She handed me the piece of paper. Ancient Roots. "One spoonful every morning. Before anything else. That has been the whole thing." I'd never heard of it. I almost didn't look it up that night. I'd been burned by three years of things that didn't work and the thought of one more was almost more than I could face. But the wig was still on the wardrobe shelf at home. And Barbara's hair was real. I'd touched it on the way out. I ordered two bottles before bed. The first three weeks I noticed nothing. The shedding was the same. I kept the wig in its box and tried not to be disappointed. Week three, I cleaned the brush in the bathroom and there was less hair than I'd expected. I didn't trust it. I cleaned it again the next morning to check. It was a tenth of what it had been. Week six, I came out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror with the towel still around me. There were tiny new hairs at my temples. Soft. Fine. The kind of hair I hadn't seen on my own head in five years. My husband walked past the bathroom door. Stopped. Looked at me. "Linda." "What?" "Your hair." He came back into the bathroom and stood behind me looking at my reflection. He hadn't done that in maybe two years. He reached up and ran his fingers through it. There was enough there for him to do it again. Two months in he moved back into our bedroom. He didn't make a big speech about it. He just brought his pillow back one night and got into bed beside me. Three months in, the wig is still in the wardrobe. I haven't touched it. I have not put it on once. I am thinking of donating it. Last week I went to my granddaughter's nativity play. My daughter took a photo of the two of us afterwards in the school hall. The first photo of me in three years. I went home and looked at the wall in my dining room. Twenty-eight years of Christmases hanging in frames. Three of them missing. I held the photo from the nativity in my hand and I knew where it was going. I'm going back into the frames. It wasn't my age. It wasn't my genes. My body had been running on empty for years and I had been treating the wrong problem the whole time. There's a full breakdown of the bottle Barbara handed me on a piece of paper that night on the page below. The same one her friend's niece tracked down for the UK. The polyphenol count to look for. Why the harvest timing matters more than the brand. How to get a bottle shipped to your door in the next few days. It comes with a 60-day money-back guarantee. If a spoonful every morning hasn't done what it did for me by then, you send it back and they refund you. No phone calls. No forms. It's what every woman in that village takes before anything else. What I take now ❤️ One spoonful. Every morning. That is the whole thing. → See the bottle and get it shipped here (The harvest is once a year. Last year's batch sold through in six weeks. When it goes again, it's months before the next press.)
I bought a wig last spring. Not a topper. A wig. I sat on the edge of the bed and cried because I thought that was my life now. I'm 62. My hair had been thinning for three years. It started slowly. Extra strands in the brush. A bit more on the pillow. Then handfuls in the shower drain. Then the parting widened until I could see scalp under the bathroom lights and started parting it on the other side to hide it. Then there was no other side to part it on. The crown got worse every month. I bought powder, then headbands, then a topper. The topper itched. I started keeping my hair clipped back at home so my husband wouldn't see how much was missing. I started turning down photographs. Twenty-eight years of family Christmases and I have a wall of frames in the dining room. The last three years are missing. I am the one taking the photos now. I tell people I prefer it that way. I'd spent £3,000. Three different dermatologists, two of them private. Every hair-loss supplement on the Holland & Barrett shelf, twice over. The topical the consultant prescribed that made my scalp itch and stained my pillowcases. A nutritionist who put me on a programme of biotin and zinc and iron and told me to give it six months. Two private trichologists, both of whom said the same thing in different words. "It's quite normal at your age, but unfortunately the pattern is progressive." The PRP injections were quoted at £1,800 a session and I almost booked it. Then last spring I went into a wig shop in town. The woman who fitted me was kind. She kept saying things like "This one really suits the shape of your face" and "Nobody will ever know." Nobody will ever know. I bought it. Brought it home in a black box. Put it on the wardrobe shelf. Sat on the edge of the bed and cried for an hour. My husband moved into the spare room about six months before I bought the wig. He said it was because of his snoring. I knew what it really was. He'd stopped running his fingers through my hair years before that. I'd stopped letting him. The night I bought the wig I didn't tell him. I put it on the shelf and shut the wardrobe door. I had quietly accepted I was going to be the wig lady at church. Then I went to book club two weeks later. We meet once a month at the same little coffee place in town. I'd been going for fifteen years. Same six women, give or take. We'd seen each other through divorces, illnesses, grandchildren, two house moves and one funeral. I walked in that night and didn't recognise the woman sitting in my usual seat. I thought she was someone's plus-one. A new member maybe. I sat down opposite her and smiled politely and waited to be introduced. Then she said, "Linda. It's me." It was Barbara. Sixty-two. Same age as me. Last time I'd seen her at book club, six months earlier, she'd had the same pattern of thinning I had. Crown, parting, the scalp visible under direct light. I'd recognised it because it was mine. The woman sitting in front of me had a head of hair thicker than I'd had at fifty. "OMG. Your hair. What happened?" She laughed. "Everyone asks about new shampoos. New treatments. New supplements. That's not it." We finished book club but neither of us talked about the book. Afterwards we walked to her house and sat in her kitchen drinking tea while her dog wandered between us. She told me she had a friend who'd married an Italian and moved to a small village near Naples about ten years ago. Barbara had been to visit her three times. She'd mentioned to her friend, on the last trip, that she was starting to lose her hair. Her friend had looked at her like the question was odd. "Italian women don't lose their hair the way English women do." Barbara had thought she was joking. Until she walked through the piazza that afternoon and started counting. Women in their seventies. Women in their eighties. Hair pinned up, hair down, hair coming out from under headscarves. Thick hair. Not all of them. But enough that once you noticed it, you couldn't stop noticing it. Her friend's mother-in-law was 81. Her hair was the same colour as Barbara's but twice as thick. Her friend's neighbour was 76. Hair down to the middle of her back, in a single grey plait. "What's different?" Barbara had asked. Her friend had taken her into the kitchen. Pulled a small dark bottle out of the cupboard. Cold-pressed. Volcanic. Within hours of harvest. "Every morning. Before anything else. One spoonful." Barbara told me what her friend had explained to her the first time. Cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil, the real kind, is full of compounds called polyphenols. Plant chemicals you can't make on your own. They are what feeds the body's repair crew. The cells whose entire job is fighting inflammation and rebuilding tissue. Hair follicles depend on them too. After 40, the repair load doubles. If polyphenol intake doesn't go up to match, the crew runs out of materials. They stop showing up. The follicles thin. The hair shaft narrows. The shedding starts and the regrowth stops. "It isn't genetic," Barbara said. "It's what they're putting into their bodies every single morning. Italian women in that region get more of these compounds in their daily diet than almost anyone in Europe. And their hair shows it." "Not the supermarket sort," she added. "The supermarket sort is dead. Heated. Processed. Sat in containers for two years. Nothing alive left in it. The real kind comes from volcanic soil. Pressed within hours." She got up and showed me the bottle she kept on her own kitchen counter. Then she opened a drawer and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "My friend's husband has a niece who lives in Manchester. She had the same problem two years ago. She found a company that does it the way her aunt's village does. Sources from the same region. Presses the same day. Ships in dark glass before the polyphenols have time to die. She tested it against her aunt's own kitchen oil. Same burn. Same compounds. She was shocked." She handed me the piece of paper. Ancient Roots. "One spoonful every morning. Before anything else. That has been the whole thing." I'd never heard of it. I almost didn't look it up that night. I'd been burned by three years of things that didn't work and the thought of one more was almost more than I could face. But the wig was still on the wardrobe shelf at home. And Barbara's hair was real. I'd touched it on the way out. I ordered two bottles before bed. The first three weeks I noticed nothing. The shedding was the same. I kept the wig in its box and tried not to be disappointed. Week three, I cleaned the brush in the bathroom and there was less hair than I'd expected. I didn't trust it. I cleaned it again the next morning to check. It was a tenth of what it had been. Week six, I came out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror with the towel still around me. There were tiny new hairs at my temples. Soft. Fine. The kind of hair I hadn't seen on my own head in five years. My husband walked past the bathroom door. Stopped. Looked at me. "Linda." "What?" "Your hair." He came back into the bathroom and stood behind me looking at my reflection. He hadn't done that in maybe two years. He reached up and ran his fingers through it. There was enough there for him to do it again. Two months in he moved back into our bedroom. He didn't make a big speech about it. He just brought his pillow back one night and got into bed beside me. Three months in, the wig is still in the wardrobe. I haven't touched it. I have not put it on once. I am thinking of donating it. Last week I went to my granddaughter's nativity play. My daughter took a photo of the two of us afterwards in the school hall. The first photo of me in three years. I went home and looked at the wall in my dining room. Twenty-eight years of Christmases hanging in frames. Three of them missing. I held the photo from the nativity in my hand and I knew where it was going. I'm going back into the frames. It wasn't my age. It wasn't my genes. My body had been running on empty for years and I had been treating the wrong problem the whole time. There's a full breakdown of the bottle Barbara handed me on a piece of paper that night on the page below. The same one her friend's niece tracked down for the UK. The polyphenol count to look for. Why the harvest timing matters more than the brand. How to get a bottle shipped to your door in the next few days. It comes with a 60-day money-back guarantee. If a spoonful every morning hasn't done what it did for me by then, you send it back and they refund you. No phone calls. No forms. It's what every woman in that village takes before anything else. What I take now ❤️ One spoonful. Every morning. That is the whole thing. → See the bottle and get it shipped here (The harvest is once a year. Last year's batch sold through in six weeks. When it goes again, it's months before the next press.)
I bought a wig last spring. Not a topper. A wig. I sat on the edge of the bed and cried because I thought that was my life now. I'm 62. My hair had been thinning for three years. It started slowly. Extra strands in the brush. A bit more on the pillow. Then handfuls in the shower drain. Then the parting widened until I could see scalp under the bathroom lights and started parting it on the other side to hide it. Then there was no other side to part it on. The crown got worse every month. I bought powder, then headbands, then a topper. The topper itched. I started keeping my hair clipped back at home so my husband wouldn't see how much was missing. I started turning down photographs. Twenty-eight years of family Christmases and I have a wall of frames in the dining room. The last three years are missing. I am the one taking the photos now. I tell people I prefer it that way. I'd spent £3,000. Three different dermatologists, two of them private. Every hair-loss supplement on the Holland & Barrett shelf, twice over. The topical the consultant prescribed that made my scalp itch and stained my pillowcases. A nutritionist who put me on a programme of biotin and zinc and iron and told me to give it six months. Two private trichologists, both of whom said the same thing in different words. "It's quite normal at your age, but unfortunately the pattern is progressive." The PRP injections were quoted at £1,800 a session and I almost booked it. Then last spring I went into a wig shop in town. The woman who fitted me was kind. She kept saying things like "This one really suits the shape of your face" and "Nobody will ever know." Nobody will ever know. I bought it. Brought it home in a black box. Put it on the wardrobe shelf. Sat on the edge of the bed and cried for an hour. My husband moved into the spare room about six months before I bought the wig. He said it was because of his snoring. I knew what it really was. He'd stopped running his fingers through my hair years before that. I'd stopped letting him. The night I bought the wig I didn't tell him. I put it on the shelf and shut the wardrobe door. I had quietly accepted I was going to be the wig lady at church. Then I went to book club two weeks later. We meet once a month at the same little coffee place in town. I'd been going for fifteen years. Same six women, give or take. We'd seen each other through divorces, illnesses, grandchildren, two house moves and one funeral. I walked in that night and didn't recognise the woman sitting in my usual seat. I thought she was someone's plus-one. A new member maybe. I sat down opposite her and smiled politely and waited to be introduced. Then she said, "Linda. It's me." It was Barbara. Sixty-two. Same age as me. Last time I'd seen her at book club, six months earlier, she'd had the same pattern of thinning I had. Crown, parting, the scalp visible under direct light. I'd recognised it because it was mine. The woman sitting in front of me had a head of hair thicker than I'd had at fifty. "OMG. Your hair. What happened?" She laughed. "Everyone asks about new shampoos. New treatments. New supplements. That's not it." We finished book club but neither of us talked about the book. Afterwards we walked to her house and sat in her kitchen drinking tea while her dog wandered between us. She told me she had a friend who'd married an Italian and moved to a small village near Naples about ten years ago. Barbara had been to visit her three times. She'd mentioned to her friend, on the last trip, that she was starting to lose her hair. Her friend had looked at her like the question was odd. "Italian women don't lose their hair the way English women do." Barbara had thought she was joking. Until she walked through the piazza that afternoon and started counting. Women in their seventies. Women in their eighties. Hair pinned up, hair down, hair coming out from under headscarves. Thick hair. Not all of them. But enough that once you noticed it, you couldn't stop noticing it. Her friend's mother-in-law was 81. Her hair was the same colour as Barbara's but twice as thick. Her friend's neighbour was 76. Hair down to the middle of her back, in a single grey plait. "What's different?" Barbara had asked. Her friend had taken her into the kitchen. Pulled a small dark bottle out of the cupboard. Cold-pressed. Volcanic. Within hours of harvest. "Every morning. Before anything else. One spoonful." Barbara told me what her friend had explained to her the first time. Cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil, the real kind, is full of compounds called polyphenols. Plant chemicals you can't make on your own. They are what feeds the body's repair crew. The cells whose entire job is fighting inflammation and rebuilding tissue. Hair follicles depend on them too. After 40, the repair load doubles. If polyphenol intake doesn't go up to match, the crew runs out of materials. They stop showing up. The follicles thin. The hair shaft narrows. The shedding starts and the regrowth stops. "It isn't genetic," Barbara said. "It's what they're putting into their bodies every single morning. Italian women in that region get more of these compounds in their daily diet than almost anyone in Europe. And their hair shows it." "Not the supermarket sort," she added. "The supermarket sort is dead. Heated. Processed. Sat in containers for two years. Nothing alive left in it. The real kind comes from volcanic soil. Pressed within hours." She got up and showed me the bottle she kept on her own kitchen counter. Then she opened a drawer and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "My friend's husband has a niece who lives in Manchester. She had the same problem two years ago. She found a company that does it the way her aunt's village does. Sources from the same region. Presses the same day. Ships in dark glass before the polyphenols have time to die. She tested it against her aunt's own kitchen oil. Same burn. Same compounds. She was shocked." She handed me the piece of paper. Ancient Roots. "One spoonful every morning. Before anything else. That has been the whole thing." I'd never heard of it. I almost didn't look it up that night. I'd been burned by three years of things that didn't work and the thought of one more was almost more than I could face. But the wig was still on the wardrobe shelf at home. And Barbara's hair was real. I'd touched it on the way out. I ordered two bottles before bed. The first three weeks I noticed nothing. The shedding was the same. I kept the wig in its box and tried not to be disappointed. Week three, I cleaned the brush in the bathroom and there was less hair than I'd expected. I didn't trust it. I cleaned it again the next morning to check. It was a tenth of what it had been. Week six, I came out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror with the towel still around me. There were tiny new hairs at my temples. Soft. Fine. The kind of hair I hadn't seen on my own head in five years. My husband walked past the bathroom door. Stopped. Looked at me. "Linda." "What?" "Your hair." He came back into the bathroom and stood behind me looking at my reflection. He hadn't done that in maybe two years. He reached up and ran his fingers through it. There was enough there for him to do it again. Two months in he moved back into our bedroom. He didn't make a big speech about it. He just brought his pillow back one night and got into bed beside me. Three months in, the wig is still in the wardrobe. I haven't touched it. I have not put it on once. I am thinking of donating it. Last week I went to my granddaughter's nativity play. My daughter took a photo of the two of us afterwards in the school hall. The first photo of me in three years. I went home and looked at the wall in my dining room. Twenty-eight years of Christmases hanging in frames. Three of them missing. I held the photo from the nativity in my hand and I knew where it was going. I'm going back into the frames. It wasn't my age. It wasn't my genes. My body had been running on empty for years and I had been treating the wrong problem the whole time. There's a full breakdown of the bottle Barbara handed me on a piece of paper that night on the page below. The same one her friend's niece tracked down for the UK. The polyphenol count to look for. Why the harvest timing matters more than the brand. How to get a bottle shipped to your door in the next few days. It comes with a 60-day money-back guarantee. If a spoonful every morning hasn't done what it did for me by then, you send it back and they refund you. No phone calls. No forms. It's what every woman in that village takes before anything else. What I take now ❤️ One spoonful. Every morning. That is the whole thing. → See the bottle and get it shipped here (The harvest is once a year. Last year's batch sold through in six weeks. When it goes again, it's months before the next press.)
I bought a wig last spring. Not a topper. A wig. I sat on the edge of the bed and cried because I thought that was my life now. I'm 62. My hair had been thinning for three years. It started slowly. Extra strands in the brush. A bit more on the pillow. Then handfuls in the shower drain. Then the parting widened until I could see scalp under the bathroom lights and started parting it on the other side to hide it. Then there was no other side to part it on. The crown got worse every month. I bought powder, then headbands, then a topper. The topper itched. I started keeping my hair clipped back at home so my husband wouldn't see how much was missing. I started turning down photographs. Twenty-eight years of family Christmases and I have a wall of frames in the dining room. The last three years are missing. I am the one taking the photos now. I tell people I prefer it that way. I'd spent £3,000. Three different dermatologists, two of them private. Every hair-loss supplement on the Holland & Barrett shelf, twice over. The topical the consultant prescribed that made my scalp itch and stained my pillowcases. A nutritionist who put me on a programme of biotin and zinc and iron and told me to give it six months. Two private trichologists, both of whom said the same thing in different words. "It's quite normal at your age, but unfortunately the pattern is progressive." The PRP injections were quoted at £1,800 a session and I almost booked it. Then last spring I went into a wig shop in town. The woman who fitted me was kind. She kept saying things like "This one really suits the shape of your face" and "Nobody will ever know." Nobody will ever know. I bought it. Brought it home in a black box. Put it on the wardrobe shelf. Sat on the edge of the bed and cried for an hour. My husband moved into the spare room about six months before I bought the wig. He said it was because of his snoring. I knew what it really was. He'd stopped running his fingers through my hair years before that. I'd stopped letting him. The night I bought the wig I didn't tell him. I put it on the shelf and shut the wardrobe door. I had quietly accepted I was going to be the wig lady at church. Then I went to book club two weeks later. We meet once a month at the same little coffee place in town. I'd been going for fifteen years. Same six women, give or take. We'd seen each other through divorces, illnesses, grandchildren, two house moves and one funeral. I walked in that night and didn't recognise the woman sitting in my usual seat. I thought she was someone's plus-one. A new member maybe. I sat down opposite her and smiled politely and waited to be introduced. Then she said, "Linda. It's me." It was Barbara. Sixty-two. Same age as me. Last time I'd seen her at book club, six months earlier, she'd had the same pattern of thinning I had. Crown, parting, the scalp visible under direct light. I'd recognised it because it was mine. The woman sitting in front of me had a head of hair thicker than I'd had at fifty. "OMG. Your hair. What happened?" She laughed. "Everyone asks about new shampoos. New treatments. New supplements. That's not it." We finished book club but neither of us talked about the book. Afterwards we walked to her house and sat in her kitchen drinking tea while her dog wandered between us. She told me she had a friend who'd married an Italian and moved to a small village near Naples about ten years ago. Barbara had been to visit her three times. She'd mentioned to her friend, on the last trip, that she was starting to lose her hair. Her friend had looked at her like the question was odd. "Italian women don't lose their hair the way English women do." Barbara had thought she was joking. Until she walked through the piazza that afternoon and started counting. Women in their seventies. Women in their eighties. Hair pinned up, hair down, hair coming out from under headscarves. Thick hair. Not all of them. But enough that once you noticed it, you couldn't stop noticing it. Her friend's mother-in-law was 81. Her hair was the same colour as Barbara's but twice as thick. Her friend's neighbour was 76. Hair down to the middle of her back, in a single grey plait. "What's different?" Barbara had asked. Her friend had taken her into the kitchen. Pulled a small dark bottle out of the cupboard. Cold-pressed. Volcanic. Within hours of harvest. "Every morning. Before anything else. One spoonful." Barbara told me what her friend had explained to her the first time. Cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil, the real kind, is full of compounds called polyphenols. Plant chemicals you can't make on your own. They are what feeds the body's repair crew. The cells whose entire job is fighting inflammation and rebuilding tissue. Hair follicles depend on them too. After 40, the repair load doubles. If polyphenol intake doesn't go up to match, the crew runs out of materials. They stop showing up. The follicles thin. The hair shaft narrows. The shedding starts and the regrowth stops. "It isn't genetic," Barbara said. "It's what they're putting into their bodies every single morning. Italian women in that region get more of these compounds in their daily diet than almost anyone in Europe. And their hair shows it." "Not the supermarket sort," she added. "The supermarket sort is dead. Heated. Processed. Sat in containers for two years. Nothing alive left in it. The real kind comes from volcanic soil. Pressed within hours." She got up and showed me the bottle she kept on her own kitchen counter. Then she opened a drawer and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "My friend's husband has a niece who lives in Manchester. She had the same problem two years ago. She found a company that does it the way her aunt's village does. Sources from the same region. Presses the same day. Ships in dark glass before the polyphenols have time to die. She tested it against her aunt's own kitchen oil. Same burn. Same compounds. She was shocked." She handed me the piece of paper. Ancient Roots. "One spoonful every morning. Before anything else. That has been the whole thing." I'd never heard of it. I almost didn't look it up that night. I'd been burned by three years of things that didn't work and the thought of one more was almost more than I could face. But the wig was still on the wardrobe shelf at home. And Barbara's hair was real. I'd touched it on the way out. I ordered two bottles before bed. The first three weeks I noticed nothing. The shedding was the same. I kept the wig in its box and tried not to be disappointed. Week three, I cleaned the brush in the bathroom and there was less hair than I'd expected. I didn't trust it. I cleaned it again the next morning to check. It was a tenth of what it had been. Week six, I came out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror with the towel still around me. There were tiny new hairs at my temples. Soft. Fine. The kind of hair I hadn't seen on my own head in five years. My husband walked past the bathroom door. Stopped. Looked at me. "Linda." "What?" "Your hair." He came back into the bathroom and stood behind me looking at my reflection. He hadn't done that in maybe two years. He reached up and ran his fingers through it. There was enough there for him to do it again. Two months in he moved back into our bedroom. He didn't make a big speech about it. He just brought his pillow back one night and got into bed beside me. Three months in, the wig is still in the wardrobe. I haven't touched it. I have not put it on once. I am thinking of donating it. Last week I went to my granddaughter's nativity play. My daughter took a photo of the two of us afterwards in the school hall. The first photo of me in three years. I went home and looked at the wall in my dining room. Twenty-eight years of Christmases hanging in frames. Three of them missing. I held the photo from the nativity in my hand and I knew where it was going. I'm going back into the frames. It wasn't my age. It wasn't my genes. My body had been running on empty for years and I had been treating the wrong problem the whole time. There's a full breakdown of the bottle Barbara handed me on a piece of paper that night on the page below. The same one her friend's niece tracked down for the UK. The polyphenol count to look for. Why the harvest timing matters more than the brand. How to get a bottle shipped to your door in the next few days. It comes with a 60-day money-back guarantee. If a spoonful every morning hasn't done what it did for me by then, you send it back and they refund you. No phone calls. No forms. It's what every woman in that village takes before anything else. What I take now ❤️ One spoonful. Every morning. That is the whole thing. → See the bottle and get it shipped here (The harvest is once a year. Last year's batch sold through in six weeks. When it goes again, it's months before the next press.)
I bought a wig last spring. Not a topper. A wig. I sat on the edge of the bed and cried because I thought that was my life now. I'm 62. My hair had been thinning for three years. It started slowly. Extra strands in the brush. A bit more on the pillow. Then handfuls in the shower drain. Then the parting widened until I could see scalp under the bathroom lights and started parting it on the other side to hide it. Then there was no other side to part it on. The crown got worse every month. I bought powder, then headbands, then a topper. The topper itched. I started keeping my hair clipped back at home so my husband wouldn't see how much was missing. I started turning down photographs. Twenty-eight years of family Christmases and I have a wall of frames in the dining room. The last three years are missing. I am the one taking the photos now. I tell people I prefer it that way. I'd spent £3,000. Three different dermatologists, two of them private. Every hair-loss supplement on the Holland & Barrett shelf, twice over. The topical the consultant prescribed that made my scalp itch and stained my pillowcases. A nutritionist who put me on a programme of biotin and zinc and iron and told me to give it six months. Two private trichologists, both of whom said the same thing in different words. "It's quite normal at your age, but unfortunately the pattern is progressive." The PRP injections were quoted at £1,800 a session and I almost booked it. Then last spring I went into a wig shop in town. The woman who fitted me was kind. She kept saying things like "This one really suits the shape of your face" and "Nobody will ever know." Nobody will ever know. I bought it. Brought it home in a black box. Put it on the wardrobe shelf. Sat on the edge of the bed and cried for an hour. My husband moved into the spare room about six months before I bought the wig. He said it was because of his snoring. I knew what it really was. He'd stopped running his fingers through my hair years before that. I'd stopped letting him. The night I bought the wig I didn't tell him. I put it on the shelf and shut the wardrobe door. I had quietly accepted I was going to be the wig lady at church. Then I went to book club two weeks later. We meet once a month at the same little coffee place in town. I'd been going for fifteen years. Same six women, give or take. We'd seen each other through divorces, illnesses, grandchildren, two house moves and one funeral. I walked in that night and didn't recognise the woman sitting in my usual seat. I thought she was someone's plus-one. A new member maybe. I sat down opposite her and smiled politely and waited to be introduced. Then she said, "Linda. It's me." It was Barbara. Sixty-two. Same age as me. Last time I'd seen her at book club, six months earlier, she'd had the same pattern of thinning I had. Crown, parting, the scalp visible under direct light. I'd recognised it because it was mine. The woman sitting in front of me had a head of hair thicker than I'd had at fifty. "OMG. Your hair. What happened?" She laughed. "Everyone asks about new shampoos. New treatments. New supplements. That's not it." We finished book club but neither of us talked about the book. Afterwards we walked to her house and sat in her kitchen drinking tea while her dog wandered between us. She told me she had a friend who'd married an Italian and moved to a small village near Naples about ten years ago. Barbara had been to visit her three times. She'd mentioned to her friend, on the last trip, that she was starting to lose her hair. Her friend had looked at her like the question was odd. "Italian women don't lose their hair the way English women do." Barbara had thought she was joking. Until she walked through the piazza that afternoon and started counting. Women in their seventies. Women in their eighties. Hair pinned up, hair down, hair coming out from under headscarves. Thick hair. Not all of them. But enough that once you noticed it, you couldn't stop noticing it. Her friend's mother-in-law was 81. Her hair was the same colour as Barbara's but twice as thick. Her friend's neighbour was 76. Hair down to the middle of her back, in a single grey plait. "What's different?" Barbara had asked. Her friend had taken her into the kitchen. Pulled a small dark bottle out of the cupboard. Cold-pressed. Volcanic. Within hours of harvest. "Every morning. Before anything else. One spoonful." Barbara told me what her friend had explained to her the first time. Cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil, the real kind, is full of compounds called polyphenols. Plant chemicals you can't make on your own. They are what feeds the body's repair crew. The cells whose entire job is fighting inflammation and rebuilding tissue. Hair follicles depend on them too. After 40, the repair load doubles. If polyphenol intake doesn't go up to match, the crew runs out of materials. They stop showing up. The follicles thin. The hair shaft narrows. The shedding starts and the regrowth stops. "It isn't genetic," Barbara said. "It's what they're putting into their bodies every single morning. Italian women in that region get more of these compounds in their daily diet than almost anyone in Europe. And their hair shows it." "Not the supermarket sort," she added. "The supermarket sort is dead. Heated. Processed. Sat in containers for two years. Nothing alive left in it. The real kind comes from volcanic soil. Pressed within hours." She got up and showed me the bottle she kept on her own kitchen counter. Then she opened a drawer and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "My friend's husband has a niece who lives in Manchester. She had the same problem two years ago. She found a company that does it the way her aunt's village does. Sources from the same region. Presses the same day. Ships in dark glass before the polyphenols have time to die. She tested it against her aunt's own kitchen oil. Same burn. Same compounds. She was shocked." She handed me the piece of paper. Ancient Roots. "One spoonful every morning. Before anything else. That has been the whole thing." I'd never heard of it. I almost didn't look it up that night. I'd been burned by three years of things that didn't work and the thought of one more was almost more than I could face. But the wig was still on the wardrobe shelf at home. And Barbara's hair was real. I'd touched it on the way out. I ordered two bottles before bed. The first three weeks I noticed nothing. The shedding was the same. I kept the wig in its box and tried not to be disappointed. Week three, I cleaned the brush in the bathroom and there was less hair than I'd expected. I didn't trust it. I cleaned it again the next morning to check. It was a tenth of what it had been. Week six, I came out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror with the towel still around me. There were tiny new hairs at my temples. Soft. Fine. The kind of hair I hadn't seen on my own head in five years. My husband walked past the bathroom door. Stopped. Looked at me. "Linda." "What?" "Your hair." He came back into the bathroom and stood behind me looking at my reflection. He hadn't done that in maybe two years. He reached up and ran his fingers through it. There was enough there for him to do it again. Two months in he moved back into our bedroom. He didn't make a big speech about it. He just brought his pillow back one night and got into bed beside me. Three months in, the wig is still in the wardrobe. I haven't touched it. I have not put it on once. I am thinking of donating it. Last week I went to my granddaughter's nativity play. My daughter took a photo of the two of us afterwards in the school hall. The first photo of me in three years. I went home and looked at the wall in my dining room. Twenty-eight years of Christmases hanging in frames. Three of them missing. I held the photo from the nativity in my hand and I knew where it was going. I'm going back into the frames. It wasn't my age. It wasn't my genes. My body had been running on empty for years and I had been treating the wrong problem the whole time. There's a full breakdown of the bottle Barbara handed me on a piece of paper that night on the page below. The same one her friend's niece tracked down for the UK. The polyphenol count to look for. Why the harvest timing matters more than the brand. How to get a bottle shipped to your door in the next few days. It comes with a 60-day money-back guarantee. If a spoonful every morning hasn't done what it did for me by then, you send it back and they refund you. No phone calls. No forms. It's what every woman in that village takes before anything else. What I take now ❤️ One spoonful. Every morning. That is the whole thing. → See the bottle and get it shipped here (The harvest is once a year. Last year's batch sold through in six weeks. When it goes again, it's months before the next press.)
🔞When My ex-brother-in-law took my virginity...His liquid spurts inslde and my eyes widen, "Wait we forgot a comdom!" …………………… Chapter 1 He Dumped Me Aria's POV I stood in front of the chapel. Pink roses and white lilies decorated every corner I saw—my favorite flowers. The guests were already seated in their designer dresses and pressed suits. And soon, at the end of the red carpet would stand the man I once loved, waiting to marry his bride. Everything was perfect. Except I wasn't the bride. "I really need to see Jace today." I begged the bodyguard blocking the door. A beat-up suitcase and two boxes sat at my feet—everything I owned in the world. "No you don’t. Get out of here," the bodyguard said icily. I saw it in his eyes—disgust. Yeah I get it. No one has sympathy for the crazy ex who shows up at the wedding. But I have my reason. "If you don't let me see him, I'll just stand here and all the guests will see me," I threatened under my breath. Jace wouldn't want that. Especially not today. Today he was marrying Delilah Hart. Sister to Alpha Grayson Hart of Redstone Pack. A 100% high-society darling. All the guys in the world knew that marrying Delilah would make their wealth skyrocket, including Jace. So he made the easy call—marrying the lady who could turn him from a small-town nobody into a golden boy. And dump the girl who stayed by his side for last 4 years when he had nothing. So it’s normal why he didn’t want any guests to see me here. I represented his broke, embarrassing past. He wanted me nowhere near his glossy, glittering new world. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of that. Like a knife was twisting in my chest. “Let me in or I’m starting to yell.” "Wait here." The bodyguard finally made a call. A few minutes later, he waved me in. I wiped my eyes and struggled into the hall with my suitcase and boxes. Instantly, I felt how out of place I was. Everything reeked of wealth here. Expensive perfume. Manicured nails. Not a hair out of place. It was everything you imagined about the upper-class and way more. And me? I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans. My sneakers had holes. "God, a homeless. She stinks." A woman mutter as I walked by. I just showered this morning. My hair still smelled like strawberries and coconut. But poverty had a scent, apparently. "Mr. Carter is inside. Make it quick." The guard took me to a closed door and warned. “Thank you.” The room inside looked like something out of a movie. Marble floors. Floor-length mirrors. A chandelier that probably cost more than my apartment. I hesitated for a second as I dragged my dirty luggage across the white carpet. And there he was. The man I used to love. Adjusting his bowtie in front of a mirror. He was still heartbreakingly handsome. No wonder Delilah fell for him. When he turned and fixed his gorgeous blue eyes upon me, I still felt my heart race. "Hey, Jace," I said quietly. And immediately wanted to punch myself. Hey, Jace? That’s the best I could do? His face was ice cold. "You shouldn't come. Your ratty suitcase, your ripped jeans, your Vans. None of that belongs here." Well if you wanted to be brutal and vicious, that’s how it’s done. "Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? You dumped me over a fucking email!" I snapped. He shrugged. "Look around you. The wealthiest people in the world came for me today. This suit I’m wearing cost more than you can make in your entire life. What more explanation do you want, Aria?" Wow. I always knew he was a cold, calculating bastard. I just didn’t realize how deep it ran. "Maybe chasing Alpha’s sister got you here faster. But you know what? When she finds out how cold and empty you are. You’ll lose it all." Anger flared across his face. "I know how to love. I just won't waste that on a small-town girl like you.” he said freezingly, “Are we done here?" “No.” I took a deep breath and got into the real reason I came. "You're marrying a rich girl. Fine. But why did you have to get me fired?" Yeah. I used to work for this jerk. From intern to full-time at Apex Corp, he was my supervisor. Our relationship was a secret. And just days ago, I found out he was getting married—and I was out of a job. He fired me. "Right, your job.” The jerk shrugged, “You got it because of me. Now that I’m not around, they finally saw how incompetent you are. Problem?" Was he fucking kidding me?! "I graduated top of my class. Made it through 7 rounds of interviews. My performance exceeded every quarterly target. I earned that job!" I cried. “Come on, Aria. You really gonna be so naïve?” He walked closer, smirking. "You passed the interviews because I said so. Your sales? I made those calls. Without me, you'd be nothing but a pretty face." He seized my chin and looked me over with a disgusting look. I slapped his hand away. "Give me my job back,” I hissed, my voice slightly trembling. “My dad’s debt. My grandma’s medical bills…I need the money. You of all people should know what it’s like to be poor. Don’t. Make. Me. Beg." I was throwing my pride at his feet. But he laughed. "Well, how about I offer you a deal?" he said as though he’d been waiting for this moment. He brushed my hair back, fingers trailing down to my collarbone. I shivered in disgust. "You never let me touch you. You were so clinging to that pathetic no-sex-before-marriage rule. Maybe it's time to grow up. Let me fuck you once and I’ll write you a check you can’t refuse. How does that sound?" I widened my eyes in shock. Then I slapped him. HARD. “WHAT THE FUCK! I’m getting married in front of everyone in fucking 10 minutes!” He roared covering his face. "Fuck you, Jace!” I yelled, “You're a spineless freeloading puss! And hey—congrats on the wedding. Hope your junk is soft like a fucking spaghetti tonight!" Then I stormed out dragging my suitcase and boxes, ignoring his angry curses behind me. Hot tears poured down as I dashed across the hallway. God this couldn’t be any worse. I was prepared to drop all my self-esteem and begged with my life because I needed the job and money. But I still let him get to me. Now what do I do? My salary barely covered my rent, my father’s debt and grandma’s bill. Now with my job gone, I already got kicked out by my landlord. I probably had to sleep in a park tonight. So do I go back and let that jerk win? Let him humiliate me...No. I’d rather die than that— "Hey, watch where you're going!" someone yelled. Too late. I slammed right into the man in front of me. He was tall—so tall I felt like I’d just walked into a brick wall. His diamond cufflink was sharp like a blade, and when we collided, it sliced clean through my thin T-shirt with a loud rip. In one second, the front of my shirt was torn open, exposing my white lace bra. “Ah!” I gasped and looked up. The man in front of me was so handsome. Like a statue carved by a master artist. Yet his expression so cold. He looked down at me, and I swear I was about to drown in those stormy gray eyes of his. And then I recognized who he was. This was Jace’s son-to-be brother-in-law. Alpha of Redstone Pack. CEO of Apex Corporation. THE legendary. Grayson Hart. “Aria Collins?” His voice was sexy and velvety. He lowered his head and his eyes dropped to the exposed part of my bra. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the color of his eyes seemed to darken as he stared. Wherever his gaze landed, my skin started burning up. But wait. How did he know my name? Chapter 2 With Ex's Brother-in-law Aria’s POV Of course I recognized him. God, who didn’t? I’d met him at an Apex gala. His face was on every finance magazine cover, and any time you turned on a TV, there he was—linked to the latest scandal with some actress or model. But there was no way he’d know who I was. “I-I… Hello, Alpha Grayson,” I stammered. He turned his eyes away and said to a nearby guard, “Escort Ms. Collins out.” “Yes, Alpha.” The guards stepped in immediately, stretching out their arms like I was some kind of contaminant that might taint Grayson’s perfectly tailored suit. “Wait a minute. You’re not going to say something about my shirt?” He paused—just for a second—then flicked a piece of paper down at my feet. I looked down. A blank check. “I need a shirt I can actually wear out of here. Not your hush money.” I gritted with humiliation. But he didn’t even glance back as he walked away. “God,” I muttered under my breath. Can you believe these rich bastards? They think they can buy everything with money. People nearby were all staring, snickering under their breath. I tried to cover my chest and grab my things to escape, but it was hard to do all that with just two hands. “Oh my god…Aria Collins?” Three girls emerged from the whispering crowd. I took one look at them and sighed internally. Great. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse. “Hello. Layla. Sabrina. Brielle.” I used to work in the same team with these girls back at Apex. We were all under Jace. They adored him—spent more time flirting with at the coffee machine than actually working. Which left me doing their share of the workload. After I got fired—and when news of my secret relationship with Jace got out—they decided I was public enemy number one. “What are you even doing here, Aria? Trying to win back your ex at his wedding? That’s a new low even for you,” Layla snickered. “I’m not here to win anyone back.” I tried to push past them. But they blocked me. “What happened to your shirt?” Brielle snickered. “Did you seriously walk in here with your bra out? Is this like some low-budget fashion statement?” They burst into laughter together. “You could be completely naked and Jace still wouldn’t give a damn,” Sabrina squeaked. “Because he’s marrying Delilah. THE Delilah Hart! Redstone Pack’s sweetheart. And you…well you’re just a poor-ass small-town girl.” I stopped in my track and gave them a cold glare, “Oh yeah? Well at least I’ve actually been with Jace. Do you know how many times I had to listen to him complained about your screechy voices and cheesy perfume? Apparently he rather be with a poor-ass small-town girl than any of you.” Their jaws dropped. “Jace would never say that!” Brielle cried. “Word for word,” I rolled my eyes. “Now move. Or I’m rolling this suitcase over your pretty little skirts.” They looked like ruffled chickens, but they parted. I quickly shoved my dingy luggage ahead like a weapon and stormed out of the church. Rich people were assholes. Grayson, Jace, and their whole damn minions. I struggled to get my suitcase down the steps, and once I hit the street, cold wind slapped me in the face. I had no idea where to go. I could crash in the hospital with my grandma for a night, but she’d ask too many questions. Like why I hadn’t brought Jace around recently, or why I wasn’t staying at my apartment. I didn’t want her knowing how bad things had gotten. I thought about the park. Sleeping on a bench. But in a ripped T-shirt that exposed my whole front? Horrible idea. So I texted my best friend, May, asking to stay at her place for a few days. She was my rock. If the whole world turned against me, at least I still had her. She texted back right away inviting me to come over. Dragging my suitcase across the street toward the bus stop, I told myself it was going to be okay. This horrible day was going to end. Then I heard them. “Hey, nice shirt!” A group of street wolves were loitering near the stop. I hugged myself tighter and curled into the bench, hoping they’d get bored and leave. “C’mon baby, drop your hands. Let us see what you’re working with.” Go away. Go away. Go away. “You rip that shirt yourself? Damn that’s wild. I like that in a girl.” One of them moved closer, reaching for my shoulder. “Get away from me!” I snapped, my voice shaking. But it only fired them up. “Oh, feisty. Shake those tits for me!” They grabbed my wrists, yanked my arms down. My T-shirt gaped open completely, revealing my lace bra. The cold air made my skin pebble. They laughed even louder. I struggled and screamed. My wolf growled in rage. Shifting in the city was illegal—but right now, I didn’t have a second choice— Just then. Blinding headlights. Followed by screeching tires. A black car skidded to a stop inches away. The door flew open. A deep voice thundered, “Get in.” I was too shocked that I didn’t think twice and obeyed. The car peeled away the second I shut the door. “My suitcase!” I cried. “Someone will get it,” he said darkly. “Address.” I told the driver May’s. Then he pressed a button. A privacy screen slid up between the front and back seats, sealing us in the back. That’s when he turned toward me and leaned in. Like a beast ready to pounce. His scent hit me like a punch—sharp pine mixed with cold metal. My head started to get dizzy. “Walking on the street in that shirt was a mistake,” he said sternly. “It got like this because of you,” I mumbled. He snorted. Then the sound of rustling fabric. A heavy jacket landed across my shoulders—it was still warm from his body and carried his scent. I held my breathe. Wearing his coat almost felt like…he was wrapping himself around me. “You—do you know me?” I whispered. My gut told me that he would never do this for a strange girl. But if he knew who I was, he must know that I was his sister’s husband’s ex. That didn’t explain why he would help. “We’ve met,” he said simply. I stared at him, searching those icy gray eyes. He was staring at me too, with that cold, hungry, possessive eyes. I felt like I was completely naked in front of him. “Aria,” he warned, voice thick and husky. But I couldn’t control myself. I was leaning forward. Shit. Why did my body become so weird? My skin was on fire. My panties were wet. All I wanted was more of his scent, more of his heat. The next second his lips were crashed onto mine—Hard. Rough. I gasped and opened my mouth for him. His tongue slipped in and explored every inch of my mouth, making me shiver. His hands pushed into my torn shirt and grabbed my waist. I couldn’t control my moan when he touched my naked skin. This was crazy! He was a stranger, and most importantly, my ex’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. And I was making out with him at the back of his car. The crazy part was I didn’t even want to stop. He lifted me onto his lap like I weighed nothing. I straddled his thighs and yanked at his tie as he bite my collarbone. Then, suddenly, the car stopped. “Alpha, we’ve arrived.” That’s when it all froze. His lips paused at my neck. I was still squirming on his lap, flushed and throbbing. But he shoved me off. “We can’t do this,” he said coldly. Chapter 3 You're Special To Him Aria’s POV “So you’re telling me this guy made out with you in the backseat of his car… and then just shoved you off like nothing happened?” May asked in shock. 20 minutes later, I was sitting at her place, wrapped in one of her oversized hoodies, a steaming mug of tea in my hands. But I was still reeling from everything that had just happened. “Yup,” I muttered. “Who knows what’s wrong with him.” “What an asshole,” she huffed. “But honestly, this really isn’t like you. You dated that jerk Jace for 4 years and didn’t even sleep with him—which, by the way, was a brilliant choice—and now you're suddenly making out with a complete stranger in his car?” I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. Yeah, she had a point. “I—I don’t know. Maybe it was the whole Jace-getting-married thing. Maybe I just snapped and wanted to screw around with someone hotter just to get back at him…Honestly, it was so stupid now that I think of it.” She grinned and wiggled her brows. “So… he was hot huh?” My cheeks flushed and my mind drifted back. Those stormy gray eyes, his perfectly shaped lips on my neck, and those arms that could pick me up like I weighed nothing…Shit I need to stop. “Yeah. VERY,” I whispered, hiding my red face behind the mug. May burst out laughing. “Now we’re talking! That’s exactly what you need right now—a drop-dead gorgeous rebound to get that loser Jace out of your system. Screw your ‘no sex before marriage’ rule. Life is short.” I gave her a weak smile. Honestly, I didn’t need a rebound. I needed a job, money, and a place to live. Grayson Hart was like dessert when you can’t even afford dinner. “So… do you even know who this guy was?” she asked. I hesitated. Right at this moment, the doorbell rang. She jumped up to get it and came back a few minutes later, hauling in my luggage, her face frozen in disbelief. “OMG. You are not gonna believe what just showed up outside.” “Umm… my luggage?” I joked. “Two fucking muscular guys in black suits and guns! And a freaking stretch limo! They called me ‘ma’am’ and said they hope Miss Aria has a wonderful evening. Now, you—” She leapt at me and shook me by the shoulders. “—you tell me right now who the hell you hooked up with!” I squealed and dropped into the couch with her, laughing and giggling breathlessly. “Okay, okay—I’ll tell you. It was… Grayson Hart.” I practically whispered his name. Because honestly, I still couldn’t believe it either. May froze, eyes wide as saucers. “Grayson—THE Grayson Hart?! As in our Alpha? The CEO of Apex?!” “And Jace’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. Now you know how stupid I was earlier?” She let out a full-on scream. Then she grabbed my hand, her face flushed with excitement. “Oh my God! Aria, do you know what this means? Alpha Grayson never even lends his jacket to his model girlfriends. He likes you. You’re special!” “No,” I said firmly. “If I was special, he wouldn’t have thrown me off his lap when I tried to take off his shirt.” “Maybe he had somewhere to be—” “Don’t, May. Let’s be real. Guys like him don’t fall for girls like me.” I took another sip of tea, hiding the ache in my chest. Hell even Jace thought I was beneath him. What chance did I have with Grayson freaking Hart? “Don’t be silly, Aria. You’re gorgeous. And smart and amazing and—WAIT! I just had the best idea ever.” “What?” “That arrogant jerk Jace thinks you’re just some small-town prude who wasn’t good enough for him right? But what if you ended up with Alpha Grayson? It’ll be easy to get him because he’s already obsessed. Oh, it would destroy Jace. That dickhead would never recover.” OKAY. I’d be lying if I said that exact scenario hadn’t crossed my mind when Grayson kissed me back. What girl hasn’t daydreamed about dating the perfect guy and getting revenge in the most dramatic way possible? But right now, I couldn’t afford to daydream. Reality was already breathing down my neck. “Tempting. But right now I need a job and enough cash to keep Grandma in her hospital bed. Dating rich dudes isn’t exactly high on my to-do list.” May looked at me with soft eyes. “So…any plans? I can try to hook you up with a job, but you know I just work at a coffee shop, and with your degree, you deserve so much more.” I hugged her. “Thank you. Really. I’ll figure something out. Apex promised me severance when they fired me, so I’m going to HR tomorrow to get it sorted.” If I could get that money, at least I’d be OK for the next round of Grandma’s medical bills. — The next morning, I showed up at Apex right on time. But the second Brielle walked in with the HR manager, I had a bad feeling. “What’s she doing here?” I asked coldly. “I’ll explain in a minute,” HR replied with a polite, rehearsed smile as she sat across from me. “So Ms. Collins, I understand you’re here to discuss severance?” “Yes. So let’s not waste time. Just give me the check and I’ll be out of here.” “Unfortunately, severance only applies when the company terminates a contract without cause. In your case… it appears you were let go due to misconduct.” Misconduct? What the freaking hell. “Jace made a snap decision and booted me. What misconduct are you talking about?” “But that’s not what Mr. Carter said. He provided evidence that you made a costly error on a sales quote—omitting a few zeroes, to be exact. Cost the company millions. Here’s the email record.” She handed me a printed sheet. I swore I had never sent this email in my life. But there it was—my name in the sender field. No freaking way. Jace forged this. “And Mr. Carter reported that you had a difficult attitude toward your coworkers. Quote: ‘impatient and arrogant.’ Brielle’s here to verify that.” Brielle twirled her hair and smiled smugly. “Yeah. Aria was a horrible team player.” I stood so fast my chair screeched. “The only thing I didn’t ‘teamplayed’ with you was flirt with the boss in the breakroom!” “Liar!” she yelled. “And I asked Jace. He never said my voice was screechy!” Oh my God. I couldn’t believe how stupid she was. “Sit down, Miss Collins,” HR warned. “As of now, not only are you not getting severance, but we’re also considering legal action to recover the losses. If you understand the situation here, sign this acknowledgement—” “Does Alpha Grayson know about this?” I asked. Both of them froze. After a long pause, HR finally found her voice. “What does Alpha Grayson have to do with any of this?” “He owns Apex, doesn’t he? Does he know his team is abusing their power and firing hardworking employees illegally?” HR frowned. Brielle let out a loud snort. “Please. Don’t act like you know Alpha Grayson.” “What if I do? What if I go to him and then it’s you who gets fired?” She laughed in my face. “Oh, you mean you know him on TV?” “Let’s find out.” I shoved my chair back and stormed out, heading straight for the CEO’s private elevator at the end of the hall. HR scrambled after me, shouting my name. I was too furious to care how this ended. All I wanted now was to blow the whole damn place up. Two guards stood by the elevator. “I need to see Alpha Grayson,” I told them. “Appointment?” “No, but I swear he knows me. Just tell him it’s Aria—from yesterday. He’ll remember.” “You aren’t the first girl here saying that,” one of them mocked. “Come on, Miss Collins,” HR snapped, trying to drag me back. “This is getting crazy. Go back, sign the paper. Take responsibility for your own mistake.” “I didn’t send that email. It was Jace—he’s framing me! I will report all of you.” “Alpha Grayson doesn’t have time for your report, or your visit, or any of your little drama!” “I believe no one but me has the right to decide that,” a cold voice said behind us. Chapter 4 Take Me, Please Aria’s POV A large hand grabbed my arm and pulled me away from HR’s grip. I looked up and my heart almost stopped. Even I couldn’t believe he just showed up here. It felt like a dream. “A-Alpha Grayson,” HR stammered, her face frozen with shock and fear. “I don’t need employees who think they can make decisions for their boss,” he said freezingly while wrapping his arm around my waist. “If I see something like this again, you’re fired.” “Y-yes, Alpha. I’m terribly sorry…” HR’s expression was priceless, but I was in no mood to enjoy it. His icy pine scent consumed me again, making my body weak and hot. My wolf let out a soft purr, urging me to lean into him. But before I could even move, he let go. A pang of disappointment hit me in the chest. “Come,” he said shortly, striding toward the private elevator. I shot HR and the stunned security guards a smug look, then hurried after him. He swiped his card and the elevator doors closed. We started going up to the 58th floor. It was dead silent. My heart was beating so wildly that I was afraid he’d hear it. I snuck a glance at him—he just stared straight ahead, emotionless, keeping a distance, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Unease twisted my stomach. “So, um… what brings you here today?” I broke the silence. He sighed softly. “I owe this company.” “Oh, Oh…Right.” I wanted to punch myself in the face. The awkward silence lingered until the elevator dinged open. The 58th floor was a wide-open space with no cubicles or dividers—just massive floor-to-ceiling windows and a sweeping view of the entire city. “Wow,” I whispered under my breath. Grayson was already walking ahead. I jogged to catch up as he led me into an office at the far end of the floor. A stunning female assistant closed the door behind us, and once again, it was just the two of us. My heart rocketed back into my throat. He casually unbuttoned his jacket. It was amazing how he made even that look sexy. “So you insisted on seeing me?” he asked. He didn’t ask me to sit. He didn’t even move closer. That distance stung a little. “I worked here till a week ago when I found out I was let go for no reason…” I quickly told him the story of how I was fired. “This is clearly illegal in so many ways… can you help me get my job back?” “Unfortunately, no,” he replied, barely hesitating. My heart dropped like a stone. “Why not?” “I’ll have the hiring department look into whether your termination followed proper protocol. But this isn’t something a CEO handles directly. Anything else?” The hiring department? That could take weeks—and I didn’t have weeks. “No… you don’t get it,” I stepped forward, my voice trembling. “My grandma’s in the hospital. Her bills are getting insane every month. And I’m already deep in debt… If I can’t make money, I don’t even know— I really, REALLY need this job.” I knew we came from two different worlds, but laying out the most desperate parts of my life in front of him still made me feel horribly exposed. I just hoped—begged—that he’d understand. But he didn’t. His gray eyes stayed emotionless. “I’m sorry, Miss Collins,” he said quietly. Tears rushed into my eyes. I couldn’t even breathe. All I could think about were the bills, the debt, the mountain of shit waiting for me the second I left this building. “If there’s nothing else, my assistant will show you out.” he said, reaching for the intercom. I rushed forward and pressed my hand down on his before he could call anyone in. His whole body stiffened—but he didn’t pull away. He just stared down at me. I stepped in closer, tilting my head up. His gray eyes darkened like a storm brewing in the distance. His pine scent wrapped around me again, thick and intoxicating. As werewolves, our scent only spikes during a fight or sexual arousal. It was damn obvious which case this was. “You clearly feel something for me,” I whispered. He said nothing. I placed my hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat. It was racing as well. His breathing had also turned shallow. “What are you doing, Miss Collins?” he asked tightly. “Trying to seduce your way into a job?” “You can do whatever you want,” I locked eyes with him. “I won’t stop you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. God, I wanted to lick it. And… well, I did. I leaned up and pressed my lips to it. He let out a growl. The next second, I was pinned on his desk. He stood between my spread legs, one hand by my head. I whimpered, clamping my thighs together—the heat between them was almost unbearable. Just like in the backseat of his car. His hand slid from the desk to my throat. It was so big, he could probably snap my neck if he wanted. “You shouldn’t keep tempting me, Miss Collins.” His body was pressed against my thighs—I definitely felt the effect I was having on him. “Why?” I whispered, licking my lips. “Because your self-control isn’t as strong as you thought?” “Because I don’t fuck virgins.” What the actual hell The next second, he had pulled away. I scrambled off the desk, face red, eyes wide. “What did you just say?!” I snapped. “Why—How the hell do you even know—?” “I know who you are. And I know about your relationship with my sister’s husband.” And just like that, everything clicked. It was Jace. That bastard didn’t just dump me—he ran his mouth about my virginity to everyone, including Grayson. Humiliation crashed over me like a wave. “Jace is a fucking asshole,” I snapped shakily. Grayson shrugged. “Obviously. But Brielle likes him. And he’s family now. I’m sorry but I just can’t get involved in this.” I climbed off his desk with my whole body red and shaking. He didn’t want me. And he was taking his sister and Jace’s side. I was so damn stupid to think that one kiss in the car actually meant anything. But this was Grayson Hart for Christ’s sake. He could have anyone he wanted. “I’m sure you’re a very capable employee, Miss Collins. But seducing me won’t help your career. I wish you all the best.” He finally pressed the intercom button. His assistant appeared at the door, waiting for me to leave. “Bye,” I whispered without even look back. I didn’t want him to notice my falling tears. I walked out of that office, numb, and rode the elevator down like a ghost. My mind was a storm of bills, debt, and Grayson’s ice-cold stare. Now I desperately needed a new job. “Miss Collins!” I turned and saw his assistant come rushing out again, holding an envelope. “Alpha Grayson asked me to give you this,” she said, handing it over. “What is it?” Why didn’t he give it to me earlier? “He didn’t say. Maybe you’ll know once you open it.” She gave me a mysterious smile and walked away. I opened the envelope. A blank check slid out first—I held my breath in shock. Then I found a crumpled note. His handwriting, rushed and messy. Haven’t repaid you for the shirt. Hope everything works out for you Aria. Stay strong. —Grayson Chapter 5 Getting My Attention Aria’s POV “That check clearly means something,” May insisted. “Come on. We’re not doing this again,” I sighed. “If he’s not into you, then why did he let his assistant come after you with a check? He probably saw you crying and couldn’t stand it. You should definitely go back and see him again.” “Nope,” I shut it down immediately. “I had one perfect, fairytale encounter with a rich bachelor. That’s enough. I’m not about to go back there and humiliate myself all over again.” “But—” “Hey, you two!” our manager yelled from the other end of the aisle. “Less talking, more working!” We rolled our eyes at each other and got back to inventory. May had helped me land this supermarket job. It was part of a chain under a big corporation, so the pay and benefits weren’t bad. May still thought it was beneath someone with my degree, but honestly, I was just grateful to be employed. Once we finished our section, the manager wandered off to shout at someone else, and May scooted back over to me. “Just imagine it,” she grinned. “You could write a couple million on that blank check and boom! Instant rich girl life.” “I’m not gonna do that.” “Sure you won’t. You’re too nice,” she muttered, half-admiring, half-scolding. “So? What are you gonna write?” I hesitated. At first, I actually considered writing the price of a shirt. 19.99 that was. Because apparently, my dignity still thinks it matters. But let’s be real, if Grayson was just trying to pay me back for a ripped tee, he would’ve handed his assistant a $20 bill, not a blank check. Maybe… he felt bad I lost my job too. “I’m going to write the amount I should’ve gotten in severance,” I admitted eventually. May's eyes bulged. “That’s it?!” “I know it’s not much, but it’s what I actually deserve. And it’ll help me cover two months of bills.” She sighed like I was letting go of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But my mind was made up. This was my chance to walk away from the mess. I still wanted to rip Jace’s smug face off, but the best revenge right now was surviving. 6 hours later, we finished our shift exhausted and aching. Everyone else got to clock out, but not me—I’d volunteered for night shift and closing duties. The staffs left one by one, yawning, including May. Finally I was alone in this big market. Now here’s the big secret— I actually lived here now. Nobody knew this, not even May. She thought I’d found a new apartment and moved out, but I just couldn’t keep bothering her anymore—her roommates were getting irritated with me hogging the living room and utilities. And renting my own place seemed way out of budget now. So I stayed in this supermarket instead. I closed up the store at night and opened it early in the morning. For the 5 or 6 hours in between, I made a bed out of my coat and slept on the floor near the refrigerated section. Now don’t ask me why I can’t sleep in the staff’s break room. That room was too hot without AC. At least it was cool by the freezer. Tonight I was extra exhausted. The manager made us girls haul too many heavy crates around. I passed out in seconds. But it felt like I’d only been asleep for five minutes—my alarm hadn’t even gone off yet—when I was jolted awake by someone screaming. “OH MY GOD—what the hell are you doing?!” I shot upright, completely disoriented. And froze. In front of me stood an entire group of people—including the manager and several guys in suits, all staring at me wide eyes. And I was only in a tank top and shorts. Half naked. OH GOD. What the hell—Is it morning already?! Why didn’t I hear my alarm? I scrambled to pull my clothes over my body, my hands shaking. The stares didn’t stop. They got more invasive. “Aria Collins! What the fuck are you doing?!” the manager stormed over and roared. “Napping half-naked in my fucking store?! Are you a fucking sex perv?!” My face went beet red, “No! I—I was just staying here temporarily—” “Temporarily?!” he yelled, eyes bulging. “I hired an employee, not a fucking squatter! How much water and electricity have you used free?! Are you stealing food too?!” “No I swear. I shut everything off when I’m done, I don’t use the water unless I have to. And I paid for everything I’ve eaten.” Tears blurred my vision as I tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening. His spit actually hit my cheek as he snarled. “Of all days—you had to pick the day corporate shows up to camp out in my perfect store. You filthy, disgusting little—” “Aria Collins?” A new voice called my name. It came from one of the suited men. I looked up—and my heart dropped. It was Jonathan. A former coworker from Apex. “Holy shit, it is you,” he grinned, raising his brows. “Almost didn’t recognize you at first.” “You… what are you doing here?” I stammered. “Apex owns this supermarket chain. We’re doing site inspections today,” he said with a smirk, his eyes trailing down to my bare legs. “Man! Most people hit rock bottom after getting fired from Apex, but you fall faster than anyone.” “I’m working. Making a decent living,” I said in shaky voice. “There’s no shame with that.” “Oh really?” he sneered. “Does your job include lying around half-naked on the floor? What is this, a new hooker gimmick?” The suits burst out laughing. My furious tears were on the verge of falling. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll fire her right away.” The manager groaned. “Hold up,” Jonathan drawled with a smirk. “This chick got fired from Apex for messing up a seven-figure deal. You might wanna check your inventory. She could be stealing.” “You know that’s a lie. Jace got me fired out of spite! I never made a mistake—” “Oh please,” he cut me off. “Everyone in the industry knows how you fucked up. Jace was so embarrassed that he had to apologize for you.” The manager grabbed my wrist. “Then you’re definitely stealing from this market as well. That’s it you are going to jail. When I figure out what you’ve taken, you must pay back everything!” My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t doubt for a second that the manager would come up with something that I didn’t steal, just like how Jace framed me before. It wasn’t hard for guys like them. But I couldn’t go to jail. My grandma had no one to count on but me. I can’t leave her. The wolf in me surfaced up the next second—I snarled at the manager, yanked my arm free, and ran. “Stop her!” someone shouted behind me. I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I had to escape. I bolted out of the store, desperate and horrified—and slammed right into a solid chest. “Get away from Alpha!” a bodyguard barked. But he pulled me in instead. “Aria?” I was still shaking involuntarily. He unbuttoned the front and wrapped me in, covering my half-naked body. “It’s OK.” his voice was deep with clear hint of rage. I clutched his shirt, gasping for air. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to breathe at all. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Yet I couldn’t make a sound. “She’s having a panic attack,” a woman said nearby. “Alpha, if I may—” I silently prayed him not to hand me over. And he didn’t. “It’s fine, Nova,” he refused. “Aria, you’re safe now. Breathe.” Panicked footsteps echoed behind us. Jonathan’s voice rang out, stunned: “Alpha Grayson! Oh God—w-what’s going on here?!” “Nova,” Grayson said in a cold, dangerous voice, “stay here. Don’t let anyone leave.” “Yes, Alpha.” He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, one arm under my legs, the other around my back. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. Then he carried me through the crowd, into the store, and into a private room. When he set me down in a chair, I was still trembling and sobbing. He finally took off his coat and draped it over my legs, then crouched down in front of me. “You’re safe here,” he said. That’s when I broke down. Crying out loud. Everything—fear, shame, panic—everything spilled out in a messy, helpless flood. I clutched his wrist like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and for once… he didn’t pull away. He said nothing the whole time. Just stayed there with me until the sobs quieted. “Th-thank you…I’m better now.” I sniffled. He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. I trembled at the way he touched my skin. His voice was low, rough, and a little strained. “You’re starting to make me wonder, Miss Collins. If all these run-ins are just your way of getting my attention.”
🔞When My ex-brother-in-law took my virginity...His liquid spurts inslde and my eyes widen, "Wait we forgot a comdom!" …………………… Chapter 1 He Dumped Me Aria's POV I stood in front of the chapel. Pink roses and white lilies decorated every corner I saw—my favorite flowers. The guests were already seated in their designer dresses and pressed suits. And soon, at the end of the red carpet would stand the man I once loved, waiting to marry his bride. Everything was perfect. Except I wasn't the bride. "I really need to see Jace today." I begged the bodyguard blocking the door. A beat-up suitcase and two boxes sat at my feet—everything I owned in the world. "No you don’t. Get out of here," the bodyguard said icily. I saw it in his eyes—disgust. Yeah I get it. No one has sympathy for the crazy ex who shows up at the wedding. But I have my reason. "If you don't let me see him, I'll just stand here and all the guests will see me," I threatened under my breath. Jace wouldn't want that. Especially not today. Today he was marrying Delilah Hart. Sister to Alpha Grayson Hart of Redstone Pack. A 100% high-society darling. All the guys in the world knew that marrying Delilah would make their wealth skyrocket, including Jace. So he made the easy call—marrying the lady who could turn him from a small-town nobody into a golden boy. And dump the girl who stayed by his side for last 4 years when he had nothing. So it’s normal why he didn’t want any guests to see me here. I represented his broke, embarrassing past. He wanted me nowhere near his glossy, glittering new world. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of that. Like a knife was twisting in my chest. “Let me in or I’m starting to yell.” "Wait here." The bodyguard finally made a call. A few minutes later, he waved me in. I wiped my eyes and struggled into the hall with my suitcase and boxes. Instantly, I felt how out of place I was. Everything reeked of wealth here. Expensive perfume. Manicured nails. Not a hair out of place. It was everything you imagined about the upper-class and way more. And me? I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans. My sneakers had holes. "God, a homeless. She stinks." A woman mutter as I walked by. I just showered this morning. My hair still smelled like strawberries and coconut. But poverty had a scent, apparently. "Mr. Carter is inside. Make it quick." The guard took me to a closed door and warned. “Thank you.” The room inside looked like something out of a movie. Marble floors. Floor-length mirrors. A chandelier that probably cost more than my apartment. I hesitated for a second as I dragged my dirty luggage across the white carpet. And there he was. The man I used to love. Adjusting his bowtie in front of a mirror. He was still heartbreakingly handsome. No wonder Delilah fell for him. When he turned and fixed his gorgeous blue eyes upon me, I still felt my heart race. "Hey, Jace," I said quietly. And immediately wanted to punch myself. Hey, Jace? That’s the best I could do? His face was ice cold. "You shouldn't come. Your ratty suitcase, your ripped jeans, your Vans. None of that belongs here." Well if you wanted to be brutal and vicious, that’s how it’s done. "Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? You dumped me over a fucking email!" I snapped. He shrugged. "Look around you. The wealthiest people in the world came for me today. This suit I’m wearing cost more than you can make in your entire life. What more explanation do you want, Aria?" Wow. I always knew he was a cold, calculating bastard. I just didn’t realize how deep it ran. "Maybe chasing Alpha’s sister got you here faster. But you know what? When she finds out how cold and empty you are. You’ll lose it all." Anger flared across his face. "I know how to love. I just won't waste that on a small-town girl like you.” he said freezingly, “Are we done here?" “No.” I took a deep breath and got into the real reason I came. "You're marrying a rich girl. Fine. But why did you have to get me fired?" Yeah. I used to work for this jerk. From intern to full-time at Apex Corp, he was my supervisor. Our relationship was a secret. And just days ago, I found out he was getting married—and I was out of a job. He fired me. "Right, your job.” The jerk shrugged, “You got it because of me. Now that I’m not around, they finally saw how incompetent you are. Problem?" Was he fucking kidding me?! "I graduated top of my class. Made it through 7 rounds of interviews. My performance exceeded every quarterly target. I earned that job!" I cried. “Come on, Aria. You really gonna be so naïve?” He walked closer, smirking. "You passed the interviews because I said so. Your sales? I made those calls. Without me, you'd be nothing but a pretty face." He seized my chin and looked me over with a disgusting look. I slapped his hand away. "Give me my job back,” I hissed, my voice slightly trembling. “My dad’s debt. My grandma’s medical bills…I need the money. You of all people should know what it’s like to be poor. Don’t. Make. Me. Beg." I was throwing my pride at his feet. But he laughed. "Well, how about I offer you a deal?" he said as though he’d been waiting for this moment. He brushed my hair back, fingers trailing down to my collarbone. I shivered in disgust. "You never let me touch you. You were so clinging to that pathetic no-sex-before-marriage rule. Maybe it's time to grow up. Let me fuck you once and I’ll write you a check you can’t refuse. How does that sound?" I widened my eyes in shock. Then I slapped him. HARD. “WHAT THE FUCK! I’m getting married in front of everyone in fucking 10 minutes!” He roared covering his face. "Fuck you, Jace!” I yelled, “You're a spineless freeloading puss! And hey—congrats on the wedding. Hope your junk is soft like a fucking spaghetti tonight!" Then I stormed out dragging my suitcase and boxes, ignoring his angry curses behind me. Hot tears poured down as I dashed across the hallway. God this couldn’t be any worse. I was prepared to drop all my self-esteem and begged with my life because I needed the job and money. But I still let him get to me. Now what do I do? My salary barely covered my rent, my father’s debt and grandma’s bill. Now with my job gone, I already got kicked out by my landlord. I probably had to sleep in a park tonight. So do I go back and let that jerk win? Let him humiliate me...No. I’d rather die than that— "Hey, watch where you're going!" someone yelled. Too late. I slammed right into the man in front of me. He was tall—so tall I felt like I’d just walked into a brick wall. His diamond cufflink was sharp like a blade, and when we collided, it sliced clean through my thin T-shirt with a loud rip. In one second, the front of my shirt was torn open, exposing my white lace bra. “Ah!” I gasped and looked up. The man in front of me was so handsome. Like a statue carved by a master artist. Yet his expression so cold. He looked down at me, and I swear I was about to drown in those stormy gray eyes of his. And then I recognized who he was. This was Jace’s son-to-be brother-in-law. Alpha of Redstone Pack. CEO of Apex Corporation. THE legendary. Grayson Hart. “Aria Collins?” His voice was sexy and velvety. He lowered his head and his eyes dropped to the exposed part of my bra. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the color of his eyes seemed to darken as he stared. Wherever his gaze landed, my skin started burning up. But wait. How did he know my name? Chapter 2 With Ex's Brother-in-law Aria’s POV Of course I recognized him. God, who didn’t? I’d met him at an Apex gala. His face was on every finance magazine cover, and any time you turned on a TV, there he was—linked to the latest scandal with some actress or model. But there was no way he’d know who I was. “I-I… Hello, Alpha Grayson,” I stammered. He turned his eyes away and said to a nearby guard, “Escort Ms. Collins out.” “Yes, Alpha.” The guards stepped in immediately, stretching out their arms like I was some kind of contaminant that might taint Grayson’s perfectly tailored suit. “Wait a minute. You’re not going to say something about my shirt?” He paused—just for a second—then flicked a piece of paper down at my feet. I looked down. A blank check. “I need a shirt I can actually wear out of here. Not your hush money.” I gritted with humiliation. But he didn’t even glance back as he walked away. “God,” I muttered under my breath. Can you believe these rich bastards? They think they can buy everything with money. People nearby were all staring, snickering under their breath. I tried to cover my chest and grab my things to escape, but it was hard to do all that with just two hands. “Oh my god…Aria Collins?” Three girls emerged from the whispering crowd. I took one look at them and sighed internally. Great. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse. “Hello. Layla. Sabrina. Brielle.” I used to work in the same team with these girls back at Apex. We were all under Jace. They adored him—spent more time flirting with at the coffee machine than actually working. Which left me doing their share of the workload. After I got fired—and when news of my secret relationship with Jace got out—they decided I was public enemy number one. “What are you even doing here, Aria? Trying to win back your ex at his wedding? That’s a new low even for you,” Layla snickered. “I’m not here to win anyone back.” I tried to push past them. But they blocked me. “What happened to your shirt?” Brielle snickered. “Did you seriously walk in here with your bra out? Is this like some low-budget fashion statement?” They burst into laughter together. “You could be completely naked and Jace still wouldn’t give a damn,” Sabrina squeaked. “Because he’s marrying Delilah. THE Delilah Hart! Redstone Pack’s sweetheart. And you…well you’re just a poor-ass small-town girl.” I stopped in my track and gave them a cold glare, “Oh yeah? Well at least I’ve actually been with Jace. Do you know how many times I had to listen to him complained about your screechy voices and cheesy perfume? Apparently he rather be with a poor-ass small-town girl than any of you.” Their jaws dropped. “Jace would never say that!” Brielle cried. “Word for word,” I rolled my eyes. “Now move. Or I’m rolling this suitcase over your pretty little skirts.” They looked like ruffled chickens, but they parted. I quickly shoved my dingy luggage ahead like a weapon and stormed out of the church. Rich people were assholes. Grayson, Jace, and their whole damn minions. I struggled to get my suitcase down the steps, and once I hit the street, cold wind slapped me in the face. I had no idea where to go. I could crash in the hospital with my grandma for a night, but she’d ask too many questions. Like why I hadn’t brought Jace around recently, or why I wasn’t staying at my apartment. I didn’t want her knowing how bad things had gotten. I thought about the park. Sleeping on a bench. But in a ripped T-shirt that exposed my whole front? Horrible idea. So I texted my best friend, May, asking to stay at her place for a few days. She was my rock. If the whole world turned against me, at least I still had her. She texted back right away inviting me to come over. Dragging my suitcase across the street toward the bus stop, I told myself it was going to be okay. This horrible day was going to end. Then I heard them. “Hey, nice shirt!” A group of street wolves were loitering near the stop. I hugged myself tighter and curled into the bench, hoping they’d get bored and leave. “C’mon baby, drop your hands. Let us see what you’re working with.” Go away. Go away. Go away. “You rip that shirt yourself? Damn that’s wild. I like that in a girl.” One of them moved closer, reaching for my shoulder. “Get away from me!” I snapped, my voice shaking. But it only fired them up. “Oh, feisty. Shake those tits for me!” They grabbed my wrists, yanked my arms down. My T-shirt gaped open completely, revealing my lace bra. The cold air made my skin pebble. They laughed even louder. I struggled and screamed. My wolf growled in rage. Shifting in the city was illegal—but right now, I didn’t have a second choice— Just then. Blinding headlights. Followed by screeching tires. A black car skidded to a stop inches away. The door flew open. A deep voice thundered, “Get in.” I was too shocked that I didn’t think twice and obeyed. The car peeled away the second I shut the door. “My suitcase!” I cried. “Someone will get it,” he said darkly. “Address.” I told the driver May’s. Then he pressed a button. A privacy screen slid up between the front and back seats, sealing us in the back. That’s when he turned toward me and leaned in. Like a beast ready to pounce. His scent hit me like a punch—sharp pine mixed with cold metal. My head started to get dizzy. “Walking on the street in that shirt was a mistake,” he said sternly. “It got like this because of you,” I mumbled. He snorted. Then the sound of rustling fabric. A heavy jacket landed across my shoulders—it was still warm from his body and carried his scent. I held my breathe. Wearing his coat almost felt like…he was wrapping himself around me. “You—do you know me?” I whispered. My gut told me that he would never do this for a strange girl. But if he knew who I was, he must know that I was his sister’s husband’s ex. That didn’t explain why he would help. “We’ve met,” he said simply. I stared at him, searching those icy gray eyes. He was staring at me too, with that cold, hungry, possessive eyes. I felt like I was completely naked in front of him. “Aria,” he warned, voice thick and husky. But I couldn’t control myself. I was leaning forward. Shit. Why did my body become so weird? My skin was on fire. My panties were wet. All I wanted was more of his scent, more of his heat. The next second his lips were crashed onto mine—Hard. Rough. I gasped and opened my mouth for him. His tongue slipped in and explored every inch of my mouth, making me shiver. His hands pushed into my torn shirt and grabbed my waist. I couldn’t control my moan when he touched my naked skin. This was crazy! He was a stranger, and most importantly, my ex’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. And I was making out with him at the back of his car. The crazy part was I didn’t even want to stop. He lifted me onto his lap like I weighed nothing. I straddled his thighs and yanked at his tie as he bite my collarbone. Then, suddenly, the car stopped. “Alpha, we’ve arrived.” That’s when it all froze. His lips paused at my neck. I was still squirming on his lap, flushed and throbbing. But he shoved me off. “We can’t do this,” he said coldly. Chapter 3 You're Special To Him Aria’s POV “So you’re telling me this guy made out with you in the backseat of his car… and then just shoved you off like nothing happened?” May asked in shock. 20 minutes later, I was sitting at her place, wrapped in one of her oversized hoodies, a steaming mug of tea in my hands. But I was still reeling from everything that had just happened. “Yup,” I muttered. “Who knows what’s wrong with him.” “What an asshole,” she huffed. “But honestly, this really isn’t like you. You dated that jerk Jace for 4 years and didn’t even sleep with him—which, by the way, was a brilliant choice—and now you're suddenly making out with a complete stranger in his car?” I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. Yeah, she had a point. “I—I don’t know. Maybe it was the whole Jace-getting-married thing. Maybe I just snapped and wanted to screw around with someone hotter just to get back at him…Honestly, it was so stupid now that I think of it.” She grinned and wiggled her brows. “So… he was hot huh?” My cheeks flushed and my mind drifted back. Those stormy gray eyes, his perfectly shaped lips on my neck, and those arms that could pick me up like I weighed nothing…Shit I need to stop. “Yeah. VERY,” I whispered, hiding my red face behind the mug. May burst out laughing. “Now we’re talking! That’s exactly what you need right now—a drop-dead gorgeous rebound to get that loser Jace out of your system. Screw your ‘no sex before marriage’ rule. Life is short.” I gave her a weak smile. Honestly, I didn’t need a rebound. I needed a job, money, and a place to live. Grayson Hart was like dessert when you can’t even afford dinner. “So… do you even know who this guy was?” she asked. I hesitated. Right at this moment, the doorbell rang. She jumped up to get it and came back a few minutes later, hauling in my luggage, her face frozen in disbelief. “OMG. You are not gonna believe what just showed up outside.” “Umm… my luggage?” I joked. “Two fucking muscular guys in black suits and guns! And a freaking stretch limo! They called me ‘ma’am’ and said they hope Miss Aria has a wonderful evening. Now, you—” She leapt at me and shook me by the shoulders. “—you tell me right now who the hell you hooked up with!” I squealed and dropped into the couch with her, laughing and giggling breathlessly. “Okay, okay—I’ll tell you. It was… Grayson Hart.” I practically whispered his name. Because honestly, I still couldn’t believe it either. May froze, eyes wide as saucers. “Grayson—THE Grayson Hart?! As in our Alpha? The CEO of Apex?!” “And Jace’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. Now you know how stupid I was earlier?” She let out a full-on scream. Then she grabbed my hand, her face flushed with excitement. “Oh my God! Aria, do you know what this means? Alpha Grayson never even lends his jacket to his model girlfriends. He likes you. You’re special!” “No,” I said firmly. “If I was special, he wouldn’t have thrown me off his lap when I tried to take off his shirt.” “Maybe he had somewhere to be—” “Don’t, May. Let’s be real. Guys like him don’t fall for girls like me.” I took another sip of tea, hiding the ache in my chest. Hell even Jace thought I was beneath him. What chance did I have with Grayson freaking Hart? “Don’t be silly, Aria. You’re gorgeous. And smart and amazing and—WAIT! I just had the best idea ever.” “What?” “That arrogant jerk Jace thinks you’re just some small-town prude who wasn’t good enough for him right? But what if you ended up with Alpha Grayson? It’ll be easy to get him because he’s already obsessed. Oh, it would destroy Jace. That dickhead would never recover.” OKAY. I’d be lying if I said that exact scenario hadn’t crossed my mind when Grayson kissed me back. What girl hasn’t daydreamed about dating the perfect guy and getting revenge in the most dramatic way possible? But right now, I couldn’t afford to daydream. Reality was already breathing down my neck. “Tempting. But right now I need a job and enough cash to keep Grandma in her hospital bed. Dating rich dudes isn’t exactly high on my to-do list.” May looked at me with soft eyes. “So…any plans? I can try to hook you up with a job, but you know I just work at a coffee shop, and with your degree, you deserve so much more.” I hugged her. “Thank you. Really. I’ll figure something out. Apex promised me severance when they fired me, so I’m going to HR tomorrow to get it sorted.” If I could get that money, at least I’d be OK for the next round of Grandma’s medical bills. — The next morning, I showed up at Apex right on time. But the second Brielle walked in with the HR manager, I had a bad feeling. “What’s she doing here?” I asked coldly. “I’ll explain in a minute,” HR replied with a polite, rehearsed smile as she sat across from me. “So Ms. Collins, I understand you’re here to discuss severance?” “Yes. So let’s not waste time. Just give me the check and I’ll be out of here.” “Unfortunately, severance only applies when the company terminates a contract without cause. In your case… it appears you were let go due to misconduct.” Misconduct? What the freaking hell. “Jace made a snap decision and booted me. What misconduct are you talking about?” “But that’s not what Mr. Carter said. He provided evidence that you made a costly error on a sales quote—omitting a few zeroes, to be exact. Cost the company millions. Here’s the email record.” She handed me a printed sheet. I swore I had never sent this email in my life. But there it was—my name in the sender field. No freaking way. Jace forged this. “And Mr. Carter reported that you had a difficult attitude toward your coworkers. Quote: ‘impatient and arrogant.’ Brielle’s here to verify that.” Brielle twirled her hair and smiled smugly. “Yeah. Aria was a horrible team player.” I stood so fast my chair screeched. “The only thing I didn’t ‘teamplayed’ with you was flirt with the boss in the breakroom!” “Liar!” she yelled. “And I asked Jace. He never said my voice was screechy!” Oh my God. I couldn’t believe how stupid she was. “Sit down, Miss Collins,” HR warned. “As of now, not only are you not getting severance, but we’re also considering legal action to recover the losses. If you understand the situation here, sign this acknowledgement—” “Does Alpha Grayson know about this?” I asked. Both of them froze. After a long pause, HR finally found her voice. “What does Alpha Grayson have to do with any of this?” “He owns Apex, doesn’t he? Does he know his team is abusing their power and firing hardworking employees illegally?” HR frowned. Brielle let out a loud snort. “Please. Don’t act like you know Alpha Grayson.” “What if I do? What if I go to him and then it’s you who gets fired?” She laughed in my face. “Oh, you mean you know him on TV?” “Let’s find out.” I shoved my chair back and stormed out, heading straight for the CEO’s private elevator at the end of the hall. HR scrambled after me, shouting my name. I was too furious to care how this ended. All I wanted now was to blow the whole damn place up. Two guards stood by the elevator. “I need to see Alpha Grayson,” I told them. “Appointment?” “No, but I swear he knows me. Just tell him it’s Aria—from yesterday. He’ll remember.” “You aren’t the first girl here saying that,” one of them mocked. “Come on, Miss Collins,” HR snapped, trying to drag me back. “This is getting crazy. Go back, sign the paper. Take responsibility for your own mistake.” “I didn’t send that email. It was Jace—he’s framing me! I will report all of you.” “Alpha Grayson doesn’t have time for your report, or your visit, or any of your little drama!” “I believe no one but me has the right to decide that,” a cold voice said behind us. Chapter 4 Take Me, Please Aria’s POV A large hand grabbed my arm and pulled me away from HR’s grip. I looked up and my heart almost stopped. Even I couldn’t believe he just showed up here. It felt like a dream. “A-Alpha Grayson,” HR stammered, her face frozen with shock and fear. “I don’t need employees who think they can make decisions for their boss,” he said freezingly while wrapping his arm around my waist. “If I see something like this again, you’re fired.” “Y-yes, Alpha. I’m terribly sorry…” HR’s expression was priceless, but I was in no mood to enjoy it. His icy pine scent consumed me again, making my body weak and hot. My wolf let out a soft purr, urging me to lean into him. But before I could even move, he let go. A pang of disappointment hit me in the chest. “Come,” he said shortly, striding toward the private elevator. I shot HR and the stunned security guards a smug look, then hurried after him. He swiped his card and the elevator doors closed. We started going up to the 58th floor. It was dead silent. My heart was beating so wildly that I was afraid he’d hear it. I snuck a glance at him—he just stared straight ahead, emotionless, keeping a distance, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Unease twisted my stomach. “So, um… what brings you here today?” I broke the silence. He sighed softly. “I owe this company.” “Oh, Oh…Right.” I wanted to punch myself in the face. The awkward silence lingered until the elevator dinged open. The 58th floor was a wide-open space with no cubicles or dividers—just massive floor-to-ceiling windows and a sweeping view of the entire city. “Wow,” I whispered under my breath. Grayson was already walking ahead. I jogged to catch up as he led me into an office at the far end of the floor. A stunning female assistant closed the door behind us, and once again, it was just the two of us. My heart rocketed back into my throat. He casually unbuttoned his jacket. It was amazing how he made even that look sexy. “So you insisted on seeing me?” he asked. He didn’t ask me to sit. He didn’t even move closer. That distance stung a little. “I worked here till a week ago when I found out I was let go for no reason…” I quickly told him the story of how I was fired. “This is clearly illegal in so many ways… can you help me get my job back?” “Unfortunately, no,” he replied, barely hesitating. My heart dropped like a stone. “Why not?” “I’ll have the hiring department look into whether your termination followed proper protocol. But this isn’t something a CEO handles directly. Anything else?” The hiring department? That could take weeks—and I didn’t have weeks. “No… you don’t get it,” I stepped forward, my voice trembling. “My grandma’s in the hospital. Her bills are getting insane every month. And I’m already deep in debt… If I can’t make money, I don’t even know— I really, REALLY need this job.” I knew we came from two different worlds, but laying out the most desperate parts of my life in front of him still made me feel horribly exposed. I just hoped—begged—that he’d understand. But he didn’t. His gray eyes stayed emotionless. “I’m sorry, Miss Collins,” he said quietly. Tears rushed into my eyes. I couldn’t even breathe. All I could think about were the bills, the debt, the mountain of shit waiting for me the second I left this building. “If there’s nothing else, my assistant will show you out.” he said, reaching for the intercom. I rushed forward and pressed my hand down on his before he could call anyone in. His whole body stiffened—but he didn’t pull away. He just stared down at me. I stepped in closer, tilting my head up. His gray eyes darkened like a storm brewing in the distance. His pine scent wrapped around me again, thick and intoxicating. As werewolves, our scent only spikes during a fight or sexual arousal. It was damn obvious which case this was. “You clearly feel something for me,” I whispered. He said nothing. I placed my hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat. It was racing as well. His breathing had also turned shallow. “What are you doing, Miss Collins?” he asked tightly. “Trying to seduce your way into a job?” “You can do whatever you want,” I locked eyes with him. “I won’t stop you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. God, I wanted to lick it. And… well, I did. I leaned up and pressed my lips to it. He let out a growl. The next second, I was pinned on his desk. He stood between my spread legs, one hand by my head. I whimpered, clamping my thighs together—the heat between them was almost unbearable. Just like in the backseat of his car. His hand slid from the desk to my throat. It was so big, he could probably snap my neck if he wanted. “You shouldn’t keep tempting me, Miss Collins.” His body was pressed against my thighs—I definitely felt the effect I was having on him. “Why?” I whispered, licking my lips. “Because your self-control isn’t as strong as you thought?” “Because I don’t fuck virgins.” What the actual hell The next second, he had pulled away. I scrambled off the desk, face red, eyes wide. “What did you just say?!” I snapped. “Why—How the hell do you even know—?” “I know who you are. And I know about your relationship with my sister’s husband.” And just like that, everything clicked. It was Jace. That bastard didn’t just dump me—he ran his mouth about my virginity to everyone, including Grayson. Humiliation crashed over me like a wave. “Jace is a fucking asshole,” I snapped shakily. Grayson shrugged. “Obviously. But Brielle likes him. And he’s family now. I’m sorry but I just can’t get involved in this.” I climbed off his desk with my whole body red and shaking. He didn’t want me. And he was taking his sister and Jace’s side. I was so damn stupid to think that one kiss in the car actually meant anything. But this was Grayson Hart for Christ’s sake. He could have anyone he wanted. “I’m sure you’re a very capable employee, Miss Collins. But seducing me won’t help your career. I wish you all the best.” He finally pressed the intercom button. His assistant appeared at the door, waiting for me to leave. “Bye,” I whispered without even look back. I didn’t want him to notice my falling tears. I walked out of that office, numb, and rode the elevator down like a ghost. My mind was a storm of bills, debt, and Grayson’s ice-cold stare. Now I desperately needed a new job. “Miss Collins!” I turned and saw his assistant come rushing out again, holding an envelope. “Alpha Grayson asked me to give you this,” she said, handing it over. “What is it?” Why didn’t he give it to me earlier? “He didn’t say. Maybe you’ll know once you open it.” She gave me a mysterious smile and walked away. I opened the envelope. A blank check slid out first—I held my breath in shock. Then I found a crumpled note. His handwriting, rushed and messy. Haven’t repaid you for the shirt. Hope everything works out for you Aria. Stay strong. —Grayson Chapter 5 Getting My Attention Aria’s POV “That check clearly means something,” May insisted. “Come on. We’re not doing this again,” I sighed. “If he’s not into you, then why did he let his assistant come after you with a check? He probably saw you crying and couldn’t stand it. You should definitely go back and see him again.” “Nope,” I shut it down immediately. “I had one perfect, fairytale encounter with a rich bachelor. That’s enough. I’m not about to go back there and humiliate myself all over again.” “But—” “Hey, you two!” our manager yelled from the other end of the aisle. “Less talking, more working!” We rolled our eyes at each other and got back to inventory. May had helped me land this supermarket job. It was part of a chain under a big corporation, so the pay and benefits weren’t bad. May still thought it was beneath someone with my degree, but honestly, I was just grateful to be employed. Once we finished our section, the manager wandered off to shout at someone else, and May scooted back over to me. “Just imagine it,” she grinned. “You could write a couple million on that blank check and boom! Instant rich girl life.” “I’m not gonna do that.” “Sure you won’t. You’re too nice,” she muttered, half-admiring, half-scolding. “So? What are you gonna write?” I hesitated. At first, I actually considered writing the price of a shirt. 19.99 that was. Because apparently, my dignity still thinks it matters. But let’s be real, if Grayson was just trying to pay me back for a ripped tee, he would’ve handed his assistant a $20 bill, not a blank check. Maybe… he felt bad I lost my job too. “I’m going to write the amount I should’ve gotten in severance,” I admitted eventually. May's eyes bulged. “That’s it?!” “I know it’s not much, but it’s what I actually deserve. And it’ll help me cover two months of bills.” She sighed like I was letting go of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But my mind was made up. This was my chance to walk away from the mess. I still wanted to rip Jace’s smug face off, but the best revenge right now was surviving. 6 hours later, we finished our shift exhausted and aching. Everyone else got to clock out, but not me—I’d volunteered for night shift and closing duties. The staffs left one by one, yawning, including May. Finally I was alone in this big market. Now here’s the big secret— I actually lived here now. Nobody knew this, not even May. She thought I’d found a new apartment and moved out, but I just couldn’t keep bothering her anymore—her roommates were getting irritated with me hogging the living room and utilities. And renting my own place seemed way out of budget now. So I stayed in this supermarket instead. I closed up the store at night and opened it early in the morning. For the 5 or 6 hours in between, I made a bed out of my coat and slept on the floor near the refrigerated section. Now don’t ask me why I can’t sleep in the staff’s break room. That room was too hot without AC. At least it was cool by the freezer. Tonight I was extra exhausted. The manager made us girls haul too many heavy crates around. I passed out in seconds. But it felt like I’d only been asleep for five minutes—my alarm hadn’t even gone off yet—when I was jolted awake by someone screaming. “OH MY GOD—what the hell are you doing?!” I shot upright, completely disoriented. And froze. In front of me stood an entire group of people—including the manager and several guys in suits, all staring at me wide eyes. And I was only in a tank top and shorts. Half naked. OH GOD. What the hell—Is it morning already?! Why didn’t I hear my alarm? I scrambled to pull my clothes over my body, my hands shaking. The stares didn’t stop. They got more invasive. “Aria Collins! What the fuck are you doing?!” the manager stormed over and roared. “Napping half-naked in my fucking store?! Are you a fucking sex perv?!” My face went beet red, “No! I—I was just staying here temporarily—” “Temporarily?!” he yelled, eyes bulging. “I hired an employee, not a fucking squatter! How much water and electricity have you used free?! Are you stealing food too?!” “No I swear. I shut everything off when I’m done, I don’t use the water unless I have to. And I paid for everything I’ve eaten.” Tears blurred my vision as I tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening. His spit actually hit my cheek as he snarled. “Of all days—you had to pick the day corporate shows up to camp out in my perfect store. You filthy, disgusting little—” “Aria Collins?” A new voice called my name. It came from one of the suited men. I looked up—and my heart dropped. It was Jonathan. A former coworker from Apex. “Holy shit, it is you,” he grinned, raising his brows. “Almost didn’t recognize you at first.” “You… what are you doing here?” I stammered. “Apex owns this supermarket chain. We’re doing site inspections today,” he said with a smirk, his eyes trailing down to my bare legs. “Man! Most people hit rock bottom after getting fired from Apex, but you fall faster than anyone.” “I’m working. Making a decent living,” I said in shaky voice. “There’s no shame with that.” “Oh really?” he sneered. “Does your job include lying around half-naked on the floor? What is this, a new hooker gimmick?” The suits burst out laughing. My furious tears were on the verge of falling. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll fire her right away.” The manager groaned. “Hold up,” Jonathan drawled with a smirk. “This chick got fired from Apex for messing up a seven-figure deal. You might wanna check your inventory. She could be stealing.” “You know that’s a lie. Jace got me fired out of spite! I never made a mistake—” “Oh please,” he cut me off. “Everyone in the industry knows how you fucked up. Jace was so embarrassed that he had to apologize for you.” The manager grabbed my wrist. “Then you’re definitely stealing from this market as well. That’s it you are going to jail. When I figure out what you’ve taken, you must pay back everything!” My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t doubt for a second that the manager would come up with something that I didn’t steal, just like how Jace framed me before. It wasn’t hard for guys like them. But I couldn’t go to jail. My grandma had no one to count on but me. I can’t leave her. The wolf in me surfaced up the next second—I snarled at the manager, yanked my arm free, and ran. “Stop her!” someone shouted behind me. I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I had to escape. I bolted out of the store, desperate and horrified—and slammed right into a solid chest. “Get away from Alpha!” a bodyguard barked. But he pulled me in instead. “Aria?” I was still shaking involuntarily. He unbuttoned the front and wrapped me in, covering my half-naked body. “It’s OK.” his voice was deep with clear hint of rage. I clutched his shirt, gasping for air. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to breathe at all. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Yet I couldn’t make a sound. “She’s having a panic attack,” a woman said nearby. “Alpha, if I may—” I silently prayed him not to hand me over. And he didn’t. “It’s fine, Nova,” he refused. “Aria, you’re safe now. Breathe.” Panicked footsteps echoed behind us. Jonathan’s voice rang out, stunned: “Alpha Grayson! Oh God—w-what’s going on here?!” “Nova,” Grayson said in a cold, dangerous voice, “stay here. Don’t let anyone leave.” “Yes, Alpha.” He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, one arm under my legs, the other around my back. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. Then he carried me through the crowd, into the store, and into a private room. When he set me down in a chair, I was still trembling and sobbing. He finally took off his coat and draped it over my legs, then crouched down in front of me. “You’re safe here,” he said. That’s when I broke down. Crying out loud. Everything—fear, shame, panic—everything spilled out in a messy, helpless flood. I clutched his wrist like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and for once… he didn’t pull away. He said nothing the whole time. Just stayed there with me until the sobs quieted. “Th-thank you…I’m better now.” I sniffled. He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. I trembled at the way he touched my skin. His voice was low, rough, and a little strained. “You’re starting to make me wonder, Miss Collins. If all these run-ins are just your way of getting my attention.”
🔞When My ex-brother-in-law took my virginity...His liquid spurts inslde and my eyes widen, "Wait we forgot a comdom!" …………………… Chapter 1 He Dumped Me Aria's POV I stood in front of the chapel. Pink roses and white lilies decorated every corner I saw—my favorite flowers. The guests were already seated in their designer dresses and pressed suits. And soon, at the end of the red carpet would stand the man I once loved, waiting to marry his bride. Everything was perfect. Except I wasn't the bride. "I really need to see Jace today." I begged the bodyguard blocking the door. A beat-up suitcase and two boxes sat at my feet—everything I owned in the world. "No you don’t. Get out of here," the bodyguard said icily. I saw it in his eyes—disgust. Yeah I get it. No one has sympathy for the crazy ex who shows up at the wedding. But I have my reason. "If you don't let me see him, I'll just stand here and all the guests will see me," I threatened under my breath. Jace wouldn't want that. Especially not today. Today he was marrying Delilah Hart. Sister to Alpha Grayson Hart of Redstone Pack. A 100% high-society darling. All the guys in the world knew that marrying Delilah would make their wealth skyrocket, including Jace. So he made the easy call—marrying the lady who could turn him from a small-town nobody into a golden boy. And dump the girl who stayed by his side for last 4 years when he had nothing. So it’s normal why he didn’t want any guests to see me here. I represented his broke, embarrassing past. He wanted me nowhere near his glossy, glittering new world. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of that. Like a knife was twisting in my chest. “Let me in or I’m starting to yell.” "Wait here." The bodyguard finally made a call. A few minutes later, he waved me in. I wiped my eyes and struggled into the hall with my suitcase and boxes. Instantly, I felt how out of place I was. Everything reeked of wealth here. Expensive perfume. Manicured nails. Not a hair out of place. It was everything you imagined about the upper-class and way more. And me? I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans. My sneakers had holes. "God, a homeless. She stinks." A woman mutter as I walked by. I just showered this morning. My hair still smelled like strawberries and coconut. But poverty had a scent, apparently. "Mr. Carter is inside. Make it quick." The guard took me to a closed door and warned. “Thank you.” The room inside looked like something out of a movie. Marble floors. Floor-length mirrors. A chandelier that probably cost more than my apartment. I hesitated for a second as I dragged my dirty luggage across the white carpet. And there he was. The man I used to love. Adjusting his bowtie in front of a mirror. He was still heartbreakingly handsome. No wonder Delilah fell for him. When he turned and fixed his gorgeous blue eyes upon me, I still felt my heart race. "Hey, Jace," I said quietly. And immediately wanted to punch myself. Hey, Jace? That’s the best I could do? His face was ice cold. "You shouldn't come. Your ratty suitcase, your ripped jeans, your Vans. None of that belongs here." Well if you wanted to be brutal and vicious, that’s how it’s done. "Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? You dumped me over a fucking email!" I snapped. He shrugged. "Look around you. The wealthiest people in the world came for me today. This suit I’m wearing cost more than you can make in your entire life. What more explanation do you want, Aria?" Wow. I always knew he was a cold, calculating bastard. I just didn’t realize how deep it ran. "Maybe chasing Alpha’s sister got you here faster. But you know what? When she finds out how cold and empty you are. You’ll lose it all." Anger flared across his face. "I know how to love. I just won't waste that on a small-town girl like you.” he said freezingly, “Are we done here?" “No.” I took a deep breath and got into the real reason I came. "You're marrying a rich girl. Fine. But why did you have to get me fired?" Yeah. I used to work for this jerk. From intern to full-time at Apex Corp, he was my supervisor. Our relationship was a secret. And just days ago, I found out he was getting married—and I was out of a job. He fired me. "Right, your job.” The jerk shrugged, “You got it because of me. Now that I’m not around, they finally saw how incompetent you are. Problem?" Was he fucking kidding me?! "I graduated top of my class. Made it through 7 rounds of interviews. My performance exceeded every quarterly target. I earned that job!" I cried. “Come on, Aria. You really gonna be so naïve?” He walked closer, smirking. "You passed the interviews because I said so. Your sales? I made those calls. Without me, you'd be nothing but a pretty face." He seized my chin and looked me over with a disgusting look. I slapped his hand away. "Give me my job back,” I hissed, my voice slightly trembling. “My dad’s debt. My grandma’s medical bills…I need the money. You of all people should know what it’s like to be poor. Don’t. Make. Me. Beg." I was throwing my pride at his feet. But he laughed. "Well, how about I offer you a deal?" he said as though he’d been waiting for this moment. He brushed my hair back, fingers trailing down to my collarbone. I shivered in disgust. "You never let me touch you. You were so clinging to that pathetic no-sex-before-marriage rule. Maybe it's time to grow up. Let me fuck you once and I’ll write you a check you can’t refuse. How does that sound?" I widened my eyes in shock. Then I slapped him. HARD. “WHAT THE FUCK! I’m getting married in front of everyone in fucking 10 minutes!” He roared covering his face. "Fuck you, Jace!” I yelled, “You're a spineless freeloading puss! And hey—congrats on the wedding. Hope your junk is soft like a fucking spaghetti tonight!" Then I stormed out dragging my suitcase and boxes, ignoring his angry curses behind me. Hot tears poured down as I dashed across the hallway. God this couldn’t be any worse. I was prepared to drop all my self-esteem and begged with my life because I needed the job and money. But I still let him get to me. Now what do I do? My salary barely covered my rent, my father’s debt and grandma’s bill. Now with my job gone, I already got kicked out by my landlord. I probably had to sleep in a park tonight. So do I go back and let that jerk win? Let him humiliate me...No. I’d rather die than that— "Hey, watch where you're going!" someone yelled. Too late. I slammed right into the man in front of me. He was tall—so tall I felt like I’d just walked into a brick wall. His diamond cufflink was sharp like a blade, and when we collided, it sliced clean through my thin T-shirt with a loud rip. In one second, the front of my shirt was torn open, exposing my white lace bra. “Ah!” I gasped and looked up. The man in front of me was so handsome. Like a statue carved by a master artist. Yet his expression so cold. He looked down at me, and I swear I was about to drown in those stormy gray eyes of his. And then I recognized who he was. This was Jace’s son-to-be brother-in-law. Alpha of Redstone Pack. CEO of Apex Corporation. THE legendary. Grayson Hart. “Aria Collins?” His voice was sexy and velvety. He lowered his head and his eyes dropped to the exposed part of my bra. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the color of his eyes seemed to darken as he stared. Wherever his gaze landed, my skin started burning up. But wait. How did he know my name? Chapter 2 With Ex's Brother-in-law Aria’s POV Of course I recognized him. God, who didn’t? I’d met him at an Apex gala. His face was on every finance magazine cover, and any time you turned on a TV, there he was—linked to the latest scandal with some actress or model. But there was no way he’d know who I was. “I-I… Hello, Alpha Grayson,” I stammered. He turned his eyes away and said to a nearby guard, “Escort Ms. Collins out.” “Yes, Alpha.” The guards stepped in immediately, stretching out their arms like I was some kind of contaminant that might taint Grayson’s perfectly tailored suit. “Wait a minute. You’re not going to say something about my shirt?” He paused—just for a second—then flicked a piece of paper down at my feet. I looked down. A blank check. “I need a shirt I can actually wear out of here. Not your hush money.” I gritted with humiliation. But he didn’t even glance back as he walked away. “God,” I muttered under my breath. Can you believe these rich bastards? They think they can buy everything with money. People nearby were all staring, snickering under their breath. I tried to cover my chest and grab my things to escape, but it was hard to do all that with just two hands. “Oh my god…Aria Collins?” Three girls emerged from the whispering crowd. I took one look at them and sighed internally. Great. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse. “Hello. Layla. Sabrina. Brielle.” I used to work in the same team with these girls back at Apex. We were all under Jace. They adored him—spent more time flirting with at the coffee machine than actually working. Which left me doing their share of the workload. After I got fired—and when news of my secret relationship with Jace got out—they decided I was public enemy number one. “What are you even doing here, Aria? Trying to win back your ex at his wedding? That’s a new low even for you,” Layla snickered. “I’m not here to win anyone back.” I tried to push past them. But they blocked me. “What happened to your shirt?” Brielle snickered. “Did you seriously walk in here with your bra out? Is this like some low-budget fashion statement?” They burst into laughter together. “You could be completely naked and Jace still wouldn’t give a damn,” Sabrina squeaked. “Because he’s marrying Delilah. THE Delilah Hart! Redstone Pack’s sweetheart. And you…well you’re just a poor-ass small-town girl.” I stopped in my track and gave them a cold glare, “Oh yeah? Well at least I’ve actually been with Jace. Do you know how many times I had to listen to him complained about your screechy voices and cheesy perfume? Apparently he rather be with a poor-ass small-town girl than any of you.” Their jaws dropped. “Jace would never say that!” Brielle cried. “Word for word,” I rolled my eyes. “Now move. Or I’m rolling this suitcase over your pretty little skirts.” They looked like ruffled chickens, but they parted. I quickly shoved my dingy luggage ahead like a weapon and stormed out of the church. Rich people were assholes. Grayson, Jace, and their whole damn minions. I struggled to get my suitcase down the steps, and once I hit the street, cold wind slapped me in the face. I had no idea where to go. I could crash in the hospital with my grandma for a night, but she’d ask too many questions. Like why I hadn’t brought Jace around recently, or why I wasn’t staying at my apartment. I didn’t want her knowing how bad things had gotten. I thought about the park. Sleeping on a bench. But in a ripped T-shirt that exposed my whole front? Horrible idea. So I texted my best friend, May, asking to stay at her place for a few days. She was my rock. If the whole world turned against me, at least I still had her. She texted back right away inviting me to come over. Dragging my suitcase across the street toward the bus stop, I told myself it was going to be okay. This horrible day was going to end. Then I heard them. “Hey, nice shirt!” A group of street wolves were loitering near the stop. I hugged myself tighter and curled into the bench, hoping they’d get bored and leave. “C’mon baby, drop your hands. Let us see what you’re working with.” Go away. Go away. Go away. “You rip that shirt yourself? Damn that’s wild. I like that in a girl.” One of them moved closer, reaching for my shoulder. “Get away from me!” I snapped, my voice shaking. But it only fired them up. “Oh, feisty. Shake those tits for me!” They grabbed my wrists, yanked my arms down. My T-shirt gaped open completely, revealing my lace bra. The cold air made my skin pebble. They laughed even louder. I struggled and screamed. My wolf growled in rage. Shifting in the city was illegal—but right now, I didn’t have a second choice— Just then. Blinding headlights. Followed by screeching tires. A black car skidded to a stop inches away. The door flew open. A deep voice thundered, “Get in.” I was too shocked that I didn’t think twice and obeyed. The car peeled away the second I shut the door. “My suitcase!” I cried. “Someone will get it,” he said darkly. “Address.” I told the driver May’s. Then he pressed a button. A privacy screen slid up between the front and back seats, sealing us in the back. That’s when he turned toward me and leaned in. Like a beast ready to pounce. His scent hit me like a punch—sharp pine mixed with cold metal. My head started to get dizzy. “Walking on the street in that shirt was a mistake,” he said sternly. “It got like this because of you,” I mumbled. He snorted. Then the sound of rustling fabric. A heavy jacket landed across my shoulders—it was still warm from his body and carried his scent. I held my breathe. Wearing his coat almost felt like…he was wrapping himself around me. “You—do you know me?” I whispered. My gut told me that he would never do this for a strange girl. But if he knew who I was, he must know that I was his sister’s husband’s ex. That didn’t explain why he would help. “We’ve met,” he said simply. I stared at him, searching those icy gray eyes. He was staring at me too, with that cold, hungry, possessive eyes. I felt like I was completely naked in front of him. “Aria,” he warned, voice thick and husky. But I couldn’t control myself. I was leaning forward. Shit. Why did my body become so weird? My skin was on fire. My panties were wet. All I wanted was more of his scent, more of his heat. The next second his lips were crashed onto mine—Hard. Rough. I gasped and opened my mouth for him. His tongue slipped in and explored every inch of my mouth, making me shiver. His hands pushed into my torn shirt and grabbed my waist. I couldn’t control my moan when he touched my naked skin. This was crazy! He was a stranger, and most importantly, my ex’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. And I was making out with him at the back of his car. The crazy part was I didn’t even want to stop. He lifted me onto his lap like I weighed nothing. I straddled his thighs and yanked at his tie as he bite my collarbone. Then, suddenly, the car stopped. “Alpha, we’ve arrived.” That’s when it all froze. His lips paused at my neck. I was still squirming on his lap, flushed and throbbing. But he shoved me off. “We can’t do this,” he said coldly. Chapter 3 You're Special To Him Aria’s POV “So you’re telling me this guy made out with you in the backseat of his car… and then just shoved you off like nothing happened?” May asked in shock. 20 minutes later, I was sitting at her place, wrapped in one of her oversized hoodies, a steaming mug of tea in my hands. But I was still reeling from everything that had just happened. “Yup,” I muttered. “Who knows what’s wrong with him.” “What an asshole,” she huffed. “But honestly, this really isn’t like you. You dated that jerk Jace for 4 years and didn’t even sleep with him—which, by the way, was a brilliant choice—and now you're suddenly making out with a complete stranger in his car?” I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. Yeah, she had a point. “I—I don’t know. Maybe it was the whole Jace-getting-married thing. Maybe I just snapped and wanted to screw around with someone hotter just to get back at him…Honestly, it was so stupid now that I think of it.” She grinned and wiggled her brows. “So… he was hot huh?” My cheeks flushed and my mind drifted back. Those stormy gray eyes, his perfectly shaped lips on my neck, and those arms that could pick me up like I weighed nothing…Shit I need to stop. “Yeah. VERY,” I whispered, hiding my red face behind the mug. May burst out laughing. “Now we’re talking! That’s exactly what you need right now—a drop-dead gorgeous rebound to get that loser Jace out of your system. Screw your ‘no sex before marriage’ rule. Life is short.” I gave her a weak smile. Honestly, I didn’t need a rebound. I needed a job, money, and a place to live. Grayson Hart was like dessert when you can’t even afford dinner. “So… do you even know who this guy was?” she asked. I hesitated. Right at this moment, the doorbell rang. She jumped up to get it and came back a few minutes later, hauling in my luggage, her face frozen in disbelief. “OMG. You are not gonna believe what just showed up outside.” “Umm… my luggage?” I joked. “Two fucking muscular guys in black suits and guns! And a freaking stretch limo! They called me ‘ma’am’ and said they hope Miss Aria has a wonderful evening. Now, you—” She leapt at me and shook me by the shoulders. “—you tell me right now who the hell you hooked up with!” I squealed and dropped into the couch with her, laughing and giggling breathlessly. “Okay, okay—I’ll tell you. It was… Grayson Hart.” I practically whispered his name. Because honestly, I still couldn’t believe it either. May froze, eyes wide as saucers. “Grayson—THE Grayson Hart?! As in our Alpha? The CEO of Apex?!” “And Jace’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. Now you know how stupid I was earlier?” She let out a full-on scream. Then she grabbed my hand, her face flushed with excitement. “Oh my God! Aria, do you know what this means? Alpha Grayson never even lends his jacket to his model girlfriends. He likes you. You’re special!” “No,” I said firmly. “If I was special, he wouldn’t have thrown me off his lap when I tried to take off his shirt.” “Maybe he had somewhere to be—” “Don’t, May. Let’s be real. Guys like him don’t fall for girls like me.” I took another sip of tea, hiding the ache in my chest. Hell even Jace thought I was beneath him. What chance did I have with Grayson freaking Hart? “Don’t be silly, Aria. You’re gorgeous. And smart and amazing and—WAIT! I just had the best idea ever.” “What?” “That arrogant jerk Jace thinks you’re just some small-town prude who wasn’t good enough for him right? But what if you ended up with Alpha Grayson? It’ll be easy to get him because he’s already obsessed. Oh, it would destroy Jace. That dickhead would never recover.” OKAY. I’d be lying if I said that exact scenario hadn’t crossed my mind when Grayson kissed me back. What girl hasn’t daydreamed about dating the perfect guy and getting revenge in the most dramatic way possible? But right now, I couldn’t afford to daydream. Reality was already breathing down my neck. “Tempting. But right now I need a job and enough cash to keep Grandma in her hospital bed. Dating rich dudes isn’t exactly high on my to-do list.” May looked at me with soft eyes. “So…any plans? I can try to hook you up with a job, but you know I just work at a coffee shop, and with your degree, you deserve so much more.” I hugged her. “Thank you. Really. I’ll figure something out. Apex promised me severance when they fired me, so I’m going to HR tomorrow to get it sorted.” If I could get that money, at least I’d be OK for the next round of Grandma’s medical bills. — The next morning, I showed up at Apex right on time. But the second Brielle walked in with the HR manager, I had a bad feeling. “What’s she doing here?” I asked coldly. “I’ll explain in a minute,” HR replied with a polite, rehearsed smile as she sat across from me. “So Ms. Collins, I understand you’re here to discuss severance?” “Yes. So let’s not waste time. Just give me the check and I’ll be out of here.” “Unfortunately, severance only applies when the company terminates a contract without cause. In your case… it appears you were let go due to misconduct.” Misconduct? What the freaking hell. “Jace made a snap decision and booted me. What misconduct are you talking about?” “But that’s not what Mr. Carter said. He provided evidence that you made a costly error on a sales quote—omitting a few zeroes, to be exact. Cost the company millions. Here’s the email record.” She handed me a printed sheet. I swore I had never sent this email in my life. But there it was—my name in the sender field. No freaking way. Jace forged this. “And Mr. Carter reported that you had a difficult attitude toward your coworkers. Quote: ‘impatient and arrogant.’ Brielle’s here to verify that.” Brielle twirled her hair and smiled smugly. “Yeah. Aria was a horrible team player.” I stood so fast my chair screeched. “The only thing I didn’t ‘teamplayed’ with you was flirt with the boss in the breakroom!” “Liar!” she yelled. “And I asked Jace. He never said my voice was screechy!” Oh my God. I couldn’t believe how stupid she was. “Sit down, Miss Collins,” HR warned. “As of now, not only are you not getting severance, but we’re also considering legal action to recover the losses. If you understand the situation here, sign this acknowledgement—” “Does Alpha Grayson know about this?” I asked. Both of them froze. After a long pause, HR finally found her voice. “What does Alpha Grayson have to do with any of this?” “He owns Apex, doesn’t he? Does he know his team is abusing their power and firing hardworking employees illegally?” HR frowned. Brielle let out a loud snort. “Please. Don’t act like you know Alpha Grayson.” “What if I do? What if I go to him and then it’s you who gets fired?” She laughed in my face. “Oh, you mean you know him on TV?” “Let’s find out.” I shoved my chair back and stormed out, heading straight for the CEO’s private elevator at the end of the hall. HR scrambled after me, shouting my name. I was too furious to care how this ended. All I wanted now was to blow the whole damn place up. Two guards stood by the elevator. “I need to see Alpha Grayson,” I told them. “Appointment?” “No, but I swear he knows me. Just tell him it’s Aria—from yesterday. He’ll remember.” “You aren’t the first girl here saying that,” one of them mocked. “Come on, Miss Collins,” HR snapped, trying to drag me back. “This is getting crazy. Go back, sign the paper. Take responsibility for your own mistake.” “I didn’t send that email. It was Jace—he’s framing me! I will report all of you.” “Alpha Grayson doesn’t have time for your report, or your visit, or any of your little drama!” “I believe no one but me has the right to decide that,” a cold voice said behind us. Chapter 4 Take Me, Please Aria’s POV A large hand grabbed my arm and pulled me away from HR’s grip. I looked up and my heart almost stopped. Even I couldn’t believe he just showed up here. It felt like a dream. “A-Alpha Grayson,” HR stammered, her face frozen with shock and fear. “I don’t need employees who think they can make decisions for their boss,” he said freezingly while wrapping his arm around my waist. “If I see something like this again, you’re fired.” “Y-yes, Alpha. I’m terribly sorry…” HR’s expression was priceless, but I was in no mood to enjoy it. His icy pine scent consumed me again, making my body weak and hot. My wolf let out a soft purr, urging me to lean into him. But before I could even move, he let go. A pang of disappointment hit me in the chest. “Come,” he said shortly, striding toward the private elevator. I shot HR and the stunned security guards a smug look, then hurried after him. He swiped his card and the elevator doors closed. We started going up to the 58th floor. It was dead silent. My heart was beating so wildly that I was afraid he’d hear it. I snuck a glance at him—he just stared straight ahead, emotionless, keeping a distance, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Unease twisted my stomach. “So, um… what brings you here today?” I broke the silence. He sighed softly. “I owe this company.” “Oh, Oh…Right.” I wanted to punch myself in the face. The awkward silence lingered until the elevator dinged open. The 58th floor was a wide-open space with no cubicles or dividers—just massive floor-to-ceiling windows and a sweeping view of the entire city. “Wow,” I whispered under my breath. Grayson was already walking ahead. I jogged to catch up as he led me into an office at the far end of the floor. A stunning female assistant closed the door behind us, and once again, it was just the two of us. My heart rocketed back into my throat. He casually unbuttoned his jacket. It was amazing how he made even that look sexy. “So you insisted on seeing me?” he asked. He didn’t ask me to sit. He didn’t even move closer. That distance stung a little. “I worked here till a week ago when I found out I was let go for no reason…” I quickly told him the story of how I was fired. “This is clearly illegal in so many ways… can you help me get my job back?” “Unfortunately, no,” he replied, barely hesitating. My heart dropped like a stone. “Why not?” “I’ll have the hiring department look into whether your termination followed proper protocol. But this isn’t something a CEO handles directly. Anything else?” The hiring department? That could take weeks—and I didn’t have weeks. “No… you don’t get it,” I stepped forward, my voice trembling. “My grandma’s in the hospital. Her bills are getting insane every month. And I’m already deep in debt… If I can’t make money, I don’t even know— I really, REALLY need this job.” I knew we came from two different worlds, but laying out the most desperate parts of my life in front of him still made me feel horribly exposed. I just hoped—begged—that he’d understand. But he didn’t. His gray eyes stayed emotionless. “I’m sorry, Miss Collins,” he said quietly. Tears rushed into my eyes. I couldn’t even breathe. All I could think about were the bills, the debt, the mountain of shit waiting for me the second I left this building. “If there’s nothing else, my assistant will show you out.” he said, reaching for the intercom. I rushed forward and pressed my hand down on his before he could call anyone in. His whole body stiffened—but he didn’t pull away. He just stared down at me. I stepped in closer, tilting my head up. His gray eyes darkened like a storm brewing in the distance. His pine scent wrapped around me again, thick and intoxicating. As werewolves, our scent only spikes during a fight or sexual arousal. It was damn obvious which case this was. “You clearly feel something for me,” I whispered. He said nothing. I placed my hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat. It was racing as well. His breathing had also turned shallow. “What are you doing, Miss Collins?” he asked tightly. “Trying to seduce your way into a job?” “You can do whatever you want,” I locked eyes with him. “I won’t stop you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. God, I wanted to lick it. And… well, I did. I leaned up and pressed my lips to it. He let out a growl. The next second, I was pinned on his desk. He stood between my spread legs, one hand by my head. I whimpered, clamping my thighs together—the heat between them was almost unbearable. Just like in the backseat of his car. His hand slid from the desk to my throat. It was so big, he could probably snap my neck if he wanted. “You shouldn’t keep tempting me, Miss Collins.” His body was pressed against my thighs—I definitely felt the effect I was having on him. “Why?” I whispered, licking my lips. “Because your self-control isn’t as strong as you thought?” “Because I don’t fuck virgins.” What the actual hell The next second, he had pulled away. I scrambled off the desk, face red, eyes wide. “What did you just say?!” I snapped. “Why—How the hell do you even know—?” “I know who you are. And I know about your relationship with my sister’s husband.” And just like that, everything clicked. It was Jace. That bastard didn’t just dump me—he ran his mouth about my virginity to everyone, including Grayson. Humiliation crashed over me like a wave. “Jace is a fucking asshole,” I snapped shakily. Grayson shrugged. “Obviously. But Brielle likes him. And he’s family now. I’m sorry but I just can’t get involved in this.” I climbed off his desk with my whole body red and shaking. He didn’t want me. And he was taking his sister and Jace’s side. I was so damn stupid to think that one kiss in the car actually meant anything. But this was Grayson Hart for Christ’s sake. He could have anyone he wanted. “I’m sure you’re a very capable employee, Miss Collins. But seducing me won’t help your career. I wish you all the best.” He finally pressed the intercom button. His assistant appeared at the door, waiting for me to leave. “Bye,” I whispered without even look back. I didn’t want him to notice my falling tears. I walked out of that office, numb, and rode the elevator down like a ghost. My mind was a storm of bills, debt, and Grayson’s ice-cold stare. Now I desperately needed a new job. “Miss Collins!” I turned and saw his assistant come rushing out again, holding an envelope. “Alpha Grayson asked me to give you this,” she said, handing it over. “What is it?” Why didn’t he give it to me earlier? “He didn’t say. Maybe you’ll know once you open it.” She gave me a mysterious smile and walked away. I opened the envelope. A blank check slid out first—I held my breath in shock. Then I found a crumpled note. His handwriting, rushed and messy. Haven’t repaid you for the shirt. Hope everything works out for you Aria. Stay strong. —Grayson Chapter 5 Getting My Attention Aria’s POV “That check clearly means something,” May insisted. “Come on. We’re not doing this again,” I sighed. “If he’s not into you, then why did he let his assistant come after you with a check? He probably saw you crying and couldn’t stand it. You should definitely go back and see him again.” “Nope,” I shut it down immediately. “I had one perfect, fairytale encounter with a rich bachelor. That’s enough. I’m not about to go back there and humiliate myself all over again.” “But—” “Hey, you two!” our manager yelled from the other end of the aisle. “Less talking, more working!” We rolled our eyes at each other and got back to inventory. May had helped me land this supermarket job. It was part of a chain under a big corporation, so the pay and benefits weren’t bad. May still thought it was beneath someone with my degree, but honestly, I was just grateful to be employed. Once we finished our section, the manager wandered off to shout at someone else, and May scooted back over to me. “Just imagine it,” she grinned. “You could write a couple million on that blank check and boom! Instant rich girl life.” “I’m not gonna do that.” “Sure you won’t. You’re too nice,” she muttered, half-admiring, half-scolding. “So? What are you gonna write?” I hesitated. At first, I actually considered writing the price of a shirt. 19.99 that was. Because apparently, my dignity still thinks it matters. But let’s be real, if Grayson was just trying to pay me back for a ripped tee, he would’ve handed his assistant a $20 bill, not a blank check. Maybe… he felt bad I lost my job too. “I’m going to write the amount I should’ve gotten in severance,” I admitted eventually. May's eyes bulged. “That’s it?!” “I know it’s not much, but it’s what I actually deserve. And it’ll help me cover two months of bills.” She sighed like I was letting go of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But my mind was made up. This was my chance to walk away from the mess. I still wanted to rip Jace’s smug face off, but the best revenge right now was surviving. 6 hours later, we finished our shift exhausted and aching. Everyone else got to clock out, but not me—I’d volunteered for night shift and closing duties. The staffs left one by one, yawning, including May. Finally I was alone in this big market. Now here’s the big secret— I actually lived here now. Nobody knew this, not even May. She thought I’d found a new apartment and moved out, but I just couldn’t keep bothering her anymore—her roommates were getting irritated with me hogging the living room and utilities. And renting my own place seemed way out of budget now. So I stayed in this supermarket instead. I closed up the store at night and opened it early in the morning. For the 5 or 6 hours in between, I made a bed out of my coat and slept on the floor near the refrigerated section. Now don’t ask me why I can’t sleep in the staff’s break room. That room was too hot without AC. At least it was cool by the freezer. Tonight I was extra exhausted. The manager made us girls haul too many heavy crates around. I passed out in seconds. But it felt like I’d only been asleep for five minutes—my alarm hadn’t even gone off yet—when I was jolted awake by someone screaming. “OH MY GOD—what the hell are you doing?!” I shot upright, completely disoriented. And froze. In front of me stood an entire group of people—including the manager and several guys in suits, all staring at me wide eyes. And I was only in a tank top and shorts. Half naked. OH GOD. What the hell—Is it morning already?! Why didn’t I hear my alarm? I scrambled to pull my clothes over my body, my hands shaking. The stares didn’t stop. They got more invasive. “Aria Collins! What the fuck are you doing?!” the manager stormed over and roared. “Napping half-naked in my fucking store?! Are you a fucking sex perv?!” My face went beet red, “No! I—I was just staying here temporarily—” “Temporarily?!” he yelled, eyes bulging. “I hired an employee, not a fucking squatter! How much water and electricity have you used free?! Are you stealing food too?!” “No I swear. I shut everything off when I’m done, I don’t use the water unless I have to. And I paid for everything I’ve eaten.” Tears blurred my vision as I tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening. His spit actually hit my cheek as he snarled. “Of all days—you had to pick the day corporate shows up to camp out in my perfect store. You filthy, disgusting little—” “Aria Collins?” A new voice called my name. It came from one of the suited men. I looked up—and my heart dropped. It was Jonathan. A former coworker from Apex. “Holy shit, it is you,” he grinned, raising his brows. “Almost didn’t recognize you at first.” “You… what are you doing here?” I stammered. “Apex owns this supermarket chain. We’re doing site inspections today,” he said with a smirk, his eyes trailing down to my bare legs. “Man! Most people hit rock bottom after getting fired from Apex, but you fall faster than anyone.” “I’m working. Making a decent living,” I said in shaky voice. “There’s no shame with that.” “Oh really?” he sneered. “Does your job include lying around half-naked on the floor? What is this, a new hooker gimmick?” The suits burst out laughing. My furious tears were on the verge of falling. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll fire her right away.” The manager groaned. “Hold up,” Jonathan drawled with a smirk. “This chick got fired from Apex for messing up a seven-figure deal. You might wanna check your inventory. She could be stealing.” “You know that’s a lie. Jace got me fired out of spite! I never made a mistake—” “Oh please,” he cut me off. “Everyone in the industry knows how you fucked up. Jace was so embarrassed that he had to apologize for you.” The manager grabbed my wrist. “Then you’re definitely stealing from this market as well. That’s it you are going to jail. When I figure out what you’ve taken, you must pay back everything!” My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t doubt for a second that the manager would come up with something that I didn’t steal, just like how Jace framed me before. It wasn’t hard for guys like them. But I couldn’t go to jail. My grandma had no one to count on but me. I can’t leave her. The wolf in me surfaced up the next second—I snarled at the manager, yanked my arm free, and ran. “Stop her!” someone shouted behind me. I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I had to escape. I bolted out of the store, desperate and horrified—and slammed right into a solid chest. “Get away from Alpha!” a bodyguard barked. But he pulled me in instead. “Aria?” I was still shaking involuntarily. He unbuttoned the front and wrapped me in, covering my half-naked body. “It’s OK.” his voice was deep with clear hint of rage. I clutched his shirt, gasping for air. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to breathe at all. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Yet I couldn’t make a sound. “She’s having a panic attack,” a woman said nearby. “Alpha, if I may—” I silently prayed him not to hand me over. And he didn’t. “It’s fine, Nova,” he refused. “Aria, you’re safe now. Breathe.” Panicked footsteps echoed behind us. Jonathan’s voice rang out, stunned: “Alpha Grayson! Oh God—w-what’s going on here?!” “Nova,” Grayson said in a cold, dangerous voice, “stay here. Don’t let anyone leave.” “Yes, Alpha.” He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, one arm under my legs, the other around my back. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. Then he carried me through the crowd, into the store, and into a private room. When he set me down in a chair, I was still trembling and sobbing. He finally took off his coat and draped it over my legs, then crouched down in front of me. “You’re safe here,” he said. That’s when I broke down. Crying out loud. Everything—fear, shame, panic—everything spilled out in a messy, helpless flood. I clutched his wrist like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and for once… he didn’t pull away. He said nothing the whole time. Just stayed there with me until the sobs quieted. “Th-thank you…I’m better now.” I sniffled. He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. I trembled at the way he touched my skin. His voice was low, rough, and a little strained. “You’re starting to make me wonder, Miss Collins. If all these run-ins are just your way of getting my attention.”
🔞When My ex-brother-in-law took my virginity...His liquid spurts inslde and my eyes widen, "Wait we forgot a comdom!" …………………… Chapter 1 He Dumped Me Aria's POV I stood in front of the chapel. Pink roses and white lilies decorated every corner I saw—my favorite flowers. The guests were already seated in their designer dresses and pressed suits. And soon, at the end of the red carpet would stand the man I once loved, waiting to marry his bride. Everything was perfect. Except I wasn't the bride. "I really need to see Jace today." I begged the bodyguard blocking the door. A beat-up suitcase and two boxes sat at my feet—everything I owned in the world. "No you don’t. Get out of here," the bodyguard said icily. I saw it in his eyes—disgust. Yeah I get it. No one has sympathy for the crazy ex who shows up at the wedding. But I have my reason. "If you don't let me see him, I'll just stand here and all the guests will see me," I threatened under my breath. Jace wouldn't want that. Especially not today. Today he was marrying Delilah Hart. Sister to Alpha Grayson Hart of Redstone Pack. A 100% high-society darling. All the guys in the world knew that marrying Delilah would make their wealth skyrocket, including Jace. So he made the easy call—marrying the lady who could turn him from a small-town nobody into a golden boy. And dump the girl who stayed by his side for last 4 years when he had nothing. So it’s normal why he didn’t want any guests to see me here. I represented his broke, embarrassing past. He wanted me nowhere near his glossy, glittering new world. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of that. Like a knife was twisting in my chest. “Let me in or I’m starting to yell.” "Wait here." The bodyguard finally made a call. A few minutes later, he waved me in. I wiped my eyes and struggled into the hall with my suitcase and boxes. Instantly, I felt how out of place I was. Everything reeked of wealth here. Expensive perfume. Manicured nails. Not a hair out of place. It was everything you imagined about the upper-class and way more. And me? I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans. My sneakers had holes. "God, a homeless. She stinks." A woman mutter as I walked by. I just showered this morning. My hair still smelled like strawberries and coconut. But poverty had a scent, apparently. "Mr. Carter is inside. Make it quick." The guard took me to a closed door and warned. “Thank you.” The room inside looked like something out of a movie. Marble floors. Floor-length mirrors. A chandelier that probably cost more than my apartment. I hesitated for a second as I dragged my dirty luggage across the white carpet. And there he was. The man I used to love. Adjusting his bowtie in front of a mirror. He was still heartbreakingly handsome. No wonder Delilah fell for him. When he turned and fixed his gorgeous blue eyes upon me, I still felt my heart race. "Hey, Jace," I said quietly. And immediately wanted to punch myself. Hey, Jace? That’s the best I could do? His face was ice cold. "You shouldn't come. Your ratty suitcase, your ripped jeans, your Vans. None of that belongs here." Well if you wanted to be brutal and vicious, that’s how it’s done. "Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? You dumped me over a fucking email!" I snapped. He shrugged. "Look around you. The wealthiest people in the world came for me today. This suit I’m wearing cost more than you can make in your entire life. What more explanation do you want, Aria?" Wow. I always knew he was a cold, calculating bastard. I just didn’t realize how deep it ran. "Maybe chasing Alpha’s sister got you here faster. But you know what? When she finds out how cold and empty you are. You’ll lose it all." Anger flared across his face. "I know how to love. I just won't waste that on a small-town girl like you.” he said freezingly, “Are we done here?" “No.” I took a deep breath and got into the real reason I came. "You're marrying a rich girl. Fine. But why did you have to get me fired?" Yeah. I used to work for this jerk. From intern to full-time at Apex Corp, he was my supervisor. Our relationship was a secret. And just days ago, I found out he was getting married—and I was out of a job. He fired me. "Right, your job.” The jerk shrugged, “You got it because of me. Now that I’m not around, they finally saw how incompetent you are. Problem?" Was he fucking kidding me?! "I graduated top of my class. Made it through 7 rounds of interviews. My performance exceeded every quarterly target. I earned that job!" I cried. “Come on, Aria. You really gonna be so naïve?” He walked closer, smirking. "You passed the interviews because I said so. Your sales? I made those calls. Without me, you'd be nothing but a pretty face." He seized my chin and looked me over with a disgusting look. I slapped his hand away. "Give me my job back,” I hissed, my voice slightly trembling. “My dad’s debt. My grandma’s medical bills…I need the money. You of all people should know what it’s like to be poor. Don’t. Make. Me. Beg." I was throwing my pride at his feet. But he laughed. "Well, how about I offer you a deal?" he said as though he’d been waiting for this moment. He brushed my hair back, fingers trailing down to my collarbone. I shivered in disgust. "You never let me touch you. You were so clinging to that pathetic no-sex-before-marriage rule. Maybe it's time to grow up. Let me fuck you once and I’ll write you a check you can’t refuse. How does that sound?" I widened my eyes in shock. Then I slapped him. HARD. “WHAT THE FUCK! I’m getting married in front of everyone in fucking 10 minutes!” He roared covering his face. "Fuck you, Jace!” I yelled, “You're a spineless freeloading puss! And hey—congrats on the wedding. Hope your junk is soft like a fucking spaghetti tonight!" Then I stormed out dragging my suitcase and boxes, ignoring his angry curses behind me. Hot tears poured down as I dashed across the hallway. God this couldn’t be any worse. I was prepared to drop all my self-esteem and begged with my life because I needed the job and money. But I still let him get to me. Now what do I do? My salary barely covered my rent, my father’s debt and grandma’s bill. Now with my job gone, I already got kicked out by my landlord. I probably had to sleep in a park tonight. So do I go back and let that jerk win? Let him humiliate me...No. I’d rather die than that— "Hey, watch where you're going!" someone yelled. Too late. I slammed right into the man in front of me. He was tall—so tall I felt like I’d just walked into a brick wall. His diamond cufflink was sharp like a blade, and when we collided, it sliced clean through my thin T-shirt with a loud rip. In one second, the front of my shirt was torn open, exposing my white lace bra. “Ah!” I gasped and looked up. The man in front of me was so handsome. Like a statue carved by a master artist. Yet his expression so cold. He looked down at me, and I swear I was about to drown in those stormy gray eyes of his. And then I recognized who he was. This was Jace’s son-to-be brother-in-law. Alpha of Redstone Pack. CEO of Apex Corporation. THE legendary. Grayson Hart. “Aria Collins?” His voice was sexy and velvety. He lowered his head and his eyes dropped to the exposed part of my bra. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the color of his eyes seemed to darken as he stared. Wherever his gaze landed, my skin started burning up. But wait. How did he know my name? Chapter 2 With Ex's Brother-in-law Aria’s POV Of course I recognized him. God, who didn’t? I’d met him at an Apex gala. His face was on every finance magazine cover, and any time you turned on a TV, there he was—linked to the latest scandal with some actress or model. But there was no way he’d know who I was. “I-I… Hello, Alpha Grayson,” I stammered. He turned his eyes away and said to a nearby guard, “Escort Ms. Collins out.” “Yes, Alpha.” The guards stepped in immediately, stretching out their arms like I was some kind of contaminant that might taint Grayson’s perfectly tailored suit. “Wait a minute. You’re not going to say something about my shirt?” He paused—just for a second—then flicked a piece of paper down at my feet. I looked down. A blank check. “I need a shirt I can actually wear out of here. Not your hush money.” I gritted with humiliation. But he didn’t even glance back as he walked away. “God,” I muttered under my breath. Can you believe these rich bastards? They think they can buy everything with money. People nearby were all staring, snickering under their breath. I tried to cover my chest and grab my things to escape, but it was hard to do all that with just two hands. “Oh my god…Aria Collins?” Three girls emerged from the whispering crowd. I took one look at them and sighed internally. Great. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse. “Hello. Layla. Sabrina. Brielle.” I used to work in the same team with these girls back at Apex. We were all under Jace. They adored him—spent more time flirting with at the coffee machine than actually working. Which left me doing their share of the workload. After I got fired—and when news of my secret relationship with Jace got out—they decided I was public enemy number one. “What are you even doing here, Aria? Trying to win back your ex at his wedding? That’s a new low even for you,” Layla snickered. “I’m not here to win anyone back.” I tried to push past them. But they blocked me. “What happened to your shirt?” Brielle snickered. “Did you seriously walk in here with your bra out? Is this like some low-budget fashion statement?” They burst into laughter together. “You could be completely naked and Jace still wouldn’t give a damn,” Sabrina squeaked. “Because he’s marrying Delilah. THE Delilah Hart! Redstone Pack’s sweetheart. And you…well you’re just a poor-ass small-town girl.” I stopped in my track and gave them a cold glare, “Oh yeah? Well at least I’ve actually been with Jace. Do you know how many times I had to listen to him complained about your screechy voices and cheesy perfume? Apparently he rather be with a poor-ass small-town girl than any of you.” Their jaws dropped. “Jace would never say that!” Brielle cried. “Word for word,” I rolled my eyes. “Now move. Or I’m rolling this suitcase over your pretty little skirts.” They looked like ruffled chickens, but they parted. I quickly shoved my dingy luggage ahead like a weapon and stormed out of the church. Rich people were assholes. Grayson, Jace, and their whole damn minions. I struggled to get my suitcase down the steps, and once I hit the street, cold wind slapped me in the face. I had no idea where to go. I could crash in the hospital with my grandma for a night, but she’d ask too many questions. Like why I hadn’t brought Jace around recently, or why I wasn’t staying at my apartment. I didn’t want her knowing how bad things had gotten. I thought about the park. Sleeping on a bench. But in a ripped T-shirt that exposed my whole front? Horrible idea. So I texted my best friend, May, asking to stay at her place for a few days. She was my rock. If the whole world turned against me, at least I still had her. She texted back right away inviting me to come over. Dragging my suitcase across the street toward the bus stop, I told myself it was going to be okay. This horrible day was going to end. Then I heard them. “Hey, nice shirt!” A group of street wolves were loitering near the stop. I hugged myself tighter and curled into the bench, hoping they’d get bored and leave. “C’mon baby, drop your hands. Let us see what you’re working with.” Go away. Go away. Go away. “You rip that shirt yourself? Damn that’s wild. I like that in a girl.” One of them moved closer, reaching for my shoulder. “Get away from me!” I snapped, my voice shaking. But it only fired them up. “Oh, feisty. Shake those tits for me!” They grabbed my wrists, yanked my arms down. My T-shirt gaped open completely, revealing my lace bra. The cold air made my skin pebble. They laughed even louder. I struggled and screamed. My wolf growled in rage. Shifting in the city was illegal—but right now, I didn’t have a second choice— Just then. Blinding headlights. Followed by screeching tires. A black car skidded to a stop inches away. The door flew open. A deep voice thundered, “Get in.” I was too shocked that I didn’t think twice and obeyed. The car peeled away the second I shut the door. “My suitcase!” I cried. “Someone will get it,” he said darkly. “Address.” I told the driver May’s. Then he pressed a button. A privacy screen slid up between the front and back seats, sealing us in the back. That’s when he turned toward me and leaned in. Like a beast ready to pounce. His scent hit me like a punch—sharp pine mixed with cold metal. My head started to get dizzy. “Walking on the street in that shirt was a mistake,” he said sternly. “It got like this because of you,” I mumbled. He snorted. Then the sound of rustling fabric. A heavy jacket landed across my shoulders—it was still warm from his body and carried his scent. I held my breathe. Wearing his coat almost felt like…he was wrapping himself around me. “You—do you know me?” I whispered. My gut told me that he would never do this for a strange girl. But if he knew who I was, he must know that I was his sister’s husband’s ex. That didn’t explain why he would help. “We’ve met,” he said simply. I stared at him, searching those icy gray eyes. He was staring at me too, with that cold, hungry, possessive eyes. I felt like I was completely naked in front of him. “Aria,” he warned, voice thick and husky. But I couldn’t control myself. I was leaning forward. Shit. Why did my body become so weird? My skin was on fire. My panties were wet. All I wanted was more of his scent, more of his heat. The next second his lips were crashed onto mine—Hard. Rough. I gasped and opened my mouth for him. His tongue slipped in and explored every inch of my mouth, making me shiver. His hands pushed into my torn shirt and grabbed my waist. I couldn’t control my moan when he touched my naked skin. This was crazy! He was a stranger, and most importantly, my ex’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. And I was making out with him at the back of his car. The crazy part was I didn’t even want to stop. He lifted me onto his lap like I weighed nothing. I straddled his thighs and yanked at his tie as he bite my collarbone. Then, suddenly, the car stopped. “Alpha, we’ve arrived.” That’s when it all froze. His lips paused at my neck. I was still squirming on his lap, flushed and throbbing. But he shoved me off. “We can’t do this,” he said coldly. Chapter 3 You're Special To Him Aria’s POV “So you’re telling me this guy made out with you in the backseat of his car… and then just shoved you off like nothing happened?” May asked in shock. 20 minutes later, I was sitting at her place, wrapped in one of her oversized hoodies, a steaming mug of tea in my hands. But I was still reeling from everything that had just happened. “Yup,” I muttered. “Who knows what’s wrong with him.” “What an asshole,” she huffed. “But honestly, this really isn’t like you. You dated that jerk Jace for 4 years and didn’t even sleep with him—which, by the way, was a brilliant choice—and now you're suddenly making out with a complete stranger in his car?” I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. Yeah, she had a point. “I—I don’t know. Maybe it was the whole Jace-getting-married thing. Maybe I just snapped and wanted to screw around with someone hotter just to get back at him…Honestly, it was so stupid now that I think of it.” She grinned and wiggled her brows. “So… he was hot huh?” My cheeks flushed and my mind drifted back. Those stormy gray eyes, his perfectly shaped lips on my neck, and those arms that could pick me up like I weighed nothing…Shit I need to stop. “Yeah. VERY,” I whispered, hiding my red face behind the mug. May burst out laughing. “Now we’re talking! That’s exactly what you need right now—a drop-dead gorgeous rebound to get that loser Jace out of your system. Screw your ‘no sex before marriage’ rule. Life is short.” I gave her a weak smile. Honestly, I didn’t need a rebound. I needed a job, money, and a place to live. Grayson Hart was like dessert when you can’t even afford dinner. “So… do you even know who this guy was?” she asked. I hesitated. Right at this moment, the doorbell rang. She jumped up to get it and came back a few minutes later, hauling in my luggage, her face frozen in disbelief. “OMG. You are not gonna believe what just showed up outside.” “Umm… my luggage?” I joked. “Two fucking muscular guys in black suits and guns! And a freaking stretch limo! They called me ‘ma’am’ and said they hope Miss Aria has a wonderful evening. Now, you—” She leapt at me and shook me by the shoulders. “—you tell me right now who the hell you hooked up with!” I squealed and dropped into the couch with her, laughing and giggling breathlessly. “Okay, okay—I’ll tell you. It was… Grayson Hart.” I practically whispered his name. Because honestly, I still couldn’t believe it either. May froze, eyes wide as saucers. “Grayson—THE Grayson Hart?! As in our Alpha? The CEO of Apex?!” “And Jace’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. Now you know how stupid I was earlier?” She let out a full-on scream. Then she grabbed my hand, her face flushed with excitement. “Oh my God! Aria, do you know what this means? Alpha Grayson never even lends his jacket to his model girlfriends. He likes you. You’re special!” “No,” I said firmly. “If I was special, he wouldn’t have thrown me off his lap when I tried to take off his shirt.” “Maybe he had somewhere to be—” “Don’t, May. Let’s be real. Guys like him don’t fall for girls like me.” I took another sip of tea, hiding the ache in my chest. Hell even Jace thought I was beneath him. What chance did I have with Grayson freaking Hart? “Don’t be silly, Aria. You’re gorgeous. And smart and amazing and—WAIT! I just had the best idea ever.” “What?” “That arrogant jerk Jace thinks you’re just some small-town prude who wasn’t good enough for him right? But what if you ended up with Alpha Grayson? It’ll be easy to get him because he’s already obsessed. Oh, it would destroy Jace. That dickhead would never recover.” OKAY. I’d be lying if I said that exact scenario hadn’t crossed my mind when Grayson kissed me back. What girl hasn’t daydreamed about dating the perfect guy and getting revenge in the most dramatic way possible? But right now, I couldn’t afford to daydream. Reality was already breathing down my neck. “Tempting. But right now I need a job and enough cash to keep Grandma in her hospital bed. Dating rich dudes isn’t exactly high on my to-do list.” May looked at me with soft eyes. “So…any plans? I can try to hook you up with a job, but you know I just work at a coffee shop, and with your degree, you deserve so much more.” I hugged her. “Thank you. Really. I’ll figure something out. Apex promised me severance when they fired me, so I’m going to HR tomorrow to get it sorted.” If I could get that money, at least I’d be OK for the next round of Grandma’s medical bills. — The next morning, I showed up at Apex right on time. But the second Brielle walked in with the HR manager, I had a bad feeling. “What’s she doing here?” I asked coldly. “I’ll explain in a minute,” HR replied with a polite, rehearsed smile as she sat across from me. “So Ms. Collins, I understand you’re here to discuss severance?” “Yes. So let’s not waste time. Just give me the check and I’ll be out of here.” “Unfortunately, severance only applies when the company terminates a contract without cause. In your case… it appears you were let go due to misconduct.” Misconduct? What the freaking hell. “Jace made a snap decision and booted me. What misconduct are you talking about?” “But that’s not what Mr. Carter said. He provided evidence that you made a costly error on a sales quote—omitting a few zeroes, to be exact. Cost the company millions. Here’s the email record.” She handed me a printed sheet. I swore I had never sent this email in my life. But there it was—my name in the sender field. No freaking way. Jace forged this. “And Mr. Carter reported that you had a difficult attitude toward your coworkers. Quote: ‘impatient and arrogant.’ Brielle’s here to verify that.” Brielle twirled her hair and smiled smugly. “Yeah. Aria was a horrible team player.” I stood so fast my chair screeched. “The only thing I didn’t ‘teamplayed’ with you was flirt with the boss in the breakroom!” “Liar!” she yelled. “And I asked Jace. He never said my voice was screechy!” Oh my God. I couldn’t believe how stupid she was. “Sit down, Miss Collins,” HR warned. “As of now, not only are you not getting severance, but we’re also considering legal action to recover the losses. If you understand the situation here, sign this acknowledgement—” “Does Alpha Grayson know about this?” I asked. Both of them froze. After a long pause, HR finally found her voice. “What does Alpha Grayson have to do with any of this?” “He owns Apex, doesn’t he? Does he know his team is abusing their power and firing hardworking employees illegally?” HR frowned. Brielle let out a loud snort. “Please. Don’t act like you know Alpha Grayson.” “What if I do? What if I go to him and then it’s you who gets fired?” She laughed in my face. “Oh, you mean you know him on TV?” “Let’s find out.” I shoved my chair back and stormed out, heading straight for the CEO’s private elevator at the end of the hall. HR scrambled after me, shouting my name. I was too furious to care how this ended. All I wanted now was to blow the whole damn place up. Two guards stood by the elevator. “I need to see Alpha Grayson,” I told them. “Appointment?” “No, but I swear he knows me. Just tell him it’s Aria—from yesterday. He’ll remember.” “You aren’t the first girl here saying that,” one of them mocked. “Come on, Miss Collins,” HR snapped, trying to drag me back. “This is getting crazy. Go back, sign the paper. Take responsibility for your own mistake.” “I didn’t send that email. It was Jace—he’s framing me! I will report all of you.” “Alpha Grayson doesn’t have time for your report, or your visit, or any of your little drama!” “I believe no one but me has the right to decide that,” a cold voice said behind us. Chapter 4 Take Me, Please Aria’s POV A large hand grabbed my arm and pulled me away from HR’s grip. I looked up and my heart almost stopped. Even I couldn’t believe he just showed up here. It felt like a dream. “A-Alpha Grayson,” HR stammered, her face frozen with shock and fear. “I don’t need employees who think they can make decisions for their boss,” he said freezingly while wrapping his arm around my waist. “If I see something like this again, you’re fired.” “Y-yes, Alpha. I’m terribly sorry…” HR’s expression was priceless, but I was in no mood to enjoy it. His icy pine scent consumed me again, making my body weak and hot. My wolf let out a soft purr, urging me to lean into him. But before I could even move, he let go. A pang of disappointment hit me in the chest. “Come,” he said shortly, striding toward the private elevator. I shot HR and the stunned security guards a smug look, then hurried after him. He swiped his card and the elevator doors closed. We started going up to the 58th floor. It was dead silent. My heart was beating so wildly that I was afraid he’d hear it. I snuck a glance at him—he just stared straight ahead, emotionless, keeping a distance, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Unease twisted my stomach. “So, um… what brings you here today?” I broke the silence. He sighed softly. “I owe this company.” “Oh, Oh…Right.” I wanted to punch myself in the face. The awkward silence lingered until the elevator dinged open. The 58th floor was a wide-open space with no cubicles or dividers—just massive floor-to-ceiling windows and a sweeping view of the entire city. “Wow,” I whispered under my breath. Grayson was already walking ahead. I jogged to catch up as he led me into an office at the far end of the floor. A stunning female assistant closed the door behind us, and once again, it was just the two of us. My heart rocketed back into my throat. He casually unbuttoned his jacket. It was amazing how he made even that look sexy. “So you insisted on seeing me?” he asked. He didn’t ask me to sit. He didn’t even move closer. That distance stung a little. “I worked here till a week ago when I found out I was let go for no reason…” I quickly told him the story of how I was fired. “This is clearly illegal in so many ways… can you help me get my job back?” “Unfortunately, no,” he replied, barely hesitating. My heart dropped like a stone. “Why not?” “I’ll have the hiring department look into whether your termination followed proper protocol. But this isn’t something a CEO handles directly. Anything else?” The hiring department? That could take weeks—and I didn’t have weeks. “No… you don’t get it,” I stepped forward, my voice trembling. “My grandma’s in the hospital. Her bills are getting insane every month. And I’m already deep in debt… If I can’t make money, I don’t even know— I really, REALLY need this job.” I knew we came from two different worlds, but laying out the most desperate parts of my life in front of him still made me feel horribly exposed. I just hoped—begged—that he’d understand. But he didn’t. His gray eyes stayed emotionless. “I’m sorry, Miss Collins,” he said quietly. Tears rushed into my eyes. I couldn’t even breathe. All I could think about were the bills, the debt, the mountain of shit waiting for me the second I left this building. “If there’s nothing else, my assistant will show you out.” he said, reaching for the intercom. I rushed forward and pressed my hand down on his before he could call anyone in. His whole body stiffened—but he didn’t pull away. He just stared down at me. I stepped in closer, tilting my head up. His gray eyes darkened like a storm brewing in the distance. His pine scent wrapped around me again, thick and intoxicating. As werewolves, our scent only spikes during a fight or sexual arousal. It was damn obvious which case this was. “You clearly feel something for me,” I whispered. He said nothing. I placed my hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat. It was racing as well. His breathing had also turned shallow. “What are you doing, Miss Collins?” he asked tightly. “Trying to seduce your way into a job?” “You can do whatever you want,” I locked eyes with him. “I won’t stop you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. God, I wanted to lick it. And… well, I did. I leaned up and pressed my lips to it. He let out a growl. The next second, I was pinned on his desk. He stood between my spread legs, one hand by my head. I whimpered, clamping my thighs together—the heat between them was almost unbearable. Just like in the backseat of his car. His hand slid from the desk to my throat. It was so big, he could probably snap my neck if he wanted. “You shouldn’t keep tempting me, Miss Collins.” His body was pressed against my thighs—I definitely felt the effect I was having on him. “Why?” I whispered, licking my lips. “Because your self-control isn’t as strong as you thought?” “Because I don’t fuck virgins.” What the actual hell The next second, he had pulled away. I scrambled off the desk, face red, eyes wide. “What did you just say?!” I snapped. “Why—How the hell do you even know—?” “I know who you are. And I know about your relationship with my sister’s husband.” And just like that, everything clicked. It was Jace. That bastard didn’t just dump me—he ran his mouth about my virginity to everyone, including Grayson. Humiliation crashed over me like a wave. “Jace is a fucking asshole,” I snapped shakily. Grayson shrugged. “Obviously. But Brielle likes him. And he’s family now. I’m sorry but I just can’t get involved in this.” I climbed off his desk with my whole body red and shaking. He didn’t want me. And he was taking his sister and Jace’s side. I was so damn stupid to think that one kiss in the car actually meant anything. But this was Grayson Hart for Christ’s sake. He could have anyone he wanted. “I’m sure you’re a very capable employee, Miss Collins. But seducing me won’t help your career. I wish you all the best.” He finally pressed the intercom button. His assistant appeared at the door, waiting for me to leave. “Bye,” I whispered without even look back. I didn’t want him to notice my falling tears. I walked out of that office, numb, and rode the elevator down like a ghost. My mind was a storm of bills, debt, and Grayson’s ice-cold stare. Now I desperately needed a new job. “Miss Collins!” I turned and saw his assistant come rushing out again, holding an envelope. “Alpha Grayson asked me to give you this,” she said, handing it over. “What is it?” Why didn’t he give it to me earlier? “He didn’t say. Maybe you’ll know once you open it.” She gave me a mysterious smile and walked away. I opened the envelope. A blank check slid out first—I held my breath in shock. Then I found a crumpled note. His handwriting, rushed and messy. Haven’t repaid you for the shirt. Hope everything works out for you Aria. Stay strong. —Grayson Chapter 5 Getting My Attention Aria’s POV “That check clearly means something,” May insisted. “Come on. We’re not doing this again,” I sighed. “If he’s not into you, then why did he let his assistant come after you with a check? He probably saw you crying and couldn’t stand it. You should definitely go back and see him again.” “Nope,” I shut it down immediately. “I had one perfect, fairytale encounter with a rich bachelor. That’s enough. I’m not about to go back there and humiliate myself all over again.” “But—” “Hey, you two!” our manager yelled from the other end of the aisle. “Less talking, more working!” We rolled our eyes at each other and got back to inventory. May had helped me land this supermarket job. It was part of a chain under a big corporation, so the pay and benefits weren’t bad. May still thought it was beneath someone with my degree, but honestly, I was just grateful to be employed. Once we finished our section, the manager wandered off to shout at someone else, and May scooted back over to me. “Just imagine it,” she grinned. “You could write a couple million on that blank check and boom! Instant rich girl life.” “I’m not gonna do that.” “Sure you won’t. You’re too nice,” she muttered, half-admiring, half-scolding. “So? What are you gonna write?” I hesitated. At first, I actually considered writing the price of a shirt. 19.99 that was. Because apparently, my dignity still thinks it matters. But let’s be real, if Grayson was just trying to pay me back for a ripped tee, he would’ve handed his assistant a $20 bill, not a blank check. Maybe… he felt bad I lost my job too. “I’m going to write the amount I should’ve gotten in severance,” I admitted eventually. May's eyes bulged. “That’s it?!” “I know it’s not much, but it’s what I actually deserve. And it’ll help me cover two months of bills.” She sighed like I was letting go of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But my mind was made up. This was my chance to walk away from the mess. I still wanted to rip Jace’s smug face off, but the best revenge right now was surviving. 6 hours later, we finished our shift exhausted and aching. Everyone else got to clock out, but not me—I’d volunteered for night shift and closing duties. The staffs left one by one, yawning, including May. Finally I was alone in this big market. Now here’s the big secret— I actually lived here now. Nobody knew this, not even May. She thought I’d found a new apartment and moved out, but I just couldn’t keep bothering her anymore—her roommates were getting irritated with me hogging the living room and utilities. And renting my own place seemed way out of budget now. So I stayed in this supermarket instead. I closed up the store at night and opened it early in the morning. For the 5 or 6 hours in between, I made a bed out of my coat and slept on the floor near the refrigerated section. Now don’t ask me why I can’t sleep in the staff’s break room. That room was too hot without AC. At least it was cool by the freezer. Tonight I was extra exhausted. The manager made us girls haul too many heavy crates around. I passed out in seconds. But it felt like I’d only been asleep for five minutes—my alarm hadn’t even gone off yet—when I was jolted awake by someone screaming. “OH MY GOD—what the hell are you doing?!” I shot upright, completely disoriented. And froze. In front of me stood an entire group of people—including the manager and several guys in suits, all staring at me wide eyes. And I was only in a tank top and shorts. Half naked. OH GOD. What the hell—Is it morning already?! Why didn’t I hear my alarm? I scrambled to pull my clothes over my body, my hands shaking. The stares didn’t stop. They got more invasive. “Aria Collins! What the fuck are you doing?!” the manager stormed over and roared. “Napping half-naked in my fucking store?! Are you a fucking sex perv?!” My face went beet red, “No! I—I was just staying here temporarily—” “Temporarily?!” he yelled, eyes bulging. “I hired an employee, not a fucking squatter! How much water and electricity have you used free?! Are you stealing food too?!” “No I swear. I shut everything off when I’m done, I don’t use the water unless I have to. And I paid for everything I’ve eaten.” Tears blurred my vision as I tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening. His spit actually hit my cheek as he snarled. “Of all days—you had to pick the day corporate shows up to camp out in my perfect store. You filthy, disgusting little—” “Aria Collins?” A new voice called my name. It came from one of the suited men. I looked up—and my heart dropped. It was Jonathan. A former coworker from Apex. “Holy shit, it is you,” he grinned, raising his brows. “Almost didn’t recognize you at first.” “You… what are you doing here?” I stammered. “Apex owns this supermarket chain. We’re doing site inspections today,” he said with a smirk, his eyes trailing down to my bare legs. “Man! Most people hit rock bottom after getting fired from Apex, but you fall faster than anyone.” “I’m working. Making a decent living,” I said in shaky voice. “There’s no shame with that.” “Oh really?” he sneered. “Does your job include lying around half-naked on the floor? What is this, a new hooker gimmick?” The suits burst out laughing. My furious tears were on the verge of falling. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll fire her right away.” The manager groaned. “Hold up,” Jonathan drawled with a smirk. “This chick got fired from Apex for messing up a seven-figure deal. You might wanna check your inventory. She could be stealing.” “You know that’s a lie. Jace got me fired out of spite! I never made a mistake—” “Oh please,” he cut me off. “Everyone in the industry knows how you fucked up. Jace was so embarrassed that he had to apologize for you.” The manager grabbed my wrist. “Then you’re definitely stealing from this market as well. That’s it you are going to jail. When I figure out what you’ve taken, you must pay back everything!” My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t doubt for a second that the manager would come up with something that I didn’t steal, just like how Jace framed me before. It wasn’t hard for guys like them. But I couldn’t go to jail. My grandma had no one to count on but me. I can’t leave her. The wolf in me surfaced up the next second—I snarled at the manager, yanked my arm free, and ran. “Stop her!” someone shouted behind me. I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I had to escape. I bolted out of the store, desperate and horrified—and slammed right into a solid chest. “Get away from Alpha!” a bodyguard barked. But he pulled me in instead. “Aria?” I was still shaking involuntarily. He unbuttoned the front and wrapped me in, covering my half-naked body. “It’s OK.” his voice was deep with clear hint of rage. I clutched his shirt, gasping for air. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to breathe at all. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Yet I couldn’t make a sound. “She’s having a panic attack,” a woman said nearby. “Alpha, if I may—” I silently prayed him not to hand me over. And he didn’t. “It’s fine, Nova,” he refused. “Aria, you’re safe now. Breathe.” Panicked footsteps echoed behind us. Jonathan’s voice rang out, stunned: “Alpha Grayson! Oh God—w-what’s going on here?!” “Nova,” Grayson said in a cold, dangerous voice, “stay here. Don’t let anyone leave.” “Yes, Alpha.” He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, one arm under my legs, the other around my back. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. Then he carried me through the crowd, into the store, and into a private room. When he set me down in a chair, I was still trembling and sobbing. He finally took off his coat and draped it over my legs, then crouched down in front of me. “You’re safe here,” he said. That’s when I broke down. Crying out loud. Everything—fear, shame, panic—everything spilled out in a messy, helpless flood. I clutched his wrist like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and for once… he didn’t pull away. He said nothing the whole time. Just stayed there with me until the sobs quieted. “Th-thank you…I’m better now.” I sniffled. He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. I trembled at the way he touched my skin. His voice was low, rough, and a little strained. “You’re starting to make me wonder, Miss Collins. If all these run-ins are just your way of getting my attention.”
I'm a GP, and last Tuesday a patient of mine asked if she could stop her B12 injections. Not because she'd given up on getting better. Because of something that showed up in her cognitive screen that I have never seen in 23 years of practice. I've been managing B12 deficiency in this surgery for over two decades. I've seen the standard pattern. The bloods come back low. We start the injections, hydroxocobalamin, every twelve weeks. Within a few months the serum levels come back into range. We tell the patient they need the injections for life because the underlying absorption issue doesn't go away. Some of them feel a bit sharper at first. Most plateau. Most of the cognitive symptoms, the fog, the slow word-finding, the memory slips, never quite resolve. We tell them this is what age-related decline looks like alongside well-managed B12. We tell them to stay the course. Last Tuesday, one of them didn't. Her name is Barbara. She's been my patient for four years now, and she was coming in for the same review she gets every six months. Cognitive complaints. Quarterly hydroxocobalamin injections, by our practice nurse, since shortly after her bloods came back low at the start of all this. Score on the cognitive screen had been dropping by about two points each visit despite the injections doing their job on her serum levels. I expected the usual. A small further drop. Maybe stable if she was lucky. A conversation about whether donepezil should join the picture. Confirmation that she'd be in next month for her next injection. I did the screen. And I just stopped. Her score had gone up. Not by a small margin. By a margin I have never seen in a patient with mild cognitive impairment in 23 years of practice. Three points up. Above where she'd been when I first started recording her cognitive complaints four years ago. I looked at her. "What have you been doing differently?" "Nothing crazy. Just something a friend in my book group told me about." I didn't believe her. "New medication? Did anything change with your other prescriptions?" "No, nothing prescription. I just want to ask you something. Can I stop the injections? I don't think I need them anymore." I pulled up her records from six months ago and compared them side by side. Her trajectory had reversed. In 23 years of treating cognitive complaints in this surgery, with patients on B12 injections, on the standard schedule, on the formulary medication, doing everything we'd told them to do, I have watched scores go in one direction. Down. Lower over time. More forgetting. More confusion. More worry. This one went the other way. I sat back in my chair and I told her, honestly. "Barbara, I'd like to keep you on the injections for now while we work this out. But I need to understand what changed. Because these numbers don't match anything in your treatment history, and they don't match anything I've seen in 23 years." That's when Barbara told me everything. She said for the past four years, every six months, she'd sit in my surgery and hear the same thing. Levels are fine. Stay the course. We'll keep an eye on it. And every six months she'd go home and try something new on her own, because the course wasn't getting her where she wanted to be. She tried sleep first. The leaflet from the surgery said sleep was the foundation. She bought a new mattress. She stopped looking at her phone after 9pm. She read books about sleep. She got eight hours a night for four months solid. The fog was the same. She tried diet after that. Mediterranean. Oily fish twice a week. Blueberries every morning. Walnuts as snacks. Olive oil instead of butter. She did it for five months. Her cholesterol came down a few points. The fog was still there. She tried exercise. Walking five mornings a week, twenty-two minutes a loop around her village. Then she joined a Pilates class. Then a tai chi class on Saturdays. Her hip hurt less. Her sleep improved further. The fog stayed. And then there were the injections themselves. The first one had genuinely helped. She said the brain fog had lifted for nearly three weeks after that first appointment, and she'd told her sister about it the next time they had tea, that was the first time in two years she'd told someone something hopeful. The second injection helped a bit less. By the fourth injection she was barely noticing a difference. But her serum B12 was 'within range' so we kept her on the schedule. Twelve-weekly. Four years now. A small puncture and a small bruise and a small lift that had stopped lifting two and a half years ago. She told me she had almost accepted it. That this was just her life now. Coming in every twelve weeks for a jab in the arm. Watching the screen score creep down in between. Sitting in my surgery while I talked, kindly, about what we'd do next. Going home and feeling herself slip a little further every month and not being able to point to anything specific. Just the slow accumulation of a hundred small absences. She told me about her mother. How her mother started forgetting where she'd put her handbag in her late sixties. How she'd ask Barbara the same question three times in an evening. How she'd lose the thread of a story halfway through telling it. How she'd come into the kitchen and stand there for several seconds trying to remember why she'd come in. Small things at first. Things you tell yourself are just normal. Things Barbara used to laugh about with her sister, in the way you laugh about something because the alternative is crying about it. By the time her mother was 76, she didn't know which day of the week it was. By 78, she was getting lost on the route to the corner shop she'd been walking to for thirty years. By 79, she put the kettle in the fridge twice in one week. By 81, when Barbara visited her in the home, her mother looked up from her chair and asked the carer who the lady at the door was. Barbara was the lady at the door. Her only daughter. I hear that story every week in this surgery. Different names. Same road. Then she told me what changed. About five months ago, a friend in her book group told her about something she'd been giving her husband. This friend explained something Barbara had never heard from me, or from any specialist she'd ever seen. She said the reason B12 didn't work isn't because it's a bad idea. It's because most vitamin B supplements out there aren't in the forms your body can actually use immediately. And here is the part that stopped me, when Barbara repeated it to me, because the friend, somehow, had also understood that this was true of the injections. Not just supermarket B12 tablets. The injections too. Here's what she explained, and I'm going to put it in terms that make sense, because I've come to believe she was right and it matters. Around every nerve fibre in your brain, and there are billions of them, there is a fatty insulating layer called the myelin sheath. It's what allows electrical signals to travel cleanly and quickly along the nerve. When the myelin sheath is healthy, signals fire fast and clean. Thoughts complete themselves. Words arrive when you reach for them. Names stay where they should. The whole system runs the way it's supposed to. When the myelin sheath starts to break down, signals slow. They scatter. They lose definition. Thoughts take longer. Words don't arrive. Movements feel a half-beat behind. The whole nervous system runs at a lower register. That's the brain fog. That's the morning where the names aren't there. That's the conversation where you lose the thread. The myelin sheath is something your body has to actively maintain. Every day. With the right materials. The most important of those materials is B12, but specifically, the active form of it. The one called methylcobalamin. The B12 injections we routinely prescribe are hydroxocobalamin. That's not the same as cyanocobalamin in supermarket B12 tablets, it's closer to what your body needs. But it's still not the active form. It still requires a conversion step. And for people whose conversion enzymes are struggling, which is most people over 60, that conversion remains the bottleneck. Which is why Barbara's serum B12 was beautiful and her cognitive function wasn't. The injection delivered B12 to her bloodstream. The B12 in her bloodstream was almost the right form. Not quite. The myelin sheath was still hungry. That's why the first injection had helped. There was such a deficit when she started that even partial conversion produced a noticeable effect. Then the conversion enzymes hit their ceiling. The injections kept her serum levels topped up. The myelin kept thinning. The cognitive screen kept dropping. And we kept her on the schedule because the schedule was what the schedule was. When Barbara explained this to me, I'll be honest. I knew the underlying biology. I studied B12 metabolism in medical school. I've read the research on methylation pathways. I've ordered countless courses of hydroxocobalamin in this surgery without really thinking about it, because that's what the formulary stocks and that's what we do. But I had never put it together with what I was seeing in patients like Barbara. Patients whose injections were keeping their serum levels textbook-perfect. Whose cognitive screens kept dropping anyway. Patients I'd been telling, kindly, that some of this is just normal aging on top of well-managed B12. And I had never seen a patient's score actually go up. Not stable. Not slow the decline. Actually improve. That's what was sitting in front of me on her form. "So what did you do about it?" I asked her. She told me her friend had pointed her to a brand called rynw. A British company that uses the active forms of every B vitamin. Methylcobalamin instead of cyanocobalamin or hydroxocobalamin. Methylfolate instead of folic acid. P5P instead of pyridoxine. Already in the forms the body can use the moment they're absorbed, regardless of whether the conversion machinery is still working. "It's not a miracle pill," she said. "I kept going to my injection appointments. I still went to bed early. I still walked. I still ate the fish. But this was the first thing that actually moved the fog." I asked her to walk me through her timeline. She said the first week, she slept a little longer before her brain came online in the morning. She wasn't sure if it was real or if she just wanted it to be. By week two, she remembered her grandson's friends' names without having to scroll through her phone. First time in over a year. By week three, she went back to the morning crossword. Not the cryptic one, the quick one. But she finished it before her tea went cold, which she hadn't been able to do in two years. By month two, she went to her granddaughter's school play and sat through the whole hour and a half. She said she remembered the songs, the names of the characters, the bit at the end where the frog was supposed to be a prince. She was actually there. Present. Not just managing. Month three, she finished the book her book group had been reading. The first book she'd finished in over a year. Month five, she was sitting in my surgery with a cognitive screen score that had gone in the wrong direction. The good kind of wrong. And she was asking if it was time to come off injections she'd been having every twelve weeks for the last four years. After Barbara left that day, I spent the entire evening reading everything I could find on methylcobalamin and the maintenance of myelin in older adults. The research backed up what she'd told me. The pathway was real. The form distinction was real. The studies were real. The largest, run out of Oxford, had followed several hundred people with mild cognitive impairment over two years. The group taking active forms of B vitamins lost brain tissue at a dramatically slower rate than the placebo group. The effect was strongest in the regions most responsible for memory and clear thinking. I'd known about that study. I just hadn't translated it into anything I did differently in clinic. But here's what I also learned, and it matters. Not all active-form B vitamins are the same. Most products that claim to use methylcobalamin or methylfolate actually use them in token amounts, alongside large quantities of the cheaper cyanocobalamin and folic acid, to keep the bottle cost down. Or they use the active forms at doses well below what the actual research used. I told Barbara I wanted to check her serum B12 first before we made any decision about the injections. We took her bloods. The result came back two days later. Her B12 was at the higher end of the range. Higher than she'd been on hydroxocobalamin alone in the past two years. Whatever she was now taking, in whatever form, was reaching her bloodstream, and the cognitive screen score told me it was reaching her myelin sheath, even before the bloodwork confirmed the first part. I rang her that afternoon. I told her if her next bloods in three months remained adequate, we could discuss switching from twelve-weekly hydroxocobalamin to daily oral active-form maintenance, with monitoring. That's a conversation she and I would have, with her bloods in front of us. I wanted to keep watching. But I'm telling you, after twenty-three years of writing standing prescriptions for hydroxocobalamin every twelve weeks for life, the conversation about transitioning a stable patient off injections, with her serum levels and her cognitive function in range simultaneously, that's not a conversation I would have considered before Barbara walked into my surgery last Tuesday. I started recommending rynw, quietly, to a few of my patients. The ones who were where Barbara had been six months ago. The ones whose injections were doing what injections are supposed to do, but who were still slipping in every other way that mattered. I'm watching their results now. And I'm seeing things I don't normally see. If you're reading this right now because your B12 levels are 'within range' and your memory keeps slipping anyway. If you've been on the injections for years and the first one helped but none of the others did. If you've done the sleep, the diet, the walking, and the fog is still there. If you watched your mother or your father go through this and you're quietly watching the same thing happen in your own head, one small absence at a time, and nobody can tell you how to get off the road you're on. You're not imagining it. You're not being dramatic. You don't just have to accept this. You were treating the bloodwork. Nobody was treating the myelin sheath. And without a maintained myelin sheath, none of the rest of it makes a lasting difference. The active forms of B vitamins reach the myelin sheath directly, regardless of whether your conversion enzymes are still working. The myelin gets the support it needs. Signals start firing cleanly again. The fog lifts. Words start arriving. The cycle starts to break. Not because something forced it. Because your body is doing what it already knows how to do. You just had to give it the form it can actually use. But only if the form is right. Only if the dose matches the research. Only if it's tested. rynw is the brand I've been recommending. I picked it because it's the only one I could find in the UK that uses the active forms of every key ingredient, methylcobalamin, methylfolate, P5P, at the doses the actual clinical research uses. British company. Third-party tested for purity. No fillers. 30 days to try it. If nothing changes, full refund. No questions. A note on the injections. If you're currently on B12 injections, do not stop them on your own. They are doing important work on your serum levels, and the absorption issue that put you on them is still real. What you can do is talk to your GP about adding the active forms, and then, with monitoring and proper bloodwork, having a conversation about whether the schedule still needs to be what it is. If by the end of week one you're remembering names you'd been forgetting. If by week two you finish a crossword for the first time in a year. If by week three you sit through a school play and you're actually present. If a month from now your book group meets and you've actually finished the book. If three months from now your GP runs your cognitive screen and stops. And looks at you. And asks if it might be time to think about whether the twelve-weekly injection schedule is still what's needed. You'll wish you'd found this years ago. I know Barbara does. - Dr. Catherine Bennett 👉 https://rynw.com/products/b-complex
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I'm a GP, and last Tuesday a patient of mine asked if she could stop her B12 injections. Not because she'd given up on getting better. Because of something that showed up in her cognitive screen that I have never seen in 23 years of practice. I've been managing B12 deficiency in this surgery for over two decades. I've seen the standard pattern. The bloods come back low. We start the injections, hydroxocobalamin, every twelve weeks. Within a few months the serum levels come back into range. We tell the patient they need the injections for life because the underlying absorption issue doesn't go away. Some of them feel a bit sharper at first. Most plateau. Most of the cognitive symptoms, the fog, the slow word-finding, the memory slips, never quite resolve. We tell them this is what age-related decline looks like alongside well-managed B12. We tell them to stay the course. Last Tuesday, one of them didn't. Her name is Barbara. She's been my patient for four years now, and she was coming in for the same review she gets every six months. Cognitive complaints. Quarterly hydroxocobalamin injections, by our practice nurse, since shortly after her bloods came back low at the start of all this. Score on the cognitive screen had been dropping by about two points each visit despite the injections doing their job on her serum levels. I expected the usual. A small further drop. Maybe stable if she was lucky. A conversation about whether donepezil should join the picture. Confirmation that she'd be in next month for her next injection. I did the screen. And I just stopped. Her score had gone up. Not by a small margin. By a margin I have never seen in a patient with mild cognitive impairment in 23 years of practice. Three points up. Above where she'd been when I first started recording her cognitive complaints four years ago. I looked at her. "What have you been doing differently?" "Nothing crazy. Just something a friend in my book group told me about." I didn't believe her. "New medication? Did anything change with your other prescriptions?" "No, nothing prescription. I just want to ask you something. Can I stop the injections? I don't think I need them anymore." I pulled up her records from six months ago and compared them side by side. Her trajectory had reversed. In 23 years of treating cognitive complaints in this surgery, with patients on B12 injections, on the standard schedule, on the formulary medication, doing everything we'd told them to do, I have watched scores go in one direction. Down. Lower over time. More forgetting. More confusion. More worry. This one went the other way. I sat back in my chair and I told her, honestly. "Barbara, I'd like to keep you on the injections for now while we work this out. But I need to understand what changed. Because these numbers don't match anything in your treatment history, and they don't match anything I've seen in 23 years." That's when Barbara told me everything. She said for the past four years, every six months, she'd sit in my surgery and hear the same thing. Levels are fine. Stay the course. We'll keep an eye on it. And every six months she'd go home and try something new on her own, because the course wasn't getting her where she wanted to be. She tried sleep first. The leaflet from the surgery said sleep was the foundation. She bought a new mattress. She stopped looking at her phone after 9pm. She read books about sleep. She got eight hours a night for four months solid. The fog was the same. She tried diet after that. Mediterranean. Oily fish twice a week. Blueberries every morning. Walnuts as snacks. Olive oil instead of butter. She did it for five months. Her cholesterol came down a few points. The fog was still there. She tried exercise. Walking five mornings a week, twenty-two minutes a loop around her village. Then she joined a Pilates class. Then a tai chi class on Saturdays. Her hip hurt less. Her sleep improved further. The fog stayed. And then there were the injections themselves. The first one had genuinely helped. She said the brain fog had lifted for nearly three weeks after that first appointment, and she'd told her sister about it the next time they had tea, that was the first time in two years she'd told someone something hopeful. The second injection helped a bit less. By the fourth injection she was barely noticing a difference. But her serum B12 was 'within range' so we kept her on the schedule. Twelve-weekly. Four years now. A small puncture and a small bruise and a small lift that had stopped lifting two and a half years ago. She told me she had almost accepted it. That this was just her life now. Coming in every twelve weeks for a jab in the arm. Watching the screen score creep down in between. Sitting in my surgery while I talked, kindly, about what we'd do next. Going home and feeling herself slip a little further every month and not being able to point to anything specific. Just the slow accumulation of a hundred small absences. She told me about her mother. How her mother started forgetting where she'd put her handbag in her late sixties. How she'd ask Barbara the same question three times in an evening. How she'd lose the thread of a story halfway through telling it. How she'd come into the kitchen and stand there for several seconds trying to remember why she'd come in. Small things at first. Things you tell yourself are just normal. Things Barbara used to laugh about with her sister, in the way you laugh about something because the alternative is crying about it. By the time her mother was 76, she didn't know which day of the week it was. By 78, she was getting lost on the route to the corner shop she'd been walking to for thirty years. By 79, she put the kettle in the fridge twice in one week. By 81, when Barbara visited her in the home, her mother looked up from her chair and asked the carer who the lady at the door was. Barbara was the lady at the door. Her only daughter. I hear that story every week in this surgery. Different names. Same road. Then she told me what changed. About five months ago, a friend in her book group told her about something she'd been giving her husband. This friend explained something Barbara had never heard from me, or from any specialist she'd ever seen. She said the reason B12 didn't work isn't because it's a bad idea. It's because most vitamin B supplements out there aren't in the forms your body can actually use immediately. And here is the part that stopped me, when Barbara repeated it to me, because the friend, somehow, had also understood that this was true of the injections. Not just supermarket B12 tablets. The injections too. Here's what she explained, and I'm going to put it in terms that make sense, because I've come to believe she was right and it matters. Around every nerve fibre in your brain, and there are billions of them, there is a fatty insulating layer called the myelin sheath. It's what allows electrical signals to travel cleanly and quickly along the nerve. When the myelin sheath is healthy, signals fire fast and clean. Thoughts complete themselves. Words arrive when you reach for them. Names stay where they should. The whole system runs the way it's supposed to. When the myelin sheath starts to break down, signals slow. They scatter. They lose definition. Thoughts take longer. Words don't arrive. Movements feel a half-beat behind. The whole nervous system runs at a lower register. That's the brain fog. That's the morning where the names aren't there. That's the conversation where you lose the thread. The myelin sheath is something your body has to actively maintain. Every day. With the right materials. The most important of those materials is B12, but specifically, the active form of it. The one called methylcobalamin. The B12 injections we routinely prescribe are hydroxocobalamin. That's not the same as cyanocobalamin in supermarket B12 tablets, it's closer to what your body needs. But it's still not the active form. It still requires a conversion step. And for people whose conversion enzymes are struggling, which is most people over 60, that conversion remains the bottleneck. Which is why Barbara's serum B12 was beautiful and her cognitive function wasn't. The injection delivered B12 to her bloodstream. The B12 in her bloodstream was almost the right form. Not quite. The myelin sheath was still hungry. That's why the first injection had helped. There was such a deficit when she started that even partial conversion produced a noticeable effect. Then the conversion enzymes hit their ceiling. The injections kept her serum levels topped up. The myelin kept thinning. The cognitive screen kept dropping. And we kept her on the schedule because the schedule was what the schedule was. When Barbara explained this to me, I'll be honest. I knew the underlying biology. I studied B12 metabolism in medical school. I've read the research on methylation pathways. I've ordered countless courses of hydroxocobalamin in this surgery without really thinking about it, because that's what the formulary stocks and that's what we do. But I had never put it together with what I was seeing in patients like Barbara. Patients whose injections were keeping their serum levels textbook-perfect. Whose cognitive screens kept dropping anyway. Patients I'd been telling, kindly, that some of this is just normal aging on top of well-managed B12. And I had never seen a patient's score actually go up. Not stable. Not slow the decline. Actually improve. That's what was sitting in front of me on her form. "So what did you do about it?" I asked her. She told me her friend had pointed her to a brand called rynw. A British company that uses the active forms of every B vitamin. Methylcobalamin instead of cyanocobalamin or hydroxocobalamin. Methylfolate instead of folic acid. P5P instead of pyridoxine. Already in the forms the body can use the moment they're absorbed, regardless of whether the conversion machinery is still working. "It's not a miracle pill," she said. "I kept going to my injection appointments. I still went to bed early. I still walked. I still ate the fish. But this was the first thing that actually moved the fog." I asked her to walk me through her timeline. She said the first week, she slept a little longer before her brain came online in the morning. She wasn't sure if it was real or if she just wanted it to be. By week two, she remembered her grandson's friends' names without having to scroll through her phone. First time in over a year. By week three, she went back to the morning crossword. Not the cryptic one, the quick one. But she finished it before her tea went cold, which she hadn't been able to do in two years. By month two, she went to her granddaughter's school play and sat through the whole hour and a half. She said she remembered the songs, the names of the characters, the bit at the end where the frog was supposed to be a prince. She was actually there. Present. Not just managing. Month three, she finished the book her book group had been reading. The first book she'd finished in over a year. Month five, she was sitting in my surgery with a cognitive screen score that had gone in the wrong direction. The good kind of wrong. And she was asking if it was time to come off injections she'd been having every twelve weeks for the last four years. After Barbara left that day, I spent the entire evening reading everything I could find on methylcobalamin and the maintenance of myelin in older adults. The research backed up what she'd told me. The pathway was real. The form distinction was real. The studies were real. The largest, run out of Oxford, had followed several hundred people with mild cognitive impairment over two years. The group taking active forms of B vitamins lost brain tissue at a dramatically slower rate than the placebo group. The effect was strongest in the regions most responsible for memory and clear thinking. I'd known about that study. I just hadn't translated it into anything I did differently in clinic. But here's what I also learned, and it matters. Not all active-form B vitamins are the same. Most products that claim to use methylcobalamin or methylfolate actually use them in token amounts, alongside large quantities of the cheaper cyanocobalamin and folic acid, to keep the bottle cost down. Or they use the active forms at doses well below what the actual research used. I told Barbara I wanted to check her serum B12 first before we made any decision about the injections. We took her bloods. The result came back two days later. Her B12 was at the higher end of the range. Higher than she'd been on hydroxocobalamin alone in the past two years. Whatever she was now taking, in whatever form, was reaching her bloodstream, and the cognitive screen score told me it was reaching her myelin sheath, even before the bloodwork confirmed the first part. I rang her that afternoon. I told her if her next bloods in three months remained adequate, we could discuss switching from twelve-weekly hydroxocobalamin to daily oral active-form maintenance, with monitoring. That's a conversation she and I would have, with her bloods in front of us. I wanted to keep watching. But I'm telling you, after twenty-three years of writing standing prescriptions for hydroxocobalamin every twelve weeks for life, the conversation about transitioning a stable patient off injections, with her serum levels and her cognitive function in range simultaneously, that's not a conversation I would have considered before Barbara walked into my surgery last Tuesday. I started recommending rynw, quietly, to a few of my patients. The ones who were where Barbara had been six months ago. The ones whose injections were doing what injections are supposed to do, but who were still slipping in every other way that mattered. I'm watching their results now. And I'm seeing things I don't normally see. If you're reading this right now because your B12 levels are 'within range' and your memory keeps slipping anyway. If you've been on the injections for years and the first one helped but none of the others did. If you've done the sleep, the diet, the walking, and the fog is still there. If you watched your mother or your father go through this and you're quietly watching the same thing happen in your own head, one small absence at a time, and nobody can tell you how to get off the road you're on. You're not imagining it. You're not being dramatic. You don't just have to accept this. You were treating the bloodwork. Nobody was treating the myelin sheath. And without a maintained myelin sheath, none of the rest of it makes a lasting difference. The active forms of B vitamins reach the myelin sheath directly, regardless of whether your conversion enzymes are still working. The myelin gets the support it needs. Signals start firing cleanly again. The fog lifts. Words start arriving. The cycle starts to break. Not because something forced it. Because your body is doing what it already knows how to do. You just had to give it the form it can actually use. But only if the form is right. Only if the dose matches the research. Only if it's tested. rynw is the brand I've been recommending. I picked it because it's the only one I could find in the UK that uses the active forms of every key ingredient, methylcobalamin, methylfolate, P5P, at the doses the actual clinical research uses. British company. Third-party tested for purity. No fillers. 30 days to try it. If nothing changes, full refund. No questions. A note on the injections. If you're currently on B12 injections, do not stop them on your own. They are doing important work on your serum levels, and the absorption issue that put you on them is still real. What you can do is talk to your GP about adding the active forms, and then, with monitoring and proper bloodwork, having a conversation about whether the schedule still needs to be what it is. If by the end of week one you're remembering names you'd been forgetting. If by week two you finish a crossword for the first time in a year. If by week three you sit through a school play and you're actually present. If a month from now your book group meets and you've actually finished the book. If three months from now your GP runs your cognitive screen and stops. And looks at you. And asks if it might be time to think about whether the twelve-weekly injection schedule is still what's needed. You'll wish you'd found this years ago. I know Barbara does. - Dr. Catherine Bennett 👉 https://rynw.com/products/b-complex
I'm a GP, and last Tuesday a patient of mine asked if she could stop her B12 injections. Not because she'd given up on getting better. Because of something that showed up in her cognitive screen that I have never seen in 23 years of practice. I've been managing B12 deficiency in this surgery for over two decades. I've seen the standard pattern. The bloods come back low. We start the injections, hydroxocobalamin, every twelve weeks. Within a few months the serum levels come back into range. We tell the patient they need the injections for life because the underlying absorption issue doesn't go away. Some of them feel a bit sharper at first. Most plateau. Most of the cognitive symptoms, the fog, the slow word-finding, the memory slips, never quite resolve. We tell them this is what age-related decline looks like alongside well-managed B12. We tell them to stay the course. Last Tuesday, one of them didn't. Her name is Barbara. She's been my patient for four years now, and she was coming in for the same review she gets every six months. Cognitive complaints. Quarterly hydroxocobalamin injections, by our practice nurse, since shortly after her bloods came back low at the start of all this. Score on the cognitive screen had been dropping by about two points each visit despite the injections doing their job on her serum levels. I expected the usual. A small further drop. Maybe stable if she was lucky. A conversation about whether donepezil should join the picture. Confirmation that she'd be in next month for her next injection. I did the screen. And I just stopped. Her score had gone up. Not by a small margin. By a margin I have never seen in a patient with mild cognitive impairment in 23 years of practice. Three points up. Above where she'd been when I first started recording her cognitive complaints four years ago. I looked at her. "What have you been doing differently?" "Nothing crazy. Just something a friend in my book group told me about." I didn't believe her. "New medication? Did anything change with your other prescriptions?" "No, nothing prescription. I just want to ask you something. Can I stop the injections? I don't think I need them anymore." I pulled up her records from six months ago and compared them side by side. Her trajectory had reversed. In 23 years of treating cognitive complaints in this surgery, with patients on B12 injections, on the standard schedule, on the formulary medication, doing everything we'd told them to do, I have watched scores go in one direction. Down. Lower over time. More forgetting. More confusion. More worry. This one went the other way. I sat back in my chair and I told her, honestly. "Barbara, I'd like to keep you on the injections for now while we work this out. But I need to understand what changed. Because these numbers don't match anything in your treatment history, and they don't match anything I've seen in 23 years." That's when Barbara told me everything. She said for the past four years, every six months, she'd sit in my surgery and hear the same thing. Levels are fine. Stay the course. We'll keep an eye on it. And every six months she'd go home and try something new on her own, because the course wasn't getting her where she wanted to be. She tried sleep first. The leaflet from the surgery said sleep was the foundation. She bought a new mattress. She stopped looking at her phone after 9pm. She read books about sleep. She got eight hours a night for four months solid. The fog was the same. She tried diet after that. Mediterranean. Oily fish twice a week. Blueberries every morning. Walnuts as snacks. Olive oil instead of butter. She did it for five months. Her cholesterol came down a few points. The fog was still there. She tried exercise. Walking five mornings a week, twenty-two minutes a loop around her village. Then she joined a Pilates class. Then a tai chi class on Saturdays. Her hip hurt less. Her sleep improved further. The fog stayed. And then there were the injections themselves. The first one had genuinely helped. She said the brain fog had lifted for nearly three weeks after that first appointment, and she'd told her sister about it the next time they had tea, that was the first time in two years she'd told someone something hopeful. The second injection helped a bit less. By the fourth injection she was barely noticing a difference. But her serum B12 was 'within range' so we kept her on the schedule. Twelve-weekly. Four years now. A small puncture and a small bruise and a small lift that had stopped lifting two and a half years ago. She told me she had almost accepted it. That this was just her life now. Coming in every twelve weeks for a jab in the arm. Watching the screen score creep down in between. Sitting in my surgery while I talked, kindly, about what we'd do next. Going home and feeling herself slip a little further every month and not being able to point to anything specific. Just the slow accumulation of a hundred small absences. She told me about her mother. How her mother started forgetting where she'd put her handbag in her late sixties. How she'd ask Barbara the same question three times in an evening. How she'd lose the thread of a story halfway through telling it. How she'd come into the kitchen and stand there for several seconds trying to remember why she'd come in. Small things at first. Things you tell yourself are just normal. Things Barbara used to laugh about with her sister, in the way you laugh about something because the alternative is crying about it. By the time her mother was 76, she didn't know which day of the week it was. By 78, she was getting lost on the route to the corner shop she'd been walking to for thirty years. By 79, she put the kettle in the fridge twice in one week. By 81, when Barbara visited her in the home, her mother looked up from her chair and asked the carer who the lady at the door was. Barbara was the lady at the door. Her only daughter. I hear that story every week in this surgery. Different names. Same road. Then she told me what changed. About five months ago, a friend in her book group told her about something she'd been giving her husband. This friend explained something Barbara had never heard from me, or from any specialist she'd ever seen. She said the reason B12 didn't work isn't because it's a bad idea. It's because most vitamin B supplements out there aren't in the forms your body can actually use immediately. And here is the part that stopped me, when Barbara repeated it to me, because the friend, somehow, had also understood that this was true of the injections. Not just supermarket B12 tablets. The injections too. Here's what she explained, and I'm going to put it in terms that make sense, because I've come to believe she was right and it matters. Around every nerve fibre in your brain, and there are billions of them, there is a fatty insulating layer called the myelin sheath. It's what allows electrical signals to travel cleanly and quickly along the nerve. When the myelin sheath is healthy, signals fire fast and clean. Thoughts complete themselves. Words arrive when you reach for them. Names stay where they should. The whole system runs the way it's supposed to. When the myelin sheath starts to break down, signals slow. They scatter. They lose definition. Thoughts take longer. Words don't arrive. Movements feel a half-beat behind. The whole nervous system runs at a lower register. That's the brain fog. That's the morning where the names aren't there. That's the conversation where you lose the thread. The myelin sheath is something your body has to actively maintain. Every day. With the right materials. The most important of those materials is B12, but specifically, the active form of it. The one called methylcobalamin. The B12 injections we routinely prescribe are hydroxocobalamin. That's not the same as cyanocobalamin in supermarket B12 tablets, it's closer to what your body needs. But it's still not the active form. It still requires a conversion step. And for people whose conversion enzymes are struggling, which is most people over 60, that conversion remains the bottleneck. Which is why Barbara's serum B12 was beautiful and her cognitive function wasn't. The injection delivered B12 to her bloodstream. The B12 in her bloodstream was almost the right form. Not quite. The myelin sheath was still hungry. That's why the first injection had helped. There was such a deficit when she started that even partial conversion produced a noticeable effect. Then the conversion enzymes hit their ceiling. The injections kept her serum levels topped up. The myelin kept thinning. The cognitive screen kept dropping. And we kept her on the schedule because the schedule was what the schedule was. When Barbara explained this to me, I'll be honest. I knew the underlying biology. I studied B12 metabolism in medical school. I've read the research on methylation pathways. I've ordered countless courses of hydroxocobalamin in this surgery without really thinking about it, because that's what the formulary stocks and that's what we do. But I had never put it together with what I was seeing in patients like Barbara. Patients whose injections were keeping their serum levels textbook-perfect. Whose cognitive screens kept dropping anyway. Patients I'd been telling, kindly, that some of this is just normal aging on top of well-managed B12. And I had never seen a patient's score actually go up. Not stable. Not slow the decline. Actually improve. That's what was sitting in front of me on her form. "So what did you do about it?" I asked her. She told me her friend had pointed her to a brand called rynw. A British company that uses the active forms of every B vitamin. Methylcobalamin instead of cyanocobalamin or hydroxocobalamin. Methylfolate instead of folic acid. P5P instead of pyridoxine. Already in the forms the body can use the moment they're absorbed, regardless of whether the conversion machinery is still working. "It's not a miracle pill," she said. "I kept going to my injection appointments. I still went to bed early. I still walked. I still ate the fish. But this was the first thing that actually moved the fog." I asked her to walk me through her timeline. She said the first week, she slept a little longer before her brain came online in the morning. She wasn't sure if it was real or if she just wanted it to be. By week two, she remembered her grandson's friends' names without having to scroll through her phone. First time in over a year. By week three, she went back to the morning crossword. Not the cryptic one, the quick one. But she finished it before her tea went cold, which she hadn't been able to do in two years. By month two, she went to her granddaughter's school play and sat through the whole hour and a half. She said she remembered the songs, the names of the characters, the bit at the end where the frog was supposed to be a prince. She was actually there. Present. Not just managing. Month three, she finished the book her book group had been reading. The first book she'd finished in over a year. Month five, she was sitting in my surgery with a cognitive screen score that had gone in the wrong direction. The good kind of wrong. And she was asking if it was time to come off injections she'd been having every twelve weeks for the last four years. After Barbara left that day, I spent the entire evening reading everything I could find on methylcobalamin and the maintenance of myelin in older adults. The research backed up what she'd told me. The pathway was real. The form distinction was real. The studies were real. The largest, run out of Oxford, had followed several hundred people with mild cognitive impairment over two years. The group taking active forms of B vitamins lost brain tissue at a dramatically slower rate than the placebo group. The effect was strongest in the regions most responsible for memory and clear thinking. I'd known about that study. I just hadn't translated it into anything I did differently in clinic. But here's what I also learned, and it matters. Not all active-form B vitamins are the same. Most products that claim to use methylcobalamin or methylfolate actually use them in token amounts, alongside large quantities of the cheaper cyanocobalamin and folic acid, to keep the bottle cost down. Or they use the active forms at doses well below what the actual research used. I told Barbara I wanted to check her serum B12 first before we made any decision about the injections. We took her bloods. The result came back two days later. Her B12 was at the higher end of the range. Higher than she'd been on hydroxocobalamin alone in the past two years. Whatever she was now taking, in whatever form, was reaching her bloodstream, and the cognitive screen score told me it was reaching her myelin sheath, even before the bloodwork confirmed the first part. I rang her that afternoon. I told her if her next bloods in three months remained adequate, we could discuss switching from twelve-weekly hydroxocobalamin to daily oral active-form maintenance, with monitoring. That's a conversation she and I would have, with her bloods in front of us. I wanted to keep watching. But I'm telling you, after twenty-three years of writing standing prescriptions for hydroxocobalamin every twelve weeks for life, the conversation about transitioning a stable patient off injections, with her serum levels and her cognitive function in range simultaneously, that's not a conversation I would have considered before Barbara walked into my surgery last Tuesday. I started recommending rynw, quietly, to a few of my patients. The ones who were where Barbara had been six months ago. The ones whose injections were doing what injections are supposed to do, but who were still slipping in every other way that mattered. I'm watching their results now. And I'm seeing things I don't normally see. If you're reading this right now because your B12 levels are 'within range' and your memory keeps slipping anyway. If you've been on the injections for years and the first one helped but none of the others did. If you've done the sleep, the diet, the walking, and the fog is still there. If you watched your mother or your father go through this and you're quietly watching the same thing happen in your own head, one small absence at a time, and nobody can tell you how to get off the road you're on. You're not imagining it. You're not being dramatic. You don't just have to accept this. You were treating the bloodwork. Nobody was treating the myelin sheath. And without a maintained myelin sheath, none of the rest of it makes a lasting difference. The active forms of B vitamins reach the myelin sheath directly, regardless of whether your conversion enzymes are still working. The myelin gets the support it needs. Signals start firing cleanly again. The fog lifts. Words start arriving. The cycle starts to break. Not because something forced it. Because your body is doing what it already knows how to do. You just had to give it the form it can actually use. But only if the form is right. Only if the dose matches the research. Only if it's tested. rynw is the brand I've been recommending. I picked it because it's the only one I could find in the UK that uses the active forms of every key ingredient, methylcobalamin, methylfolate, P5P, at the doses the actual clinical research uses. British company. Third-party tested for purity. No fillers. 30 days to try it. If nothing changes, full refund. No questions. A note on the injections. If you're currently on B12 injections, do not stop them on your own. They are doing important work on your serum levels, and the absorption issue that put you on them is still real. What you can do is talk to your GP about adding the active forms, and then, with monitoring and proper bloodwork, having a conversation about whether the schedule still needs to be what it is. If by the end of week one you're remembering names you'd been forgetting. If by week two you finish a crossword for the first time in a year. If by week three you sit through a school play and you're actually present. If a month from now your book group meets and you've actually finished the book. If three months from now your GP runs your cognitive screen and stops. And looks at you. And asks if it might be time to think about whether the twelve-weekly injection schedule is still what's needed. You'll wish you'd found this years ago. I know Barbara does. - Dr. Catherine Bennett 👉 https://rynw.com/products/b-complex
🔞When My ex-brother-in-law took my virginity...His liquid spurts inslde and my eyes widen, "Wait we forgot a comdom!" …………………… Chapter 1 He Dumped Me Aria's POV I stood in front of the chapel. Pink roses and white lilies decorated every corner I saw—my favorite flowers. The guests were already seated in their designer dresses and pressed suits. And soon, at the end of the red carpet would stand the man I once loved, waiting to marry his bride. Everything was perfect. Except I wasn't the bride. "I really need to see Jace today." I begged the bodyguard blocking the door. A beat-up suitcase and two boxes sat at my feet—everything I owned in the world. "No you don’t. Get out of here," the bodyguard said icily. I saw it in his eyes—disgust. Yeah I get it. No one has sympathy for the crazy ex who shows up at the wedding. But I have my reason. "If you don't let me see him, I'll just stand here and all the guests will see me," I threatened under my breath. Jace wouldn't want that. Especially not today. Today he was marrying Delilah Hart. Sister to Alpha Grayson Hart of Redstone Pack. A 100% high-society darling. All the guys in the world knew that marrying Delilah would make their wealth skyrocket, including Jace. So he made the easy call—marrying the lady who could turn him from a small-town nobody into a golden boy. And dump the girl who stayed by his side for last 4 years when he had nothing. So it’s normal why he didn’t want any guests to see me here. I represented his broke, embarrassing past. He wanted me nowhere near his glossy, glittering new world. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of that. Like a knife was twisting in my chest. “Let me in or I’m starting to yell.” "Wait here." The bodyguard finally made a call. A few minutes later, he waved me in. I wiped my eyes and struggled into the hall with my suitcase and boxes. Instantly, I felt how out of place I was. Everything reeked of wealth here. Expensive perfume. Manicured nails. Not a hair out of place. It was everything you imagined about the upper-class and way more. And me? I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans. My sneakers had holes. "God, a homeless. She stinks." A woman mutter as I walked by. I just showered this morning. My hair still smelled like strawberries and coconut. But poverty had a scent, apparently. "Mr. Carter is inside. Make it quick." The guard took me to a closed door and warned. “Thank you.” The room inside looked like something out of a movie. Marble floors. Floor-length mirrors. A chandelier that probably cost more than my apartment. I hesitated for a second as I dragged my dirty luggage across the white carpet. And there he was. The man I used to love. Adjusting his bowtie in front of a mirror. He was still heartbreakingly handsome. No wonder Delilah fell for him. When he turned and fixed his gorgeous blue eyes upon me, I still felt my heart race. "Hey, Jace," I said quietly. And immediately wanted to punch myself. Hey, Jace? That’s the best I could do? His face was ice cold. "You shouldn't come. Your ratty suitcase, your ripped jeans, your Vans. None of that belongs here." Well if you wanted to be brutal and vicious, that’s how it’s done. "Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? You dumped me over a fucking email!" I snapped. He shrugged. "Look around you. The wealthiest people in the world came for me today. This suit I’m wearing cost more than you can make in your entire life. What more explanation do you want, Aria?" Wow. I always knew he was a cold, calculating bastard. I just didn’t realize how deep it ran. "Maybe chasing Alpha’s sister got you here faster. But you know what? When she finds out how cold and empty you are. You’ll lose it all." Anger flared across his face. "I know how to love. I just won't waste that on a small-town girl like you.” he said freezingly, “Are we done here?" “No.” I took a deep breath and got into the real reason I came. "You're marrying a rich girl. Fine. But why did you have to get me fired?" Yeah. I used to work for this jerk. From intern to full-time at Apex Corp, he was my supervisor. Our relationship was a secret. And just days ago, I found out he was getting married—and I was out of a job. He fired me. "Right, your job.” The jerk shrugged, “You got it because of me. Now that I’m not around, they finally saw how incompetent you are. Problem?" Was he fucking kidding me?! "I graduated top of my class. Made it through 7 rounds of interviews. My performance exceeded every quarterly target. I earned that job!" I cried. “Come on, Aria. You really gonna be so naïve?” He walked closer, smirking. "You passed the interviews because I said so. Your sales? I made those calls. Without me, you'd be nothing but a pretty face." He seized my chin and looked me over with a disgusting look. I slapped his hand away. "Give me my job back,” I hissed, my voice slightly trembling. “My dad’s debt. My grandma’s medical bills…I need the money. You of all people should know what it’s like to be poor. Don’t. Make. Me. Beg." I was throwing my pride at his feet. But he laughed. "Well, how about I offer you a deal?" he said as though he’d been waiting for this moment. He brushed my hair back, fingers trailing down to my collarbone. I shivered in disgust. "You never let me touch you. You were so clinging to that pathetic no-sex-before-marriage rule. Maybe it's time to grow up. Let me fuck you once and I’ll write you a check you can’t refuse. How does that sound?" I widened my eyes in shock. Then I slapped him. HARD. “WHAT THE FUCK! I’m getting married in front of everyone in fucking 10 minutes!” He roared covering his face. "Fuck you, Jace!” I yelled, “You're a spineless freeloading puss! And hey—congrats on the wedding. Hope your junk is soft like a fucking spaghetti tonight!" Then I stormed out dragging my suitcase and boxes, ignoring his angry curses behind me. Hot tears poured down as I dashed across the hallway. God this couldn’t be any worse. I was prepared to drop all my self-esteem and begged with my life because I needed the job and money. But I still let him get to me. Now what do I do? My salary barely covered my rent, my father’s debt and grandma’s bill. Now with my job gone, I already got kicked out by my landlord. I probably had to sleep in a park tonight. So do I go back and let that jerk win? Let him humiliate me...No. I’d rather die than that— "Hey, watch where you're going!" someone yelled. Too late. I slammed right into the man in front of me. He was tall—so tall I felt like I’d just walked into a brick wall. His diamond cufflink was sharp like a blade, and when we collided, it sliced clean through my thin T-shirt with a loud rip. In one second, the front of my shirt was torn open, exposing my white lace bra. “Ah!” I gasped and looked up. The man in front of me was so handsome. Like a statue carved by a master artist. Yet his expression so cold. He looked down at me, and I swear I was about to drown in those stormy gray eyes of his. And then I recognized who he was. This was Jace’s son-to-be brother-in-law. Alpha of Redstone Pack. CEO of Apex Corporation. THE legendary. Grayson Hart. “Aria Collins?” His voice was sexy and velvety. He lowered his head and his eyes dropped to the exposed part of my bra. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the color of his eyes seemed to darken as he stared. Wherever his gaze landed, my skin started burning up. But wait. How did he know my name? Chapter 2 With Ex's Brother-in-law Aria’s POV Of course I recognized him. God, who didn’t? I’d met him at an Apex gala. His face was on every finance magazine cover, and any time you turned on a TV, there he was—linked to the latest scandal with some actress or model. But there was no way he’d know who I was. “I-I… Hello, Alpha Grayson,” I stammered. He turned his eyes away and said to a nearby guard, “Escort Ms. Collins out.” “Yes, Alpha.” The guards stepped in immediately, stretching out their arms like I was some kind of contaminant that might taint Grayson’s perfectly tailored suit. “Wait a minute. You’re not going to say something about my shirt?” He paused—just for a second—then flicked a piece of paper down at my feet. I looked down. A blank check. “I need a shirt I can actually wear out of here. Not your hush money.” I gritted with humiliation. But he didn’t even glance back as he walked away. “God,” I muttered under my breath. Can you believe these rich bastards? They think they can buy everything with money. People nearby were all staring, snickering under their breath. I tried to cover my chest and grab my things to escape, but it was hard to do all that with just two hands. “Oh my god…Aria Collins?” Three girls emerged from the whispering crowd. I took one look at them and sighed internally. Great. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse. “Hello. Layla. Sabrina. Brielle.” I used to work in the same team with these girls back at Apex. We were all under Jace. They adored him—spent more time flirting with at the coffee machine than actually working. Which left me doing their share of the workload. After I got fired—and when news of my secret relationship with Jace got out—they decided I was public enemy number one. “What are you even doing here, Aria? Trying to win back your ex at his wedding? That’s a new low even for you,” Layla snickered. “I’m not here to win anyone back.” I tried to push past them. But they blocked me. “What happened to your shirt?” Brielle snickered. “Did you seriously walk in here with your bra out? Is this like some low-budget fashion statement?” They burst into laughter together. “You could be completely naked and Jace still wouldn’t give a damn,” Sabrina squeaked. “Because he’s marrying Delilah. THE Delilah Hart! Redstone Pack’s sweetheart. And you…well you’re just a poor-ass small-town girl.” I stopped in my track and gave them a cold glare, “Oh yeah? Well at least I’ve actually been with Jace. Do you know how many times I had to listen to him complained about your screechy voices and cheesy perfume? Apparently he rather be with a poor-ass small-town girl than any of you.” Their jaws dropped. “Jace would never say that!” Brielle cried. “Word for word,” I rolled my eyes. “Now move. Or I’m rolling this suitcase over your pretty little skirts.” They looked like ruffled chickens, but they parted. I quickly shoved my dingy luggage ahead like a weapon and stormed out of the church. Rich people were assholes. Grayson, Jace, and their whole damn minions. I struggled to get my suitcase down the steps, and once I hit the street, cold wind slapped me in the face. I had no idea where to go. I could crash in the hospital with my grandma for a night, but she’d ask too many questions. Like why I hadn’t brought Jace around recently, or why I wasn’t staying at my apartment. I didn’t want her knowing how bad things had gotten. I thought about the park. Sleeping on a bench. But in a ripped T-shirt that exposed my whole front? Horrible idea. So I texted my best friend, May, asking to stay at her place for a few days. She was my rock. If the whole world turned against me, at least I still had her. She texted back right away inviting me to come over. Dragging my suitcase across the street toward the bus stop, I told myself it was going to be okay. This horrible day was going to end. Then I heard them. “Hey, nice shirt!” A group of street wolves were loitering near the stop. I hugged myself tighter and curled into the bench, hoping they’d get bored and leave. “C’mon baby, drop your hands. Let us see what you’re working with.” Go away. Go away. Go away. “You rip that shirt yourself? Damn that’s wild. I like that in a girl.” One of them moved closer, reaching for my shoulder. “Get away from me!” I snapped, my voice shaking. But it only fired them up. “Oh, feisty. Shake those tits for me!” They grabbed my wrists, yanked my arms down. My T-shirt gaped open completely, revealing my lace bra. The cold air made my skin pebble. They laughed even louder. I struggled and screamed. My wolf growled in rage. Shifting in the city was illegal—but right now, I didn’t have a second choice— Just then. Blinding headlights. Followed by screeching tires. A black car skidded to a stop inches away. The door flew open. A deep voice thundered, “Get in.” I was too shocked that I didn’t think twice and obeyed. The car peeled away the second I shut the door. “My suitcase!” I cried. “Someone will get it,” he said darkly. “Address.” I told the driver May’s. Then he pressed a button. A privacy screen slid up between the front and back seats, sealing us in the back. That’s when he turned toward me and leaned in. Like a beast ready to pounce. His scent hit me like a punch—sharp pine mixed with cold metal. My head started to get dizzy. “Walking on the street in that shirt was a mistake,” he said sternly. “It got like this because of you,” I mumbled. He snorted. Then the sound of rustling fabric. A heavy jacket landed across my shoulders—it was still warm from his body and carried his scent. I held my breathe. Wearing his coat almost felt like…he was wrapping himself around me. “You—do you know me?” I whispered. My gut told me that he would never do this for a strange girl. But if he knew who I was, he must know that I was his sister’s husband’s ex. That didn’t explain why he would help. “We’ve met,” he said simply. I stared at him, searching those icy gray eyes. He was staring at me too, with that cold, hungry, possessive eyes. I felt like I was completely naked in front of him. “Aria,” he warned, voice thick and husky. But I couldn’t control myself. I was leaning forward. Shit. Why did my body become so weird? My skin was on fire. My panties were wet. All I wanted was more of his scent, more of his heat. The next second his lips were crashed onto mine—Hard. Rough. I gasped and opened my mouth for him. His tongue slipped in and explored every inch of my mouth, making me shiver. His hands pushed into my torn shirt and grabbed my waist. I couldn’t control my moan when he touched my naked skin. This was crazy! He was a stranger, and most importantly, my ex’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. And I was making out with him at the back of his car. The crazy part was I didn’t even want to stop. He lifted me onto his lap like I weighed nothing. I straddled his thighs and yanked at his tie as he bite my collarbone. Then, suddenly, the car stopped. “Alpha, we’ve arrived.” That’s when it all froze. His lips paused at my neck. I was still squirming on his lap, flushed and throbbing. But he shoved me off. “We can’t do this,” he said coldly. Chapter 3 You're Special To Him Aria’s POV “So you’re telling me this guy made out with you in the backseat of his car… and then just shoved you off like nothing happened?” May asked in shock. 20 minutes later, I was sitting at her place, wrapped in one of her oversized hoodies, a steaming mug of tea in my hands. But I was still reeling from everything that had just happened. “Yup,” I muttered. “Who knows what’s wrong with him.” “What an asshole,” she huffed. “But honestly, this really isn’t like you. You dated that jerk Jace for 4 years and didn’t even sleep with him—which, by the way, was a brilliant choice—and now you're suddenly making out with a complete stranger in his car?” I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. Yeah, she had a point. “I—I don’t know. Maybe it was the whole Jace-getting-married thing. Maybe I just snapped and wanted to screw around with someone hotter just to get back at him…Honestly, it was so stupid now that I think of it.” She grinned and wiggled her brows. “So… he was hot huh?” My cheeks flushed and my mind drifted back. Those stormy gray eyes, his perfectly shaped lips on my neck, and those arms that could pick me up like I weighed nothing…Shit I need to stop. “Yeah. VERY,” I whispered, hiding my red face behind the mug. May burst out laughing. “Now we’re talking! That’s exactly what you need right now—a drop-dead gorgeous rebound to get that loser Jace out of your system. Screw your ‘no sex before marriage’ rule. Life is short.” I gave her a weak smile. Honestly, I didn’t need a rebound. I needed a job, money, and a place to live. Grayson Hart was like dessert when you can’t even afford dinner. “So… do you even know who this guy was?” she asked. I hesitated. Right at this moment, the doorbell rang. She jumped up to get it and came back a few minutes later, hauling in my luggage, her face frozen in disbelief. “OMG. You are not gonna believe what just showed up outside.” “Umm… my luggage?” I joked. “Two fucking muscular guys in black suits and guns! And a freaking stretch limo! They called me ‘ma’am’ and said they hope Miss Aria has a wonderful evening. Now, you—” She leapt at me and shook me by the shoulders. “—you tell me right now who the hell you hooked up with!” I squealed and dropped into the couch with her, laughing and giggling breathlessly. “Okay, okay—I’ll tell you. It was… Grayson Hart.” I practically whispered his name. Because honestly, I still couldn’t believe it either. May froze, eyes wide as saucers. “Grayson—THE Grayson Hart?! As in our Alpha? The CEO of Apex?!” “And Jace’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. Now you know how stupid I was earlier?” She let out a full-on scream. Then she grabbed my hand, her face flushed with excitement. “Oh my God! Aria, do you know what this means? Alpha Grayson never even lends his jacket to his model girlfriends. He likes you. You’re special!” “No,” I said firmly. “If I was special, he wouldn’t have thrown me off his lap when I tried to take off his shirt.” “Maybe he had somewhere to be—” “Don’t, May. Let’s be real. Guys like him don’t fall for girls like me.” I took another sip of tea, hiding the ache in my chest. Hell even Jace thought I was beneath him. What chance did I have with Grayson freaking Hart? “Don’t be silly, Aria. You’re gorgeous. And smart and amazing and—WAIT! I just had the best idea ever.” “What?” “That arrogant jerk Jace thinks you’re just some small-town prude who wasn’t good enough for him right? But what if you ended up with Alpha Grayson? It’ll be easy to get him because he’s already obsessed. Oh, it would destroy Jace. That dickhead would never recover.” OKAY. I’d be lying if I said that exact scenario hadn’t crossed my mind when Grayson kissed me back. What girl hasn’t daydreamed about dating the perfect guy and getting revenge in the most dramatic way possible? But right now, I couldn’t afford to daydream. Reality was already breathing down my neck. “Tempting. But right now I need a job and enough cash to keep Grandma in her hospital bed. Dating rich dudes isn’t exactly high on my to-do list.” May looked at me with soft eyes. “So…any plans? I can try to hook you up with a job, but you know I just work at a coffee shop, and with your degree, you deserve so much more.” I hugged her. “Thank you. Really. I’ll figure something out. Apex promised me severance when they fired me, so I’m going to HR tomorrow to get it sorted.” If I could get that money, at least I’d be OK for the next round of Grandma’s medical bills. — The next morning, I showed up at Apex right on time. But the second Brielle walked in with the HR manager, I had a bad feeling. “What’s she doing here?” I asked coldly. “I’ll explain in a minute,” HR replied with a polite, rehearsed smile as she sat across from me. “So Ms. Collins, I understand you’re here to discuss severance?” “Yes. So let’s not waste time. Just give me the check and I’ll be out of here.” “Unfortunately, severance only applies when the company terminates a contract without cause. In your case… it appears you were let go due to misconduct.” Misconduct? What the freaking hell. “Jace made a snap decision and booted me. What misconduct are you talking about?” “But that’s not what Mr. Carter said. He provided evidence that you made a costly error on a sales quote—omitting a few zeroes, to be exact. Cost the company millions. Here’s the email record.” She handed me a printed sheet. I swore I had never sent this email in my life. But there it was—my name in the sender field. No freaking way. Jace forged this. “And Mr. Carter reported that you had a difficult attitude toward your coworkers. Quote: ‘impatient and arrogant.’ Brielle’s here to verify that.” Brielle twirled her hair and smiled smugly. “Yeah. Aria was a horrible team player.” I stood so fast my chair screeched. “The only thing I didn’t ‘teamplayed’ with you was flirt with the boss in the breakroom!” “Liar!” she yelled. “And I asked Jace. He never said my voice was screechy!” Oh my God. I couldn’t believe how stupid she was. “Sit down, Miss Collins,” HR warned. “As of now, not only are you not getting severance, but we’re also considering legal action to recover the losses. If you understand the situation here, sign this acknowledgement—” “Does Alpha Grayson know about this?” I asked. Both of them froze. After a long pause, HR finally found her voice. “What does Alpha Grayson have to do with any of this?” “He owns Apex, doesn’t he? Does he know his team is abusing their power and firing hardworking employees illegally?” HR frowned. Brielle let out a loud snort. “Please. Don’t act like you know Alpha Grayson.” “What if I do? What if I go to him and then it’s you who gets fired?” She laughed in my face. “Oh, you mean you know him on TV?” “Let’s find out.” I shoved my chair back and stormed out, heading straight for the CEO’s private elevator at the end of the hall. HR scrambled after me, shouting my name. I was too furious to care how this ended. All I wanted now was to blow the whole damn place up. Two guards stood by the elevator. “I need to see Alpha Grayson,” I told them. “Appointment?” “No, but I swear he knows me. Just tell him it’s Aria—from yesterday. He’ll remember.” “You aren’t the first girl here saying that,” one of them mocked. “Come on, Miss Collins,” HR snapped, trying to drag me back. “This is getting crazy. Go back, sign the paper. Take responsibility for your own mistake.” “I didn’t send that email. It was Jace—he’s framing me! I will report all of you.” “Alpha Grayson doesn’t have time for your report, or your visit, or any of your little drama!” “I believe no one but me has the right to decide that,” a cold voice said behind us. Chapter 4 Take Me, Please Aria’s POV A large hand grabbed my arm and pulled me away from HR’s grip. I looked up and my heart almost stopped. Even I couldn’t believe he just showed up here. It felt like a dream. “A-Alpha Grayson,” HR stammered, her face frozen with shock and fear. “I don’t need employees who think they can make decisions for their boss,” he said freezingly while wrapping his arm around my waist. “If I see something like this again, you’re fired.” “Y-yes, Alpha. I’m terribly sorry…” HR’s expression was priceless, but I was in no mood to enjoy it. His icy pine scent consumed me again, making my body weak and hot. My wolf let out a soft purr, urging me to lean into him. But before I could even move, he let go. A pang of disappointment hit me in the chest. “Come,” he said shortly, striding toward the private elevator. I shot HR and the stunned security guards a smug look, then hurried after him. He swiped his card and the elevator doors closed. We started going up to the 58th floor. It was dead silent. My heart was beating so wildly that I was afraid he’d hear it. I snuck a glance at him—he just stared straight ahead, emotionless, keeping a distance, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Unease twisted my stomach. “So, um… what brings you here today?” I broke the silence. He sighed softly. “I owe this company.” “Oh, Oh…Right.” I wanted to punch myself in the face. The awkward silence lingered until the elevator dinged open. The 58th floor was a wide-open space with no cubicles or dividers—just massive floor-to-ceiling windows and a sweeping view of the entire city. “Wow,” I whispered under my breath. Grayson was already walking ahead. I jogged to catch up as he led me into an office at the far end of the floor. A stunning female assistant closed the door behind us, and once again, it was just the two of us. My heart rocketed back into my throat. He casually unbuttoned his jacket. It was amazing how he made even that look sexy. “So you insisted on seeing me?” he asked. He didn’t ask me to sit. He didn’t even move closer. That distance stung a little. “I worked here till a week ago when I found out I was let go for no reason…” I quickly told him the story of how I was fired. “This is clearly illegal in so many ways… can you help me get my job back?” “Unfortunately, no,” he replied, barely hesitating. My heart dropped like a stone. “Why not?” “I’ll have the hiring department look into whether your termination followed proper protocol. But this isn’t something a CEO handles directly. Anything else?” The hiring department? That could take weeks—and I didn’t have weeks. “No… you don’t get it,” I stepped forward, my voice trembling. “My grandma’s in the hospital. Her bills are getting insane every month. And I’m already deep in debt… If I can’t make money, I don’t even know— I really, REALLY need this job.” I knew we came from two different worlds, but laying out the most desperate parts of my life in front of him still made me feel horribly exposed. I just hoped—begged—that he’d understand. But he didn’t. His gray eyes stayed emotionless. “I’m sorry, Miss Collins,” he said quietly. Tears rushed into my eyes. I couldn’t even breathe. All I could think about were the bills, the debt, the mountain of shit waiting for me the second I left this building. “If there’s nothing else, my assistant will show you out.” he said, reaching for the intercom. I rushed forward and pressed my hand down on his before he could call anyone in. His whole body stiffened—but he didn’t pull away. He just stared down at me. I stepped in closer, tilting my head up. His gray eyes darkened like a storm brewing in the distance. His pine scent wrapped around me again, thick and intoxicating. As werewolves, our scent only spikes during a fight or sexual arousal. It was damn obvious which case this was. “You clearly feel something for me,” I whispered. He said nothing. I placed my hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat. It was racing as well. His breathing had also turned shallow. “What are you doing, Miss Collins?” he asked tightly. “Trying to seduce your way into a job?” “You can do whatever you want,” I locked eyes with him. “I won’t stop you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. God, I wanted to lick it. And… well, I did. I leaned up and pressed my lips to it. He let out a growl. The next second, I was pinned on his desk. He stood between my spread legs, one hand by my head. I whimpered, clamping my thighs together—the heat between them was almost unbearable. Just like in the backseat of his car. His hand slid from the desk to my throat. It was so big, he could probably snap my neck if he wanted. “You shouldn’t keep tempting me, Miss Collins.” His body was pressed against my thighs—I definitely felt the effect I was having on him. “Why?” I whispered, licking my lips. “Because your self-control isn’t as strong as you thought?” “Because I don’t fuck virgins.” What the actual hell The next second, he had pulled away. I scrambled off the desk, face red, eyes wide. “What did you just say?!” I snapped. “Why—How the hell do you even know—?” “I know who you are. And I know about your relationship with my sister’s husband.” And just like that, everything clicked. It was Jace. That bastard didn’t just dump me—he ran his mouth about my virginity to everyone, including Grayson. Humiliation crashed over me like a wave. “Jace is a fucking asshole,” I snapped shakily. Grayson shrugged. “Obviously. But Brielle likes him. And he’s family now. I’m sorry but I just can’t get involved in this.” I climbed off his desk with my whole body red and shaking. He didn’t want me. And he was taking his sister and Jace’s side. I was so damn stupid to think that one kiss in the car actually meant anything. But this was Grayson Hart for Christ’s sake. He could have anyone he wanted. “I’m sure you’re a very capable employee, Miss Collins. But seducing me won’t help your career. I wish you all the best.” He finally pressed the intercom button. His assistant appeared at the door, waiting for me to leave. “Bye,” I whispered without even look back. I didn’t want him to notice my falling tears. I walked out of that office, numb, and rode the elevator down like a ghost. My mind was a storm of bills, debt, and Grayson’s ice-cold stare. Now I desperately needed a new job. “Miss Collins!” I turned and saw his assistant come rushing out again, holding an envelope. “Alpha Grayson asked me to give you this,” she said, handing it over. “What is it?” Why didn’t he give it to me earlier? “He didn’t say. Maybe you’ll know once you open it.” She gave me a mysterious smile and walked away. I opened the envelope. A blank check slid out first—I held my breath in shock. Then I found a crumpled note. His handwriting, rushed and messy. Haven’t repaid you for the shirt. Hope everything works out for you Aria. Stay strong. —Grayson Chapter 5 Getting My Attention Aria’s POV “That check clearly means something,” May insisted. “Come on. We’re not doing this again,” I sighed. “If he’s not into you, then why did he let his assistant come after you with a check? He probably saw you crying and couldn’t stand it. You should definitely go back and see him again.” “Nope,” I shut it down immediately. “I had one perfect, fairytale encounter with a rich bachelor. That’s enough. I’m not about to go back there and humiliate myself all over again.” “But—” “Hey, you two!” our manager yelled from the other end of the aisle. “Less talking, more working!” We rolled our eyes at each other and got back to inventory. May had helped me land this supermarket job. It was part of a chain under a big corporation, so the pay and benefits weren’t bad. May still thought it was beneath someone with my degree, but honestly, I was just grateful to be employed. Once we finished our section, the manager wandered off to shout at someone else, and May scooted back over to me. “Just imagine it,” she grinned. “You could write a couple million on that blank check and boom! Instant rich girl life.” “I’m not gonna do that.” “Sure you won’t. You’re too nice,” she muttered, half-admiring, half-scolding. “So? What are you gonna write?” I hesitated. At first, I actually considered writing the price of a shirt. 19.99 that was. Because apparently, my dignity still thinks it matters. But let’s be real, if Grayson was just trying to pay me back for a ripped tee, he would’ve handed his assistant a $20 bill, not a blank check. Maybe… he felt bad I lost my job too. “I’m going to write the amount I should’ve gotten in severance,” I admitted eventually. May's eyes bulged. “That’s it?!” “I know it’s not much, but it’s what I actually deserve. And it’ll help me cover two months of bills.” She sighed like I was letting go of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But my mind was made up. This was my chance to walk away from the mess. I still wanted to rip Jace’s smug face off, but the best revenge right now was surviving. 6 hours later, we finished our shift exhausted and aching. Everyone else got to clock out, but not me—I’d volunteered for night shift and closing duties. The staffs left one by one, yawning, including May. Finally I was alone in this big market. Now here’s the big secret— I actually lived here now. Nobody knew this, not even May. She thought I’d found a new apartment and moved out, but I just couldn’t keep bothering her anymore—her roommates were getting irritated with me hogging the living room and utilities. And renting my own place seemed way out of budget now. So I stayed in this supermarket instead. I closed up the store at night and opened it early in the morning. For the 5 or 6 hours in between, I made a bed out of my coat and slept on the floor near the refrigerated section. Now don’t ask me why I can’t sleep in the staff’s break room. That room was too hot without AC. At least it was cool by the freezer. Tonight I was extra exhausted. The manager made us girls haul too many heavy crates around. I passed out in seconds. But it felt like I’d only been asleep for five minutes—my alarm hadn’t even gone off yet—when I was jolted awake by someone screaming. “OH MY GOD—what the hell are you doing?!” I shot upright, completely disoriented. And froze. In front of me stood an entire group of people—including the manager and several guys in suits, all staring at me wide eyes. And I was only in a tank top and shorts. Half naked. OH GOD. What the hell—Is it morning already?! Why didn’t I hear my alarm? I scrambled to pull my clothes over my body, my hands shaking. The stares didn’t stop. They got more invasive. “Aria Collins! What the fuck are you doing?!” the manager stormed over and roared. “Napping half-naked in my fucking store?! Are you a fucking sex perv?!” My face went beet red, “No! I—I was just staying here temporarily—” “Temporarily?!” he yelled, eyes bulging. “I hired an employee, not a fucking squatter! How much water and electricity have you used free?! Are you stealing food too?!” “No I swear. I shut everything off when I’m done, I don’t use the water unless I have to. And I paid for everything I’ve eaten.” Tears blurred my vision as I tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening. His spit actually hit my cheek as he snarled. “Of all days—you had to pick the day corporate shows up to camp out in my perfect store. You filthy, disgusting little—” “Aria Collins?” A new voice called my name. It came from one of the suited men. I looked up—and my heart dropped. It was Jonathan. A former coworker from Apex. “Holy shit, it is you,” he grinned, raising his brows. “Almost didn’t recognize you at first.” “You… what are you doing here?” I stammered. “Apex owns this supermarket chain. We’re doing site inspections today,” he said with a smirk, his eyes trailing down to my bare legs. “Man! Most people hit rock bottom after getting fired from Apex, but you fall faster than anyone.” “I’m working. Making a decent living,” I said in shaky voice. “There’s no shame with that.” “Oh really?” he sneered. “Does your job include lying around half-naked on the floor? What is this, a new hooker gimmick?” The suits burst out laughing. My furious tears were on the verge of falling. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll fire her right away.” The manager groaned. “Hold up,” Jonathan drawled with a smirk. “This chick got fired from Apex for messing up a seven-figure deal. You might wanna check your inventory. She could be stealing.” “You know that’s a lie. Jace got me fired out of spite! I never made a mistake—” “Oh please,” he cut me off. “Everyone in the industry knows how you fucked up. Jace was so embarrassed that he had to apologize for you.” The manager grabbed my wrist. “Then you’re definitely stealing from this market as well. That’s it you are going to jail. When I figure out what you’ve taken, you must pay back everything!” My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t doubt for a second that the manager would come up with something that I didn’t steal, just like how Jace framed me before. It wasn’t hard for guys like them. But I couldn’t go to jail. My grandma had no one to count on but me. I can’t leave her. The wolf in me surfaced up the next second—I snarled at the manager, yanked my arm free, and ran. “Stop her!” someone shouted behind me. I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I had to escape. I bolted out of the store, desperate and horrified—and slammed right into a solid chest. “Get away from Alpha!” a bodyguard barked. But he pulled me in instead. “Aria?” I was still shaking involuntarily. He unbuttoned the front and wrapped me in, covering my half-naked body. “It’s OK.” his voice was deep with clear hint of rage. I clutched his shirt, gasping for air. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to breathe at all. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Yet I couldn’t make a sound. “She’s having a panic attack,” a woman said nearby. “Alpha, if I may—” I silently prayed him not to hand me over. And he didn’t. “It’s fine, Nova,” he refused. “Aria, you’re safe now. Breathe.” Panicked footsteps echoed behind us. Jonathan’s voice rang out, stunned: “Alpha Grayson! Oh God—w-what’s going on here?!” “Nova,” Grayson said in a cold, dangerous voice, “stay here. Don’t let anyone leave.” “Yes, Alpha.” He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, one arm under my legs, the other around my back. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. Then he carried me through the crowd, into the store, and into a private room. When he set me down in a chair, I was still trembling and sobbing. He finally took off his coat and draped it over my legs, then crouched down in front of me. “You’re safe here,” he said. That’s when I broke down. Crying out loud. Everything—fear, shame, panic—everything spilled out in a messy, helpless flood. I clutched his wrist like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and for once… he didn’t pull away. He said nothing the whole time. Just stayed there with me until the sobs quieted. “Th-thank you…I’m better now.” I sniffled. He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. I trembled at the way he touched my skin. His voice was low, rough, and a little strained. “You’re starting to make me wonder, Miss Collins. If all these run-ins are just your way of getting my attention.”
I'm a GP, and last Tuesday a patient of mine asked if she could stop her B12 injections. Not because she'd given up on getting better. Because of something that showed up in her cognitive screen that I have never seen in 23 years of practice. I've been managing B12 deficiency in this surgery for over two decades. I've seen the standard pattern. The bloods come back low. We start the injections, hydroxocobalamin, every twelve weeks. Within a few months the serum levels come back into range. We tell the patient they need the injections for life because the underlying absorption issue doesn't go away. Some of them feel a bit sharper at first. Most plateau. Most of the cognitive symptoms, the fog, the slow word-finding, the memory slips, never quite resolve. We tell them this is what age-related decline looks like alongside well-managed B12. We tell them to stay the course. Last Tuesday, one of them didn't. Her name is Barbara. She's been my patient for four years now, and she was coming in for the same review she gets every six months. Cognitive complaints. Quarterly hydroxocobalamin injections, by our practice nurse, since shortly after her bloods came back low at the start of all this. Score on the cognitive screen had been dropping by about two points each visit despite the injections doing their job on her serum levels. I expected the usual. A small further drop. Maybe stable if she was lucky. A conversation about whether donepezil should join the picture. Confirmation that she'd be in next month for her next injection. I did the screen. And I just stopped. Her score had gone up. Not by a small margin. By a margin I have never seen in a patient with mild cognitive impairment in 23 years of practice. Three points up. Above where she'd been when I first started recording her cognitive complaints four years ago. I looked at her. "What have you been doing differently?" "Nothing crazy. Just something a friend in my book group told me about." I didn't believe her. "New medication? Did anything change with your other prescriptions?" "No, nothing prescription. I just want to ask you something. Can I stop the injections? I don't think I need them anymore." I pulled up her records from six months ago and compared them side by side. Her trajectory had reversed. In 23 years of treating cognitive complaints in this surgery, with patients on B12 injections, on the standard schedule, on the formulary medication, doing everything we'd told them to do, I have watched scores go in one direction. Down. Lower over time. More forgetting. More confusion. More worry. This one went the other way. I sat back in my chair and I told her, honestly. "Barbara, I'd like to keep you on the injections for now while we work this out. But I need to understand what changed. Because these numbers don't match anything in your treatment history, and they don't match anything I've seen in 23 years." That's when Barbara told me everything. She said for the past four years, every six months, she'd sit in my surgery and hear the same thing. Levels are fine. Stay the course. We'll keep an eye on it. And every six months she'd go home and try something new on her own, because the course wasn't getting her where she wanted to be. She tried sleep first. The leaflet from the surgery said sleep was the foundation. She bought a new mattress. She stopped looking at her phone after 9pm. She read books about sleep. She got eight hours a night for four months solid. The fog was the same. She tried diet after that. Mediterranean. Oily fish twice a week. Blueberries every morning. Walnuts as snacks. Olive oil instead of butter. She did it for five months. Her cholesterol came down a few points. The fog was still there. She tried exercise. Walking five mornings a week, twenty-two minutes a loop around her village. Then she joined a Pilates class. Then a tai chi class on Saturdays. Her hip hurt less. Her sleep improved further. The fog stayed. And then there were the injections themselves. The first one had genuinely helped. She said the brain fog had lifted for nearly three weeks after that first appointment, and she'd told her sister about it the next time they had tea, that was the first time in two years she'd told someone something hopeful. The second injection helped a bit less. By the fourth injection she was barely noticing a difference. But her serum B12 was 'within range' so we kept her on the schedule. Twelve-weekly. Four years now. A small puncture and a small bruise and a small lift that had stopped lifting two and a half years ago. She told me she had almost accepted it. That this was just her life now. Coming in every twelve weeks for a jab in the arm. Watching the screen score creep down in between. Sitting in my surgery while I talked, kindly, about what we'd do next. Going home and feeling herself slip a little further every month and not being able to point to anything specific. Just the slow accumulation of a hundred small absences. She told me about her mother. How her mother started forgetting where she'd put her handbag in her late sixties. How she'd ask Barbara the same question three times in an evening. How she'd lose the thread of a story halfway through telling it. How she'd come into the kitchen and stand there for several seconds trying to remember why she'd come in. Small things at first. Things you tell yourself are just normal. Things Barbara used to laugh about with her sister, in the way you laugh about something because the alternative is crying about it. By the time her mother was 76, she didn't know which day of the week it was. By 78, she was getting lost on the route to the corner shop she'd been walking to for thirty years. By 79, she put the kettle in the fridge twice in one week. By 81, when Barbara visited her in the home, her mother looked up from her chair and asked the carer who the lady at the door was. Barbara was the lady at the door. Her only daughter. I hear that story every week in this surgery. Different names. Same road. Then she told me what changed. About five months ago, a friend in her book group told her about something she'd been giving her husband. This friend explained something Barbara had never heard from me, or from any specialist she'd ever seen. She said the reason B12 didn't work isn't because it's a bad idea. It's because most vitamin B supplements out there aren't in the forms your body can actually use immediately. And here is the part that stopped me, when Barbara repeated it to me, because the friend, somehow, had also understood that this was true of the injections. Not just supermarket B12 tablets. The injections too. Here's what she explained, and I'm going to put it in terms that make sense, because I've come to believe she was right and it matters. Around every nerve fibre in your brain, and there are billions of them, there is a fatty insulating layer called the myelin sheath. It's what allows electrical signals to travel cleanly and quickly along the nerve. When the myelin sheath is healthy, signals fire fast and clean. Thoughts complete themselves. Words arrive when you reach for them. Names stay where they should. The whole system runs the way it's supposed to. When the myelin sheath starts to break down, signals slow. They scatter. They lose definition. Thoughts take longer. Words don't arrive. Movements feel a half-beat behind. The whole nervous system runs at a lower register. That's the brain fog. That's the morning where the names aren't there. That's the conversation where you lose the thread. The myelin sheath is something your body has to actively maintain. Every day. With the right materials. The most important of those materials is B12, but specifically, the active form of it. The one called methylcobalamin. The B12 injections we routinely prescribe are hydroxocobalamin. That's not the same as cyanocobalamin in supermarket B12 tablets, it's closer to what your body needs. But it's still not the active form. It still requires a conversion step. And for people whose conversion enzymes are struggling, which is most people over 60, that conversion remains the bottleneck. Which is why Barbara's serum B12 was beautiful and her cognitive function wasn't. The injection delivered B12 to her bloodstream. The B12 in her bloodstream was almost the right form. Not quite. The myelin sheath was still hungry. That's why the first injection had helped. There was such a deficit when she started that even partial conversion produced a noticeable effect. Then the conversion enzymes hit their ceiling. The injections kept her serum levels topped up. The myelin kept thinning. The cognitive screen kept dropping. And we kept her on the schedule because the schedule was what the schedule was. When Barbara explained this to me, I'll be honest. I knew the underlying biology. I studied B12 metabolism in medical school. I've read the research on methylation pathways. I've ordered countless courses of hydroxocobalamin in this surgery without really thinking about it, because that's what the formulary stocks and that's what we do. But I had never put it together with what I was seeing in patients like Barbara. Patients whose injections were keeping their serum levels textbook-perfect. Whose cognitive screens kept dropping anyway. Patients I'd been telling, kindly, that some of this is just normal aging on top of well-managed B12. And I had never seen a patient's score actually go up. Not stable. Not slow the decline. Actually improve. That's what was sitting in front of me on her form. "So what did you do about it?" I asked her. She told me her friend had pointed her to a brand called rynw. A British company that uses the active forms of every B vitamin. Methylcobalamin instead of cyanocobalamin or hydroxocobalamin. Methylfolate instead of folic acid. P5P instead of pyridoxine. Already in the forms the body can use the moment they're absorbed, regardless of whether the conversion machinery is still working. "It's not a miracle pill," she said. "I kept going to my injection appointments. I still went to bed early. I still walked. I still ate the fish. But this was the first thing that actually moved the fog." I asked her to walk me through her timeline. She said the first week, she slept a little longer before her brain came online in the morning. She wasn't sure if it was real or if she just wanted it to be. By week two, she remembered her grandson's friends' names without having to scroll through her phone. First time in over a year. By week three, she went back to the morning crossword. Not the cryptic one, the quick one. But she finished it before her tea went cold, which she hadn't been able to do in two years. By month two, she went to her granddaughter's school play and sat through the whole hour and a half. She said she remembered the songs, the names of the characters, the bit at the end where the frog was supposed to be a prince. She was actually there. Present. Not just managing. Month three, she finished the book her book group had been reading. The first book she'd finished in over a year. Month five, she was sitting in my surgery with a cognitive screen score that had gone in the wrong direction. The good kind of wrong. And she was asking if it was time to come off injections she'd been having every twelve weeks for the last four years. After Barbara left that day, I spent the entire evening reading everything I could find on methylcobalamin and the maintenance of myelin in older adults. The research backed up what she'd told me. The pathway was real. The form distinction was real. The studies were real. The largest, run out of Oxford, had followed several hundred people with mild cognitive impairment over two years. The group taking active forms of B vitamins lost brain tissue at a dramatically slower rate than the placebo group. The effect was strongest in the regions most responsible for memory and clear thinking. I'd known about that study. I just hadn't translated it into anything I did differently in clinic. But here's what I also learned, and it matters. Not all active-form B vitamins are the same. Most products that claim to use methylcobalamin or methylfolate actually use them in token amounts, alongside large quantities of the cheaper cyanocobalamin and folic acid, to keep the bottle cost down. Or they use the active forms at doses well below what the actual research used. I told Barbara I wanted to check her serum B12 first before we made any decision about the injections. We took her bloods. The result came back two days later. Her B12 was at the higher end of the range. Higher than she'd been on hydroxocobalamin alone in the past two years. Whatever she was now taking, in whatever form, was reaching her bloodstream, and the cognitive screen score told me it was reaching her myelin sheath, even before the bloodwork confirmed the first part. I rang her that afternoon. I told her if her next bloods in three months remained adequate, we could discuss switching from twelve-weekly hydroxocobalamin to daily oral active-form maintenance, with monitoring. That's a conversation she and I would have, with her bloods in front of us. I wanted to keep watching. But I'm telling you, after twenty-three years of writing standing prescriptions for hydroxocobalamin every twelve weeks for life, the conversation about transitioning a stable patient off injections, with her serum levels and her cognitive function in range simultaneously, that's not a conversation I would have considered before Barbara walked into my surgery last Tuesday. I started recommending rynw, quietly, to a few of my patients. The ones who were where Barbara had been six months ago. The ones whose injections were doing what injections are supposed to do, but who were still slipping in every other way that mattered. I'm watching their results now. And I'm seeing things I don't normally see. If you're reading this right now because your B12 levels are 'within range' and your memory keeps slipping anyway. If you've been on the injections for years and the first one helped but none of the others did. If you've done the sleep, the diet, the walking, and the fog is still there. If you watched your mother or your father go through this and you're quietly watching the same thing happen in your own head, one small absence at a time, and nobody can tell you how to get off the road you're on. You're not imagining it. You're not being dramatic. You don't just have to accept this. You were treating the bloodwork. Nobody was treating the myelin sheath. And without a maintained myelin sheath, none of the rest of it makes a lasting difference. The active forms of B vitamins reach the myelin sheath directly, regardless of whether your conversion enzymes are still working. The myelin gets the support it needs. Signals start firing cleanly again. The fog lifts. Words start arriving. The cycle starts to break. Not because something forced it. Because your body is doing what it already knows how to do. You just had to give it the form it can actually use. But only if the form is right. Only if the dose matches the research. Only if it's tested. rynw is the brand I've been recommending. I picked it because it's the only one I could find in the UK that uses the active forms of every key ingredient, methylcobalamin, methylfolate, P5P, at the doses the actual clinical research uses. British company. Third-party tested for purity. No fillers. 30 days to try it. If nothing changes, full refund. No questions. A note on the injections. If you're currently on B12 injections, do not stop them on your own. They are doing important work on your serum levels, and the absorption issue that put you on them is still real. What you can do is talk to your GP about adding the active forms, and then, with monitoring and proper bloodwork, having a conversation about whether the schedule still needs to be what it is. If by the end of week one you're remembering names you'd been forgetting. If by week two you finish a crossword for the first time in a year. If by week three you sit through a school play and you're actually present. If a month from now your book group meets and you've actually finished the book. If three months from now your GP runs your cognitive screen and stops. And looks at you. And asks if it might be time to think about whether the twelve-weekly injection schedule is still what's needed. You'll wish you'd found this years ago. I know Barbara does. - Dr. Catherine Bennett 👉 https://rynw.com/products/b-complex
I'm a GP, and last Tuesday a patient of mine asked if she could stop her B12 injections. Not because she'd given up on getting better. Because of something that showed up in her cognitive screen that I have never seen in 23 years of practice. I've been managing B12 deficiency in this surgery for over two decades. I've seen the standard pattern. The bloods come back low. We start the injections, hydroxocobalamin, every twelve weeks. Within a few months the serum levels come back into range. We tell the patient they need the injections for life because the underlying absorption issue doesn't go away. Some of them feel a bit sharper at first. Most plateau. Most of the cognitive symptoms, the fog, the slow word-finding, the memory slips, never quite resolve. We tell them this is what age-related decline looks like alongside well-managed B12. We tell them to stay the course. Last Tuesday, one of them didn't. Her name is Barbara. She's been my patient for four years now, and she was coming in for the same review she gets every six months. Cognitive complaints. Quarterly hydroxocobalamin injections, by our practice nurse, since shortly after her bloods came back low at the start of all this. Score on the cognitive screen had been dropping by about two points each visit despite the injections doing their job on her serum levels. I expected the usual. A small further drop. Maybe stable if she was lucky. A conversation about whether donepezil should join the picture. Confirmation that she'd be in next month for her next injection. I did the screen. And I just stopped. Her score had gone up. Not by a small margin. By a margin I have never seen in a patient with mild cognitive impairment in 23 years of practice. Three points up. Above where she'd been when I first started recording her cognitive complaints four years ago. I looked at her. "What have you been doing differently?" "Nothing crazy. Just something a friend in my book group told me about." I didn't believe her. "New medication? Did anything change with your other prescriptions?" "No, nothing prescription. I just want to ask you something. Can I stop the injections? I don't think I need them anymore." I pulled up her records from six months ago and compared them side by side. Her trajectory had reversed. In 23 years of treating cognitive complaints in this surgery, with patients on B12 injections, on the standard schedule, on the formulary medication, doing everything we'd told them to do, I have watched scores go in one direction. Down. Lower over time. More forgetting. More confusion. More worry. This one went the other way. I sat back in my chair and I told her, honestly. "Barbara, I'd like to keep you on the injections for now while we work this out. But I need to understand what changed. Because these numbers don't match anything in your treatment history, and they don't match anything I've seen in 23 years." That's when Barbara told me everything. She said for the past four years, every six months, she'd sit in my surgery and hear the same thing. Levels are fine. Stay the course. We'll keep an eye on it. And every six months she'd go home and try something new on her own, because the course wasn't getting her where she wanted to be. She tried sleep first. The leaflet from the surgery said sleep was the foundation. She bought a new mattress. She stopped looking at her phone after 9pm. She read books about sleep. She got eight hours a night for four months solid. The fog was the same. She tried diet after that. Mediterranean. Oily fish twice a week. Blueberries every morning. Walnuts as snacks. Olive oil instead of butter. She did it for five months. Her cholesterol came down a few points. The fog was still there. She tried exercise. Walking five mornings a week, twenty-two minutes a loop around her village. Then she joined a Pilates class. Then a tai chi class on Saturdays. Her hip hurt less. Her sleep improved further. The fog stayed. And then there were the injections themselves. The first one had genuinely helped. She said the brain fog had lifted for nearly three weeks after that first appointment, and she'd told her sister about it the next time they had tea, that was the first time in two years she'd told someone something hopeful. The second injection helped a bit less. By the fourth injection she was barely noticing a difference. But her serum B12 was 'within range' so we kept her on the schedule. Twelve-weekly. Four years now. A small puncture and a small bruise and a small lift that had stopped lifting two and a half years ago. She told me she had almost accepted it. That this was just her life now. Coming in every twelve weeks for a jab in the arm. Watching the screen score creep down in between. Sitting in my surgery while I talked, kindly, about what we'd do next. Going home and feeling herself slip a little further every month and not being able to point to anything specific. Just the slow accumulation of a hundred small absences. She told me about her mother. How her mother started forgetting where she'd put her handbag in her late sixties. How she'd ask Barbara the same question three times in an evening. How she'd lose the thread of a story halfway through telling it. How she'd come into the kitchen and stand there for several seconds trying to remember why she'd come in. Small things at first. Things you tell yourself are just normal. Things Barbara used to laugh about with her sister, in the way you laugh about something because the alternative is crying about it. By the time her mother was 76, she didn't know which day of the week it was. By 78, she was getting lost on the route to the corner shop she'd been walking to for thirty years. By 79, she put the kettle in the fridge twice in one week. By 81, when Barbara visited her in the home, her mother looked up from her chair and asked the carer who the lady at the door was. Barbara was the lady at the door. Her only daughter. I hear that story every week in this surgery. Different names. Same road. Then she told me what changed. About five months ago, a friend in her book group told her about something she'd been giving her husband. This friend explained something Barbara had never heard from me, or from any specialist she'd ever seen. She said the reason B12 didn't work isn't because it's a bad idea. It's because most vitamin B supplements out there aren't in the forms your body can actually use immediately. And here is the part that stopped me, when Barbara repeated it to me, because the friend, somehow, had also understood that this was true of the injections. Not just supermarket B12 tablets. The injections too. Here's what she explained, and I'm going to put it in terms that make sense, because I've come to believe she was right and it matters. Around every nerve fibre in your brain, and there are billions of them, there is a fatty insulating layer called the myelin sheath. It's what allows electrical signals to travel cleanly and quickly along the nerve. When the myelin sheath is healthy, signals fire fast and clean. Thoughts complete themselves. Words arrive when you reach for them. Names stay where they should. The whole system runs the way it's supposed to. When the myelin sheath starts to break down, signals slow. They scatter. They lose definition. Thoughts take longer. Words don't arrive. Movements feel a half-beat behind. The whole nervous system runs at a lower register. That's the brain fog. That's the morning where the names aren't there. That's the conversation where you lose the thread. The myelin sheath is something your body has to actively maintain. Every day. With the right materials. The most important of those materials is B12, but specifically, the active form of it. The one called methylcobalamin. The B12 injections we routinely prescribe are hydroxocobalamin. That's not the same as cyanocobalamin in supermarket B12 tablets, it's closer to what your body needs. But it's still not the active form. It still requires a conversion step. And for people whose conversion enzymes are struggling, which is most people over 60, that conversion remains the bottleneck. Which is why Barbara's serum B12 was beautiful and her cognitive function wasn't. The injection delivered B12 to her bloodstream. The B12 in her bloodstream was almost the right form. Not quite. The myelin sheath was still hungry. That's why the first injection had helped. There was such a deficit when she started that even partial conversion produced a noticeable effect. Then the conversion enzymes hit their ceiling. The injections kept her serum levels topped up. The myelin kept thinning. The cognitive screen kept dropping. And we kept her on the schedule because the schedule was what the schedule was. When Barbara explained this to me, I'll be honest. I knew the underlying biology. I studied B12 metabolism in medical school. I've read the research on methylation pathways. I've ordered countless courses of hydroxocobalamin in this surgery without really thinking about it, because that's what the formulary stocks and that's what we do. But I had never put it together with what I was seeing in patients like Barbara. Patients whose injections were keeping their serum levels textbook-perfect. Whose cognitive screens kept dropping anyway. Patients I'd been telling, kindly, that some of this is just normal aging on top of well-managed B12. And I had never seen a patient's score actually go up. Not stable. Not slow the decline. Actually improve. That's what was sitting in front of me on her form. "So what did you do about it?" I asked her. She told me her friend had pointed her to a brand called rynw. A British company that uses the active forms of every B vitamin. Methylcobalamin instead of cyanocobalamin or hydroxocobalamin. Methylfolate instead of folic acid. P5P instead of pyridoxine. Already in the forms the body can use the moment they're absorbed, regardless of whether the conversion machinery is still working. "It's not a miracle pill," she said. "I kept going to my injection appointments. I still went to bed early. I still walked. I still ate the fish. But this was the first thing that actually moved the fog." I asked her to walk me through her timeline. She said the first week, she slept a little longer before her brain came online in the morning. She wasn't sure if it was real or if she just wanted it to be. By week two, she remembered her grandson's friends' names without having to scroll through her phone. First time in over a year. By week three, she went back to the morning crossword. Not the cryptic one, the quick one. But she finished it before her tea went cold, which she hadn't been able to do in two years. By month two, she went to her granddaughter's school play and sat through the whole hour and a half. She said she remembered the songs, the names of the characters, the bit at the end where the frog was supposed to be a prince. She was actually there. Present. Not just managing. Month three, she finished the book her book group had been reading. The first book she'd finished in over a year. Month five, she was sitting in my surgery with a cognitive screen score that had gone in the wrong direction. The good kind of wrong. And she was asking if it was time to come off injections she'd been having every twelve weeks for the last four years. After Barbara left that day, I spent the entire evening reading everything I could find on methylcobalamin and the maintenance of myelin in older adults. The research backed up what she'd told me. The pathway was real. The form distinction was real. The studies were real. The largest, run out of Oxford, had followed several hundred people with mild cognitive impairment over two years. The group taking active forms of B vitamins lost brain tissue at a dramatically slower rate than the placebo group. The effect was strongest in the regions most responsible for memory and clear thinking. I'd known about that study. I just hadn't translated it into anything I did differently in clinic. But here's what I also learned, and it matters. Not all active-form B vitamins are the same. Most products that claim to use methylcobalamin or methylfolate actually use them in token amounts, alongside large quantities of the cheaper cyanocobalamin and folic acid, to keep the bottle cost down. Or they use the active forms at doses well below what the actual research used. I told Barbara I wanted to check her serum B12 first before we made any decision about the injections. We took her bloods. The result came back two days later. Her B12 was at the higher end of the range. Higher than she'd been on hydroxocobalamin alone in the past two years. Whatever she was now taking, in whatever form, was reaching her bloodstream, and the cognitive screen score told me it was reaching her myelin sheath, even before the bloodwork confirmed the first part. I rang her that afternoon. I told her if her next bloods in three months remained adequate, we could discuss switching from twelve-weekly hydroxocobalamin to daily oral active-form maintenance, with monitoring. That's a conversation she and I would have, with her bloods in front of us. I wanted to keep watching. But I'm telling you, after twenty-three years of writing standing prescriptions for hydroxocobalamin every twelve weeks for life, the conversation about transitioning a stable patient off injections, with her serum levels and her cognitive function in range simultaneously, that's not a conversation I would have considered before Barbara walked into my surgery last Tuesday. I started recommending rynw, quietly, to a few of my patients. The ones who were where Barbara had been six months ago. The ones whose injections were doing what injections are supposed to do, but who were still slipping in every other way that mattered. I'm watching their results now. And I'm seeing things I don't normally see. If you're reading this right now because your B12 levels are 'within range' and your memory keeps slipping anyway. If you've been on the injections for years and the first one helped but none of the others did. If you've done the sleep, the diet, the walking, and the fog is still there. If you watched your mother or your father go through this and you're quietly watching the same thing happen in your own head, one small absence at a time, and nobody can tell you how to get off the road you're on. You're not imagining it. You're not being dramatic. You don't just have to accept this. You were treating the bloodwork. Nobody was treating the myelin sheath. And without a maintained myelin sheath, none of the rest of it makes a lasting difference. The active forms of B vitamins reach the myelin sheath directly, regardless of whether your conversion enzymes are still working. The myelin gets the support it needs. Signals start firing cleanly again. The fog lifts. Words start arriving. The cycle starts to break. Not because something forced it. Because your body is doing what it already knows how to do. You just had to give it the form it can actually use. But only if the form is right. Only if the dose matches the research. Only if it's tested. rynw is the brand I've been recommending. I picked it because it's the only one I could find in the UK that uses the active forms of every key ingredient, methylcobalamin, methylfolate, P5P, at the doses the actual clinical research uses. British company. Third-party tested for purity. No fillers. 30 days to try it. If nothing changes, full refund. No questions. A note on the injections. If you're currently on B12 injections, do not stop them on your own. They are doing important work on your serum levels, and the absorption issue that put you on them is still real. What you can do is talk to your GP about adding the active forms, and then, with monitoring and proper bloodwork, having a conversation about whether the schedule still needs to be what it is. If by the end of week one you're remembering names you'd been forgetting. If by week two you finish a crossword for the first time in a year. If by week three you sit through a school play and you're actually present. If a month from now your book group meets and you've actually finished the book. If three months from now your GP runs your cognitive screen and stops. And looks at you. And asks if it might be time to think about whether the twelve-weekly injection schedule is still what's needed. You'll wish you'd found this years ago. I know Barbara does. - Dr. Catherine Bennett 👉 https://rynw.com/products/b-complex
I'm a GP, and last Tuesday a patient of mine asked if she could stop her B12 injections. Not because she'd given up on getting better. Because of something that showed up in her cognitive screen that I have never seen in 23 years of practice. I've been managing B12 deficiency in this surgery for over two decades. I've seen the standard pattern. The bloods come back low. We start the injections, hydroxocobalamin, every twelve weeks. Within a few months the serum levels come back into range. We tell the patient they need the injections for life because the underlying absorption issue doesn't go away. Some of them feel a bit sharper at first. Most plateau. Most of the cognitive symptoms, the fog, the slow word-finding, the memory slips, never quite resolve. We tell them this is what age-related decline looks like alongside well-managed B12. We tell them to stay the course. Last Tuesday, one of them didn't. Her name is Barbara. She's been my patient for four years now, and she was coming in for the same review she gets every six months. Cognitive complaints. Quarterly hydroxocobalamin injections, by our practice nurse, since shortly after her bloods came back low at the start of all this. Score on the cognitive screen had been dropping by about two points each visit despite the injections doing their job on her serum levels. I expected the usual. A small further drop. Maybe stable if she was lucky. A conversation about whether donepezil should join the picture. Confirmation that she'd be in next month for her next injection. I did the screen. And I just stopped. Her score had gone up. Not by a small margin. By a margin I have never seen in a patient with mild cognitive impairment in 23 years of practice. Three points up. Above where she'd been when I first started recording her cognitive complaints four years ago. I looked at her. "What have you been doing differently?" "Nothing crazy. Just something a friend in my book group told me about." I didn't believe her. "New medication? Did anything change with your other prescriptions?" "No, nothing prescription. I just want to ask you something. Can I stop the injections? I don't think I need them anymore." I pulled up her records from six months ago and compared them side by side. Her trajectory had reversed. In 23 years of treating cognitive complaints in this surgery, with patients on B12 injections, on the standard schedule, on the formulary medication, doing everything we'd told them to do, I have watched scores go in one direction. Down. Lower over time. More forgetting. More confusion. More worry. This one went the other way. I sat back in my chair and I told her, honestly. "Barbara, I'd like to keep you on the injections for now while we work this out. But I need to understand what changed. Because these numbers don't match anything in your treatment history, and they don't match anything I've seen in 23 years." That's when Barbara told me everything. She said for the past four years, every six months, she'd sit in my surgery and hear the same thing. Levels are fine. Stay the course. We'll keep an eye on it. And every six months she'd go home and try something new on her own, because the course wasn't getting her where she wanted to be. She tried sleep first. The leaflet from the surgery said sleep was the foundation. She bought a new mattress. She stopped looking at her phone after 9pm. She read books about sleep. She got eight hours a night for four months solid. The fog was the same. She tried diet after that. Mediterranean. Oily fish twice a week. Blueberries every morning. Walnuts as snacks. Olive oil instead of butter. She did it for five months. Her cholesterol came down a few points. The fog was still there. She tried exercise. Walking five mornings a week, twenty-two minutes a loop around her village. Then she joined a Pilates class. Then a tai chi class on Saturdays. Her hip hurt less. Her sleep improved further. The fog stayed. And then there were the injections themselves. The first one had genuinely helped. She said the brain fog had lifted for nearly three weeks after that first appointment, and she'd told her sister about it the next time they had tea, that was the first time in two years she'd told someone something hopeful. The second injection helped a bit less. By the fourth injection she was barely noticing a difference. But her serum B12 was 'within range' so we kept her on the schedule. Twelve-weekly. Four years now. A small puncture and a small bruise and a small lift that had stopped lifting two and a half years ago. She told me she had almost accepted it. That this was just her life now. Coming in every twelve weeks for a jab in the arm. Watching the screen score creep down in between. Sitting in my surgery while I talked, kindly, about what we'd do next. Going home and feeling herself slip a little further every month and not being able to point to anything specific. Just the slow accumulation of a hundred small absences. She told me about her mother. How her mother started forgetting where she'd put her handbag in her late sixties. How she'd ask Barbara the same question three times in an evening. How she'd lose the thread of a story halfway through telling it. How she'd come into the kitchen and stand there for several seconds trying to remember why she'd come in. Small things at first. Things you tell yourself are just normal. Things Barbara used to laugh about with her sister, in the way you laugh about something because the alternative is crying about it. By the time her mother was 76, she didn't know which day of the week it was. By 78, she was getting lost on the route to the corner shop she'd been walking to for thirty years. By 79, she put the kettle in the fridge twice in one week. By 81, when Barbara visited her in the home, her mother looked up from her chair and asked the carer who the lady at the door was. Barbara was the lady at the door. Her only daughter. I hear that story every week in this surgery. Different names. Same road. Then she told me what changed. About five months ago, a friend in her book group told her about something she'd been giving her husband. This friend explained something Barbara had never heard from me, or from any specialist she'd ever seen. She said the reason B12 didn't work isn't because it's a bad idea. It's because most vitamin B supplements out there aren't in the forms your body can actually use immediately. And here is the part that stopped me, when Barbara repeated it to me, because the friend, somehow, had also understood that this was true of the injections. Not just supermarket B12 tablets. The injections too. Here's what she explained, and I'm going to put it in terms that make sense, because I've come to believe she was right and it matters. Around every nerve fibre in your brain, and there are billions of them, there is a fatty insulating layer called the myelin sheath. It's what allows electrical signals to travel cleanly and quickly along the nerve. When the myelin sheath is healthy, signals fire fast and clean. Thoughts complete themselves. Words arrive when you reach for them. Names stay where they should. The whole system runs the way it's supposed to. When the myelin sheath starts to break down, signals slow. They scatter. They lose definition. Thoughts take longer. Words don't arrive. Movements feel a half-beat behind. The whole nervous system runs at a lower register. That's the brain fog. That's the morning where the names aren't there. That's the conversation where you lose the thread. The myelin sheath is something your body has to actively maintain. Every day. With the right materials. The most important of those materials is B12, but specifically, the active form of it. The one called methylcobalamin. The B12 injections we routinely prescribe are hydroxocobalamin. That's not the same as cyanocobalamin in supermarket B12 tablets, it's closer to what your body needs. But it's still not the active form. It still requires a conversion step. And for people whose conversion enzymes are struggling, which is most people over 60, that conversion remains the bottleneck. Which is why Barbara's serum B12 was beautiful and her cognitive function wasn't. The injection delivered B12 to her bloodstream. The B12 in her bloodstream was almost the right form. Not quite. The myelin sheath was still hungry. That's why the first injection had helped. There was such a deficit when she started that even partial conversion produced a noticeable effect. Then the conversion enzymes hit their ceiling. The injections kept her serum levels topped up. The myelin kept thinning. The cognitive screen kept dropping. And we kept her on the schedule because the schedule was what the schedule was. When Barbara explained this to me, I'll be honest. I knew the underlying biology. I studied B12 metabolism in medical school. I've read the research on methylation pathways. I've ordered countless courses of hydroxocobalamin in this surgery without really thinking about it, because that's what the formulary stocks and that's what we do. But I had never put it together with what I was seeing in patients like Barbara. Patients whose injections were keeping their serum levels textbook-perfect. Whose cognitive screens kept dropping anyway. Patients I'd been telling, kindly, that some of this is just normal aging on top of well-managed B12. And I had never seen a patient's score actually go up. Not stable. Not slow the decline. Actually improve. That's what was sitting in front of me on her form. "So what did you do about it?" I asked her. She told me her friend had pointed her to a brand called rynw. A British company that uses the active forms of every B vitamin. Methylcobalamin instead of cyanocobalamin or hydroxocobalamin. Methylfolate instead of folic acid. P5P instead of pyridoxine. Already in the forms the body can use the moment they're absorbed, regardless of whether the conversion machinery is still working. "It's not a miracle pill," she said. "I kept going to my injection appointments. I still went to bed early. I still walked. I still ate the fish. But this was the first thing that actually moved the fog." I asked her to walk me through her timeline. She said the first week, she slept a little longer before her brain came online in the morning. She wasn't sure if it was real or if she just wanted it to be. By week two, she remembered her grandson's friends' names without having to scroll through her phone. First time in over a year. By week three, she went back to the morning crossword. Not the cryptic one, the quick one. But she finished it before her tea went cold, which she hadn't been able to do in two years. By month two, she went to her granddaughter's school play and sat through the whole hour and a half. She said she remembered the songs, the names of the characters, the bit at the end where the frog was supposed to be a prince. She was actually there. Present. Not just managing. Month three, she finished the book her book group had been reading. The first book she'd finished in over a year. Month five, she was sitting in my surgery with a cognitive screen score that had gone in the wrong direction. The good kind of wrong. And she was asking if it was time to come off injections she'd been having every twelve weeks for the last four years. After Barbara left that day, I spent the entire evening reading everything I could find on methylcobalamin and the maintenance of myelin in older adults. The research backed up what she'd told me. The pathway was real. The form distinction was real. The studies were real. The largest, run out of Oxford, had followed several hundred people with mild cognitive impairment over two years. The group taking active forms of B vitamins lost brain tissue at a dramatically slower rate than the placebo group. The effect was strongest in the regions most responsible for memory and clear thinking. I'd known about that study. I just hadn't translated it into anything I did differently in clinic. But here's what I also learned, and it matters. Not all active-form B vitamins are the same. Most products that claim to use methylcobalamin or methylfolate actually use them in token amounts, alongside large quantities of the cheaper cyanocobalamin and folic acid, to keep the bottle cost down. Or they use the active forms at doses well below what the actual research used. I told Barbara I wanted to check her serum B12 first before we made any decision about the injections. We took her bloods. The result came back two days later. Her B12 was at the higher end of the range. Higher than she'd been on hydroxocobalamin alone in the past two years. Whatever she was now taking, in whatever form, was reaching her bloodstream, and the cognitive screen score told me it was reaching her myelin sheath, even before the bloodwork confirmed the first part. I rang her that afternoon. I told her if her next bloods in three months remained adequate, we could discuss switching from twelve-weekly hydroxocobalamin to daily oral active-form maintenance, with monitoring. That's a conversation she and I would have, with her bloods in front of us. I wanted to keep watching. But I'm telling you, after twenty-three years of writing standing prescriptions for hydroxocobalamin every twelve weeks for life, the conversation about transitioning a stable patient off injections, with her serum levels and her cognitive function in range simultaneously, that's not a conversation I would have considered before Barbara walked into my surgery last Tuesday. I started recommending rynw, quietly, to a few of my patients. The ones who were where Barbara had been six months ago. The ones whose injections were doing what injections are supposed to do, but who were still slipping in every other way that mattered. I'm watching their results now. And I'm seeing things I don't normally see. If you're reading this right now because your B12 levels are 'within range' and your memory keeps slipping anyway. If you've been on the injections for years and the first one helped but none of the others did. If you've done the sleep, the diet, the walking, and the fog is still there. If you watched your mother or your father go through this and you're quietly watching the same thing happen in your own head, one small absence at a time, and nobody can tell you how to get off the road you're on. You're not imagining it. You're not being dramatic. You don't just have to accept this. You were treating the bloodwork. Nobody was treating the myelin sheath. And without a maintained myelin sheath, none of the rest of it makes a lasting difference. The active forms of B vitamins reach the myelin sheath directly, regardless of whether your conversion enzymes are still working. The myelin gets the support it needs. Signals start firing cleanly again. The fog lifts. Words start arriving. The cycle starts to break. Not because something forced it. Because your body is doing what it already knows how to do. You just had to give it the form it can actually use. But only if the form is right. Only if the dose matches the research. Only if it's tested. rynw is the brand I've been recommending. I picked it because it's the only one I could find in the UK that uses the active forms of every key ingredient, methylcobalamin, methylfolate, P5P, at the doses the actual clinical research uses. British company. Third-party tested for purity. No fillers. 30 days to try it. If nothing changes, full refund. No questions. A note on the injections. If you're currently on B12 injections, do not stop them on your own. They are doing important work on your serum levels, and the absorption issue that put you on them is still real. What you can do is talk to your GP about adding the active forms, and then, with monitoring and proper bloodwork, having a conversation about whether the schedule still needs to be what it is. If by the end of week one you're remembering names you'd been forgetting. If by week two you finish a crossword for the first time in a year. If by week three you sit through a school play and you're actually present. If a month from now your book group meets and you've actually finished the book. If three months from now your GP runs your cognitive screen and stops. And looks at you. And asks if it might be time to think about whether the twelve-weekly injection schedule is still what's needed. You'll wish you'd found this years ago. I know Barbara does. - Dr. Catherine Bennett 👉 https://rynw.com/products/b-complex
🔞When My ex-brother-in-law took my virginity...His liquid spurts inslde and my eyes widen, "Wait we forgot a comdom!" …………………… Chapter 1 He Dumped Me Aria's POV I stood in front of the chapel. Pink roses and white lilies decorated every corner I saw—my favorite flowers. The guests were already seated in their designer dresses and pressed suits. And soon, at the end of the red carpet would stand the man I once loved, waiting to marry his bride. Everything was perfect. Except I wasn't the bride. "I really need to see Jace today." I begged the bodyguard blocking the door. A beat-up suitcase and two boxes sat at my feet—everything I owned in the world. "No you don’t. Get out of here," the bodyguard said icily. I saw it in his eyes—disgust. Yeah I get it. No one has sympathy for the crazy ex who shows up at the wedding. But I have my reason. "If you don't let me see him, I'll just stand here and all the guests will see me," I threatened under my breath. Jace wouldn't want that. Especially not today. Today he was marrying Delilah Hart. Sister to Alpha Grayson Hart of Redstone Pack. A 100% high-society darling. All the guys in the world knew that marrying Delilah would make their wealth skyrocket, including Jace. So he made the easy call—marrying the lady who could turn him from a small-town nobody into a golden boy. And dump the girl who stayed by his side for last 4 years when he had nothing. So it’s normal why he didn’t want any guests to see me here. I represented his broke, embarrassing past. He wanted me nowhere near his glossy, glittering new world. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of that. Like a knife was twisting in my chest. “Let me in or I’m starting to yell.” "Wait here." The bodyguard finally made a call. A few minutes later, he waved me in. I wiped my eyes and struggled into the hall with my suitcase and boxes. Instantly, I felt how out of place I was. Everything reeked of wealth here. Expensive perfume. Manicured nails. Not a hair out of place. It was everything you imagined about the upper-class and way more. And me? I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans. My sneakers had holes. "God, a homeless. She stinks." A woman mutter as I walked by. I just showered this morning. My hair still smelled like strawberries and coconut. But poverty had a scent, apparently. "Mr. Carter is inside. Make it quick." The guard took me to a closed door and warned. “Thank you.” The room inside looked like something out of a movie. Marble floors. Floor-length mirrors. A chandelier that probably cost more than my apartment. I hesitated for a second as I dragged my dirty luggage across the white carpet. And there he was. The man I used to love. Adjusting his bowtie in front of a mirror. He was still heartbreakingly handsome. No wonder Delilah fell for him. When he turned and fixed his gorgeous blue eyes upon me, I still felt my heart race. "Hey, Jace," I said quietly. And immediately wanted to punch myself. Hey, Jace? That’s the best I could do? His face was ice cold. "You shouldn't come. Your ratty suitcase, your ripped jeans, your Vans. None of that belongs here." Well if you wanted to be brutal and vicious, that’s how it’s done. "Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? You dumped me over a fucking email!" I snapped. He shrugged. "Look around you. The wealthiest people in the world came for me today. This suit I’m wearing cost more than you can make in your entire life. What more explanation do you want, Aria?" Wow. I always knew he was a cold, calculating bastard. I just didn’t realize how deep it ran. "Maybe chasing Alpha’s sister got you here faster. But you know what? When she finds out how cold and empty you are. You’ll lose it all." Anger flared across his face. "I know how to love. I just won't waste that on a small-town girl like you.” he said freezingly, “Are we done here?" “No.” I took a deep breath and got into the real reason I came. "You're marrying a rich girl. Fine. But why did you have to get me fired?" Yeah. I used to work for this jerk. From intern to full-time at Apex Corp, he was my supervisor. Our relationship was a secret. And just days ago, I found out he was getting married—and I was out of a job. He fired me. "Right, your job.” The jerk shrugged, “You got it because of me. Now that I’m not around, they finally saw how incompetent you are. Problem?" Was he fucking kidding me?! "I graduated top of my class. Made it through 7 rounds of interviews. My performance exceeded every quarterly target. I earned that job!" I cried. “Come on, Aria. You really gonna be so naïve?” He walked closer, smirking. "You passed the interviews because I said so. Your sales? I made those calls. Without me, you'd be nothing but a pretty face." He seized my chin and looked me over with a disgusting look. I slapped his hand away. "Give me my job back,” I hissed, my voice slightly trembling. “My dad’s debt. My grandma’s medical bills…I need the money. You of all people should know what it’s like to be poor. Don’t. Make. Me. Beg." I was throwing my pride at his feet. But he laughed. "Well, how about I offer you a deal?" he said as though he’d been waiting for this moment. He brushed my hair back, fingers trailing down to my collarbone. I shivered in disgust. "You never let me touch you. You were so clinging to that pathetic no-sex-before-marriage rule. Maybe it's time to grow up. Let me fuck you once and I’ll write you a check you can’t refuse. How does that sound?" I widened my eyes in shock. Then I slapped him. HARD. “WHAT THE FUCK! I’m getting married in front of everyone in fucking 10 minutes!” He roared covering his face. "Fuck you, Jace!” I yelled, “You're a spineless freeloading puss! And hey—congrats on the wedding. Hope your junk is soft like a fucking spaghetti tonight!" Then I stormed out dragging my suitcase and boxes, ignoring his angry curses behind me. Hot tears poured down as I dashed across the hallway. God this couldn’t be any worse. I was prepared to drop all my self-esteem and begged with my life because I needed the job and money. But I still let him get to me. Now what do I do? My salary barely covered my rent, my father’s debt and grandma’s bill. Now with my job gone, I already got kicked out by my landlord. I probably had to sleep in a park tonight. So do I go back and let that jerk win? Let him humiliate me...No. I’d rather die than that— "Hey, watch where you're going!" someone yelled. Too late. I slammed right into the man in front of me. He was tall—so tall I felt like I’d just walked into a brick wall. His diamond cufflink was sharp like a blade, and when we collided, it sliced clean through my thin T-shirt with a loud rip. In one second, the front of my shirt was torn open, exposing my white lace bra. “Ah!” I gasped and looked up. The man in front of me was so handsome. Like a statue carved by a master artist. Yet his expression so cold. He looked down at me, and I swear I was about to drown in those stormy gray eyes of his. And then I recognized who he was. This was Jace’s son-to-be brother-in-law. Alpha of Redstone Pack. CEO of Apex Corporation. THE legendary. Grayson Hart. “Aria Collins?” His voice was sexy and velvety. He lowered his head and his eyes dropped to the exposed part of my bra. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the color of his eyes seemed to darken as he stared. Wherever his gaze landed, my skin started burning up. But wait. How did he know my name? Chapter 2 With Ex's Brother-in-law Aria’s POV Of course I recognized him. God, who didn’t? I’d met him at an Apex gala. His face was on every finance magazine cover, and any time you turned on a TV, there he was—linked to the latest scandal with some actress or model. But there was no way he’d know who I was. “I-I… Hello, Alpha Grayson,” I stammered. He turned his eyes away and said to a nearby guard, “Escort Ms. Collins out.” “Yes, Alpha.” The guards stepped in immediately, stretching out their arms like I was some kind of contaminant that might taint Grayson’s perfectly tailored suit. “Wait a minute. You’re not going to say something about my shirt?” He paused—just for a second—then flicked a piece of paper down at my feet. I looked down. A blank check. “I need a shirt I can actually wear out of here. Not your hush money.” I gritted with humiliation. But he didn’t even glance back as he walked away. “God,” I muttered under my breath. Can you believe these rich bastards? They think they can buy everything with money. People nearby were all staring, snickering under their breath. I tried to cover my chest and grab my things to escape, but it was hard to do all that with just two hands. “Oh my god…Aria Collins?” Three girls emerged from the whispering crowd. I took one look at them and sighed internally. Great. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse. “Hello. Layla. Sabrina. Brielle.” I used to work in the same team with these girls back at Apex. We were all under Jace. They adored him—spent more time flirting with at the coffee machine than actually working. Which left me doing their share of the workload. After I got fired—and when news of my secret relationship with Jace got out—they decided I was public enemy number one. “What are you even doing here, Aria? Trying to win back your ex at his wedding? That’s a new low even for you,” Layla snickered. “I’m not here to win anyone back.” I tried to push past them. But they blocked me. “What happened to your shirt?” Brielle snickered. “Did you seriously walk in here with your bra out? Is this like some low-budget fashion statement?” They burst into laughter together. “You could be completely naked and Jace still wouldn’t give a damn,” Sabrina squeaked. “Because he’s marrying Delilah. THE Delilah Hart! Redstone Pack’s sweetheart. And you…well you’re just a poor-ass small-town girl.” I stopped in my track and gave them a cold glare, “Oh yeah? Well at least I’ve actually been with Jace. Do you know how many times I had to listen to him complained about your screechy voices and cheesy perfume? Apparently he rather be with a poor-ass small-town girl than any of you.” Their jaws dropped. “Jace would never say that!” Brielle cried. “Word for word,” I rolled my eyes. “Now move. Or I’m rolling this suitcase over your pretty little skirts.” They looked like ruffled chickens, but they parted. I quickly shoved my dingy luggage ahead like a weapon and stormed out of the church. Rich people were assholes. Grayson, Jace, and their whole damn minions. I struggled to get my suitcase down the steps, and once I hit the street, cold wind slapped me in the face. I had no idea where to go. I could crash in the hospital with my grandma for a night, but she’d ask too many questions. Like why I hadn’t brought Jace around recently, or why I wasn’t staying at my apartment. I didn’t want her knowing how bad things had gotten. I thought about the park. Sleeping on a bench. But in a ripped T-shirt that exposed my whole front? Horrible idea. So I texted my best friend, May, asking to stay at her place for a few days. She was my rock. If the whole world turned against me, at least I still had her. She texted back right away inviting me to come over. Dragging my suitcase across the street toward the bus stop, I told myself it was going to be okay. This horrible day was going to end. Then I heard them. “Hey, nice shirt!” A group of street wolves were loitering near the stop. I hugged myself tighter and curled into the bench, hoping they’d get bored and leave. “C’mon baby, drop your hands. Let us see what you’re working with.” Go away. Go away. Go away. “You rip that shirt yourself? Damn that’s wild. I like that in a girl.” One of them moved closer, reaching for my shoulder. “Get away from me!” I snapped, my voice shaking. But it only fired them up. “Oh, feisty. Shake those tits for me!” They grabbed my wrists, yanked my arms down. My T-shirt gaped open completely, revealing my lace bra. The cold air made my skin pebble. They laughed even louder. I struggled and screamed. My wolf growled in rage. Shifting in the city was illegal—but right now, I didn’t have a second choice— Just then. Blinding headlights. Followed by screeching tires. A black car skidded to a stop inches away. The door flew open. A deep voice thundered, “Get in.” I was too shocked that I didn’t think twice and obeyed. The car peeled away the second I shut the door. “My suitcase!” I cried. “Someone will get it,” he said darkly. “Address.” I told the driver May’s. Then he pressed a button. A privacy screen slid up between the front and back seats, sealing us in the back. That’s when he turned toward me and leaned in. Like a beast ready to pounce. His scent hit me like a punch—sharp pine mixed with cold metal. My head started to get dizzy. “Walking on the street in that shirt was a mistake,” he said sternly. “It got like this because of you,” I mumbled. He snorted. Then the sound of rustling fabric. A heavy jacket landed across my shoulders—it was still warm from his body and carried his scent. I held my breathe. Wearing his coat almost felt like…he was wrapping himself around me. “You—do you know me?” I whispered. My gut told me that he would never do this for a strange girl. But if he knew who I was, he must know that I was his sister’s husband’s ex. That didn’t explain why he would help. “We’ve met,” he said simply. I stared at him, searching those icy gray eyes. He was staring at me too, with that cold, hungry, possessive eyes. I felt like I was completely naked in front of him. “Aria,” he warned, voice thick and husky. But I couldn’t control myself. I was leaning forward. Shit. Why did my body become so weird? My skin was on fire. My panties were wet. All I wanted was more of his scent, more of his heat. The next second his lips were crashed onto mine—Hard. Rough. I gasped and opened my mouth for him. His tongue slipped in and explored every inch of my mouth, making me shiver. His hands pushed into my torn shirt and grabbed my waist. I couldn’t control my moan when he touched my naked skin. This was crazy! He was a stranger, and most importantly, my ex’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. And I was making out with him at the back of his car. The crazy part was I didn’t even want to stop. He lifted me onto his lap like I weighed nothing. I straddled his thighs and yanked at his tie as he bite my collarbone. Then, suddenly, the car stopped. “Alpha, we’ve arrived.” That’s when it all froze. His lips paused at my neck. I was still squirming on his lap, flushed and throbbing. But he shoved me off. “We can’t do this,” he said coldly. Chapter 3 You're Special To Him Aria’s POV “So you’re telling me this guy made out with you in the backseat of his car… and then just shoved you off like nothing happened?” May asked in shock. 20 minutes later, I was sitting at her place, wrapped in one of her oversized hoodies, a steaming mug of tea in my hands. But I was still reeling from everything that had just happened. “Yup,” I muttered. “Who knows what’s wrong with him.” “What an asshole,” she huffed. “But honestly, this really isn’t like you. You dated that jerk Jace for 4 years and didn’t even sleep with him—which, by the way, was a brilliant choice—and now you're suddenly making out with a complete stranger in his car?” I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. Yeah, she had a point. “I—I don’t know. Maybe it was the whole Jace-getting-married thing. Maybe I just snapped and wanted to screw around with someone hotter just to get back at him…Honestly, it was so stupid now that I think of it.” She grinned and wiggled her brows. “So… he was hot huh?” My cheeks flushed and my mind drifted back. Those stormy gray eyes, his perfectly shaped lips on my neck, and those arms that could pick me up like I weighed nothing…Shit I need to stop. “Yeah. VERY,” I whispered, hiding my red face behind the mug. May burst out laughing. “Now we’re talking! That’s exactly what you need right now—a drop-dead gorgeous rebound to get that loser Jace out of your system. Screw your ‘no sex before marriage’ rule. Life is short.” I gave her a weak smile. Honestly, I didn’t need a rebound. I needed a job, money, and a place to live. Grayson Hart was like dessert when you can’t even afford dinner. “So… do you even know who this guy was?” she asked. I hesitated. Right at this moment, the doorbell rang. She jumped up to get it and came back a few minutes later, hauling in my luggage, her face frozen in disbelief. “OMG. You are not gonna believe what just showed up outside.” “Umm… my luggage?” I joked. “Two fucking muscular guys in black suits and guns! And a freaking stretch limo! They called me ‘ma’am’ and said they hope Miss Aria has a wonderful evening. Now, you—” She leapt at me and shook me by the shoulders. “—you tell me right now who the hell you hooked up with!” I squealed and dropped into the couch with her, laughing and giggling breathlessly. “Okay, okay—I’ll tell you. It was… Grayson Hart.” I practically whispered his name. Because honestly, I still couldn’t believe it either. May froze, eyes wide as saucers. “Grayson—THE Grayson Hart?! As in our Alpha? The CEO of Apex?!” “And Jace’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. Now you know how stupid I was earlier?” She let out a full-on scream. Then she grabbed my hand, her face flushed with excitement. “Oh my God! Aria, do you know what this means? Alpha Grayson never even lends his jacket to his model girlfriends. He likes you. You’re special!” “No,” I said firmly. “If I was special, he wouldn’t have thrown me off his lap when I tried to take off his shirt.” “Maybe he had somewhere to be—” “Don’t, May. Let’s be real. Guys like him don’t fall for girls like me.” I took another sip of tea, hiding the ache in my chest. Hell even Jace thought I was beneath him. What chance did I have with Grayson freaking Hart? “Don’t be silly, Aria. You’re gorgeous. And smart and amazing and—WAIT! I just had the best idea ever.” “What?” “That arrogant jerk Jace thinks you’re just some small-town prude who wasn’t good enough for him right? But what if you ended up with Alpha Grayson? It’ll be easy to get him because he’s already obsessed. Oh, it would destroy Jace. That dickhead would never recover.” OKAY. I’d be lying if I said that exact scenario hadn’t crossed my mind when Grayson kissed me back. What girl hasn’t daydreamed about dating the perfect guy and getting revenge in the most dramatic way possible? But right now, I couldn’t afford to daydream. Reality was already breathing down my neck. “Tempting. But right now I need a job and enough cash to keep Grandma in her hospital bed. Dating rich dudes isn’t exactly high on my to-do list.” May looked at me with soft eyes. “So…any plans? I can try to hook you up with a job, but you know I just work at a coffee shop, and with your degree, you deserve so much more.” I hugged her. “Thank you. Really. I’ll figure something out. Apex promised me severance when they fired me, so I’m going to HR tomorrow to get it sorted.” If I could get that money, at least I’d be OK for the next round of Grandma’s medical bills. — The next morning, I showed up at Apex right on time. But the second Brielle walked in with the HR manager, I had a bad feeling. “What’s she doing here?” I asked coldly. “I’ll explain in a minute,” HR replied with a polite, rehearsed smile as she sat across from me. “So Ms. Collins, I understand you’re here to discuss severance?” “Yes. So let’s not waste time. Just give me the check and I’ll be out of here.” “Unfortunately, severance only applies when the company terminates a contract without cause. In your case… it appears you were let go due to misconduct.” Misconduct? What the freaking hell. “Jace made a snap decision and booted me. What misconduct are you talking about?” “But that’s not what Mr. Carter said. He provided evidence that you made a costly error on a sales quote—omitting a few zeroes, to be exact. Cost the company millions. Here’s the email record.” She handed me a printed sheet. I swore I had never sent this email in my life. But there it was—my name in the sender field. No freaking way. Jace forged this. “And Mr. Carter reported that you had a difficult attitude toward your coworkers. Quote: ‘impatient and arrogant.’ Brielle’s here to verify that.” Brielle twirled her hair and smiled smugly. “Yeah. Aria was a horrible team player.” I stood so fast my chair screeched. “The only thing I didn’t ‘teamplayed’ with you was flirt with the boss in the breakroom!” “Liar!” she yelled. “And I asked Jace. He never said my voice was screechy!” Oh my God. I couldn’t believe how stupid she was. “Sit down, Miss Collins,” HR warned. “As of now, not only are you not getting severance, but we’re also considering legal action to recover the losses. If you understand the situation here, sign this acknowledgement—” “Does Alpha Grayson know about this?” I asked. Both of them froze. After a long pause, HR finally found her voice. “What does Alpha Grayson have to do with any of this?” “He owns Apex, doesn’t he? Does he know his team is abusing their power and firing hardworking employees illegally?” HR frowned. Brielle let out a loud snort. “Please. Don’t act like you know Alpha Grayson.” “What if I do? What if I go to him and then it’s you who gets fired?” She laughed in my face. “Oh, you mean you know him on TV?” “Let’s find out.” I shoved my chair back and stormed out, heading straight for the CEO’s private elevator at the end of the hall. HR scrambled after me, shouting my name. I was too furious to care how this ended. All I wanted now was to blow the whole damn place up. Two guards stood by the elevator. “I need to see Alpha Grayson,” I told them. “Appointment?” “No, but I swear he knows me. Just tell him it’s Aria—from yesterday. He’ll remember.” “You aren’t the first girl here saying that,” one of them mocked. “Come on, Miss Collins,” HR snapped, trying to drag me back. “This is getting crazy. Go back, sign the paper. Take responsibility for your own mistake.” “I didn’t send that email. It was Jace—he’s framing me! I will report all of you.” “Alpha Grayson doesn’t have time for your report, or your visit, or any of your little drama!” “I believe no one but me has the right to decide that,” a cold voice said behind us. Chapter 4 Take Me, Please Aria’s POV A large hand grabbed my arm and pulled me away from HR’s grip. I looked up and my heart almost stopped. Even I couldn’t believe he just showed up here. It felt like a dream. “A-Alpha Grayson,” HR stammered, her face frozen with shock and fear. “I don’t need employees who think they can make decisions for their boss,” he said freezingly while wrapping his arm around my waist. “If I see something like this again, you’re fired.” “Y-yes, Alpha. I’m terribly sorry…” HR’s expression was priceless, but I was in no mood to enjoy it. His icy pine scent consumed me again, making my body weak and hot. My wolf let out a soft purr, urging me to lean into him. But before I could even move, he let go. A pang of disappointment hit me in the chest. “Come,” he said shortly, striding toward the private elevator. I shot HR and the stunned security guards a smug look, then hurried after him. He swiped his card and the elevator doors closed. We started going up to the 58th floor. It was dead silent. My heart was beating so wildly that I was afraid he’d hear it. I snuck a glance at him—he just stared straight ahead, emotionless, keeping a distance, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Unease twisted my stomach. “So, um… what brings you here today?” I broke the silence. He sighed softly. “I owe this company.” “Oh, Oh…Right.” I wanted to punch myself in the face. The awkward silence lingered until the elevator dinged open. The 58th floor was a wide-open space with no cubicles or dividers—just massive floor-to-ceiling windows and a sweeping view of the entire city. “Wow,” I whispered under my breath. Grayson was already walking ahead. I jogged to catch up as he led me into an office at the far end of the floor. A stunning female assistant closed the door behind us, and once again, it was just the two of us. My heart rocketed back into my throat. He casually unbuttoned his jacket. It was amazing how he made even that look sexy. “So you insisted on seeing me?” he asked. He didn’t ask me to sit. He didn’t even move closer. That distance stung a little. “I worked here till a week ago when I found out I was let go for no reason…” I quickly told him the story of how I was fired. “This is clearly illegal in so many ways… can you help me get my job back?” “Unfortunately, no,” he replied, barely hesitating. My heart dropped like a stone. “Why not?” “I’ll have the hiring department look into whether your termination followed proper protocol. But this isn’t something a CEO handles directly. Anything else?” The hiring department? That could take weeks—and I didn’t have weeks. “No… you don’t get it,” I stepped forward, my voice trembling. “My grandma’s in the hospital. Her bills are getting insane every month. And I’m already deep in debt… If I can’t make money, I don’t even know— I really, REALLY need this job.” I knew we came from two different worlds, but laying out the most desperate parts of my life in front of him still made me feel horribly exposed. I just hoped—begged—that he’d understand. But he didn’t. His gray eyes stayed emotionless. “I’m sorry, Miss Collins,” he said quietly. Tears rushed into my eyes. I couldn’t even breathe. All I could think about were the bills, the debt, the mountain of shit waiting for me the second I left this building. “If there’s nothing else, my assistant will show you out.” he said, reaching for the intercom. I rushed forward and pressed my hand down on his before he could call anyone in. His whole body stiffened—but he didn’t pull away. He just stared down at me. I stepped in closer, tilting my head up. His gray eyes darkened like a storm brewing in the distance. His pine scent wrapped around me again, thick and intoxicating. As werewolves, our scent only spikes during a fight or sexual arousal. It was damn obvious which case this was. “You clearly feel something for me,” I whispered. He said nothing. I placed my hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat. It was racing as well. His breathing had also turned shallow. “What are you doing, Miss Collins?” he asked tightly. “Trying to seduce your way into a job?” “You can do whatever you want,” I locked eyes with him. “I won’t stop you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. God, I wanted to lick it. And… well, I did. I leaned up and pressed my lips to it. He let out a growl. The next second, I was pinned on his desk. He stood between my spread legs, one hand by my head. I whimpered, clamping my thighs together—the heat between them was almost unbearable. Just like in the backseat of his car. His hand slid from the desk to my throat. It was so big, he could probably snap my neck if he wanted. “You shouldn’t keep tempting me, Miss Collins.” His body was pressed against my thighs—I definitely felt the effect I was having on him. “Why?” I whispered, licking my lips. “Because your self-control isn’t as strong as you thought?” “Because I don’t fuck virgins.” What the actual hell The next second, he had pulled away. I scrambled off the desk, face red, eyes wide. “What did you just say?!” I snapped. “Why—How the hell do you even know—?” “I know who you are. And I know about your relationship with my sister’s husband.” And just like that, everything clicked. It was Jace. That bastard didn’t just dump me—he ran his mouth about my virginity to everyone, including Grayson. Humiliation crashed over me like a wave. “Jace is a fucking asshole,” I snapped shakily. Grayson shrugged. “Obviously. But Brielle likes him. And he’s family now. I’m sorry but I just can’t get involved in this.” I climbed off his desk with my whole body red and shaking. He didn’t want me. And he was taking his sister and Jace’s side. I was so damn stupid to think that one kiss in the car actually meant anything. But this was Grayson Hart for Christ’s sake. He could have anyone he wanted. “I’m sure you’re a very capable employee, Miss Collins. But seducing me won’t help your career. I wish you all the best.” He finally pressed the intercom button. His assistant appeared at the door, waiting for me to leave. “Bye,” I whispered without even look back. I didn’t want him to notice my falling tears. I walked out of that office, numb, and rode the elevator down like a ghost. My mind was a storm of bills, debt, and Grayson’s ice-cold stare. Now I desperately needed a new job. “Miss Collins!” I turned and saw his assistant come rushing out again, holding an envelope. “Alpha Grayson asked me to give you this,” she said, handing it over. “What is it?” Why didn’t he give it to me earlier? “He didn’t say. Maybe you’ll know once you open it.” She gave me a mysterious smile and walked away. I opened the envelope. A blank check slid out first—I held my breath in shock. Then I found a crumpled note. His handwriting, rushed and messy. Haven’t repaid you for the shirt. Hope everything works out for you Aria. Stay strong. —Grayson Chapter 5 Getting My Attention Aria’s POV “That check clearly means something,” May insisted. “Come on. We’re not doing this again,” I sighed. “If he’s not into you, then why did he let his assistant come after you with a check? He probably saw you crying and couldn’t stand it. You should definitely go back and see him again.” “Nope,” I shut it down immediately. “I had one perfect, fairytale encounter with a rich bachelor. That’s enough. I’m not about to go back there and humiliate myself all over again.” “But—” “Hey, you two!” our manager yelled from the other end of the aisle. “Less talking, more working!” We rolled our eyes at each other and got back to inventory. May had helped me land this supermarket job. It was part of a chain under a big corporation, so the pay and benefits weren’t bad. May still thought it was beneath someone with my degree, but honestly, I was just grateful to be employed. Once we finished our section, the manager wandered off to shout at someone else, and May scooted back over to me. “Just imagine it,” she grinned. “You could write a couple million on that blank check and boom! Instant rich girl life.” “I’m not gonna do that.” “Sure you won’t. You’re too nice,” she muttered, half-admiring, half-scolding. “So? What are you gonna write?” I hesitated. At first, I actually considered writing the price of a shirt. 19.99 that was. Because apparently, my dignity still thinks it matters. But let’s be real, if Grayson was just trying to pay me back for a ripped tee, he would’ve handed his assistant a $20 bill, not a blank check. Maybe… he felt bad I lost my job too. “I’m going to write the amount I should’ve gotten in severance,” I admitted eventually. May's eyes bulged. “That’s it?!” “I know it’s not much, but it’s what I actually deserve. And it’ll help me cover two months of bills.” She sighed like I was letting go of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But my mind was made up. This was my chance to walk away from the mess. I still wanted to rip Jace’s smug face off, but the best revenge right now was surviving. 6 hours later, we finished our shift exhausted and aching. Everyone else got to clock out, but not me—I’d volunteered for night shift and closing duties. The staffs left one by one, yawning, including May. Finally I was alone in this big market. Now here’s the big secret— I actually lived here now. Nobody knew this, not even May. She thought I’d found a new apartment and moved out, but I just couldn’t keep bothering her anymore—her roommates were getting irritated with me hogging the living room and utilities. And renting my own place seemed way out of budget now. So I stayed in this supermarket instead. I closed up the store at night and opened it early in the morning. For the 5 or 6 hours in between, I made a bed out of my coat and slept on the floor near the refrigerated section. Now don’t ask me why I can’t sleep in the staff’s break room. That room was too hot without AC. At least it was cool by the freezer. Tonight I was extra exhausted. The manager made us girls haul too many heavy crates around. I passed out in seconds. But it felt like I’d only been asleep for five minutes—my alarm hadn’t even gone off yet—when I was jolted awake by someone screaming. “OH MY GOD—what the hell are you doing?!” I shot upright, completely disoriented. And froze. In front of me stood an entire group of people—including the manager and several guys in suits, all staring at me wide eyes. And I was only in a tank top and shorts. Half naked. OH GOD. What the hell—Is it morning already?! Why didn’t I hear my alarm? I scrambled to pull my clothes over my body, my hands shaking. The stares didn’t stop. They got more invasive. “Aria Collins! What the fuck are you doing?!” the manager stormed over and roared. “Napping half-naked in my fucking store?! Are you a fucking sex perv?!” My face went beet red, “No! I—I was just staying here temporarily—” “Temporarily?!” he yelled, eyes bulging. “I hired an employee, not a fucking squatter! How much water and electricity have you used free?! Are you stealing food too?!” “No I swear. I shut everything off when I’m done, I don’t use the water unless I have to. And I paid for everything I’ve eaten.” Tears blurred my vision as I tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening. His spit actually hit my cheek as he snarled. “Of all days—you had to pick the day corporate shows up to camp out in my perfect store. You filthy, disgusting little—” “Aria Collins?” A new voice called my name. It came from one of the suited men. I looked up—and my heart dropped. It was Jonathan. A former coworker from Apex. “Holy shit, it is you,” he grinned, raising his brows. “Almost didn’t recognize you at first.” “You… what are you doing here?” I stammered. “Apex owns this supermarket chain. We’re doing site inspections today,” he said with a smirk, his eyes trailing down to my bare legs. “Man! Most people hit rock bottom after getting fired from Apex, but you fall faster than anyone.” “I’m working. Making a decent living,” I said in shaky voice. “There’s no shame with that.” “Oh really?” he sneered. “Does your job include lying around half-naked on the floor? What is this, a new hooker gimmick?” The suits burst out laughing. My furious tears were on the verge of falling. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll fire her right away.” The manager groaned. “Hold up,” Jonathan drawled with a smirk. “This chick got fired from Apex for messing up a seven-figure deal. You might wanna check your inventory. She could be stealing.” “You know that’s a lie. Jace got me fired out of spite! I never made a mistake—” “Oh please,” he cut me off. “Everyone in the industry knows how you fucked up. Jace was so embarrassed that he had to apologize for you.” The manager grabbed my wrist. “Then you’re definitely stealing from this market as well. That’s it you are going to jail. When I figure out what you’ve taken, you must pay back everything!” My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t doubt for a second that the manager would come up with something that I didn’t steal, just like how Jace framed me before. It wasn’t hard for guys like them. But I couldn’t go to jail. My grandma had no one to count on but me. I can’t leave her. The wolf in me surfaced up the next second—I snarled at the manager, yanked my arm free, and ran. “Stop her!” someone shouted behind me. I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I had to escape. I bolted out of the store, desperate and horrified—and slammed right into a solid chest. “Get away from Alpha!” a bodyguard barked. But he pulled me in instead. “Aria?” I was still shaking involuntarily. He unbuttoned the front and wrapped me in, covering my half-naked body. “It’s OK.” his voice was deep with clear hint of rage. I clutched his shirt, gasping for air. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to breathe at all. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Yet I couldn’t make a sound. “She’s having a panic attack,” a woman said nearby. “Alpha, if I may—” I silently prayed him not to hand me over. And he didn’t. “It’s fine, Nova,” he refused. “Aria, you’re safe now. Breathe.” Panicked footsteps echoed behind us. Jonathan’s voice rang out, stunned: “Alpha Grayson! Oh God—w-what’s going on here?!” “Nova,” Grayson said in a cold, dangerous voice, “stay here. Don’t let anyone leave.” “Yes, Alpha.” He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, one arm under my legs, the other around my back. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. Then he carried me through the crowd, into the store, and into a private room. When he set me down in a chair, I was still trembling and sobbing. He finally took off his coat and draped it over my legs, then crouched down in front of me. “You’re safe here,” he said. That’s when I broke down. Crying out loud. Everything—fear, shame, panic—everything spilled out in a messy, helpless flood. I clutched his wrist like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and for once… he didn’t pull away. He said nothing the whole time. Just stayed there with me until the sobs quieted. “Th-thank you…I’m better now.” I sniffled. He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. I trembled at the way he touched my skin. His voice was low, rough, and a little strained. “You’re starting to make me wonder, Miss Collins. If all these run-ins are just your way of getting my attention.”
I'm a GP, and last Tuesday a patient of mine asked if she could stop her B12 injections. Not because she'd given up on getting better. Because of something that showed up in her cognitive screen that I have never seen in 23 years of practice. I've been managing B12 deficiency in this surgery for over two decades. I've seen the standard pattern. The bloods come back low. We start the injections, hydroxocobalamin, every twelve weeks. Within a few months the serum levels come back into range. We tell the patient they need the injections for life because the underlying absorption issue doesn't go away. Some of them feel a bit sharper at first. Most plateau. Most of the cognitive symptoms, the fog, the slow word-finding, the memory slips, never quite resolve. We tell them this is what age-related decline looks like alongside well-managed B12. We tell them to stay the course. Last Tuesday, one of them didn't. Her name is Barbara. She's been my patient for four years now, and she was coming in for the same review she gets every six months. Cognitive complaints. Quarterly hydroxocobalamin injections, by our practice nurse, since shortly after her bloods came back low at the start of all this. Score on the cognitive screen had been dropping by about two points each visit despite the injections doing their job on her serum levels. I expected the usual. A small further drop. Maybe stable if she was lucky. A conversation about whether donepezil should join the picture. Confirmation that she'd be in next month for her next injection. I did the screen. And I just stopped. Her score had gone up. Not by a small margin. By a margin I have never seen in a patient with mild cognitive impairment in 23 years of practice. Three points up. Above where she'd been when I first started recording her cognitive complaints four years ago. I looked at her. "What have you been doing differently?" "Nothing crazy. Just something a friend in my book group told me about." I didn't believe her. "New medication? Did anything change with your other prescriptions?" "No, nothing prescription. I just want to ask you something. Can I stop the injections? I don't think I need them anymore." I pulled up her records from six months ago and compared them side by side. Her trajectory had reversed. In 23 years of treating cognitive complaints in this surgery, with patients on B12 injections, on the standard schedule, on the formulary medication, doing everything we'd told them to do, I have watched scores go in one direction. Down. Lower over time. More forgetting. More confusion. More worry. This one went the other way. I sat back in my chair and I told her, honestly. "Barbara, I'd like to keep you on the injections for now while we work this out. But I need to understand what changed. Because these numbers don't match anything in your treatment history, and they don't match anything I've seen in 23 years." That's when Barbara told me everything. She said for the past four years, every six months, she'd sit in my surgery and hear the same thing. Levels are fine. Stay the course. We'll keep an eye on it. And every six months she'd go home and try something new on her own, because the course wasn't getting her where she wanted to be. She tried sleep first. The leaflet from the surgery said sleep was the foundation. She bought a new mattress. She stopped looking at her phone after 9pm. She read books about sleep. She got eight hours a night for four months solid. The fog was the same. She tried diet after that. Mediterranean. Oily fish twice a week. Blueberries every morning. Walnuts as snacks. Olive oil instead of butter. She did it for five months. Her cholesterol came down a few points. The fog was still there. She tried exercise. Walking five mornings a week, twenty-two minutes a loop around her village. Then she joined a Pilates class. Then a tai chi class on Saturdays. Her hip hurt less. Her sleep improved further. The fog stayed. And then there were the injections themselves. The first one had genuinely helped. She said the brain fog had lifted for nearly three weeks after that first appointment, and she'd told her sister about it the next time they had tea, that was the first time in two years she'd told someone something hopeful. The second injection helped a bit less. By the fourth injection she was barely noticing a difference. But her serum B12 was 'within range' so we kept her on the schedule. Twelve-weekly. Four years now. A small puncture and a small bruise and a small lift that had stopped lifting two and a half years ago. She told me she had almost accepted it. That this was just her life now. Coming in every twelve weeks for a jab in the arm. Watching the screen score creep down in between. Sitting in my surgery while I talked, kindly, about what we'd do next. Going home and feeling herself slip a little further every month and not being able to point to anything specific. Just the slow accumulation of a hundred small absences. She told me about her mother. How her mother started forgetting where she'd put her handbag in her late sixties. How she'd ask Barbara the same question three times in an evening. How she'd lose the thread of a story halfway through telling it. How she'd come into the kitchen and stand there for several seconds trying to remember why she'd come in. Small things at first. Things you tell yourself are just normal. Things Barbara used to laugh about with her sister, in the way you laugh about something because the alternative is crying about it. By the time her mother was 76, she didn't know which day of the week it was. By 78, she was getting lost on the route to the corner shop she'd been walking to for thirty years. By 79, she put the kettle in the fridge twice in one week. By 81, when Barbara visited her in the home, her mother looked up from her chair and asked the carer who the lady at the door was. Barbara was the lady at the door. Her only daughter. I hear that story every week in this surgery. Different names. Same road. Then she told me what changed. About five months ago, a friend in her book group told her about something she'd been giving her husband. This friend explained something Barbara had never heard from me, or from any specialist she'd ever seen. She said the reason B12 didn't work isn't because it's a bad idea. It's because most vitamin B supplements out there aren't in the forms your body can actually use immediately. And here is the part that stopped me, when Barbara repeated it to me, because the friend, somehow, had also understood that this was true of the injections. Not just supermarket B12 tablets. The injections too. Here's what she explained, and I'm going to put it in terms that make sense, because I've come to believe she was right and it matters. Around every nerve fibre in your brain, and there are billions of them, there is a fatty insulating layer called the myelin sheath. It's what allows electrical signals to travel cleanly and quickly along the nerve. When the myelin sheath is healthy, signals fire fast and clean. Thoughts complete themselves. Words arrive when you reach for them. Names stay where they should. The whole system runs the way it's supposed to. When the myelin sheath starts to break down, signals slow. They scatter. They lose definition. Thoughts take longer. Words don't arrive. Movements feel a half-beat behind. The whole nervous system runs at a lower register. That's the brain fog. That's the morning where the names aren't there. That's the conversation where you lose the thread. The myelin sheath is something your body has to actively maintain. Every day. With the right materials. The most important of those materials is B12, but specifically, the active form of it. The one called methylcobalamin. The B12 injections we routinely prescribe are hydroxocobalamin. That's not the same as cyanocobalamin in supermarket B12 tablets, it's closer to what your body needs. But it's still not the active form. It still requires a conversion step. And for people whose conversion enzymes are struggling, which is most people over 60, that conversion remains the bottleneck. Which is why Barbara's serum B12 was beautiful and her cognitive function wasn't. The injection delivered B12 to her bloodstream. The B12 in her bloodstream was almost the right form. Not quite. The myelin sheath was still hungry. That's why the first injection had helped. There was such a deficit when she started that even partial conversion produced a noticeable effect. Then the conversion enzymes hit their ceiling. The injections kept her serum levels topped up. The myelin kept thinning. The cognitive screen kept dropping. And we kept her on the schedule because the schedule was what the schedule was. When Barbara explained this to me, I'll be honest. I knew the underlying biology. I studied B12 metabolism in medical school. I've read the research on methylation pathways. I've ordered countless courses of hydroxocobalamin in this surgery without really thinking about it, because that's what the formulary stocks and that's what we do. But I had never put it together with what I was seeing in patients like Barbara. Patients whose injections were keeping their serum levels textbook-perfect. Whose cognitive screens kept dropping anyway. Patients I'd been telling, kindly, that some of this is just normal aging on top of well-managed B12. And I had never seen a patient's score actually go up. Not stable. Not slow the decline. Actually improve. That's what was sitting in front of me on her form. "So what did you do about it?" I asked her. She told me her friend had pointed her to a brand called rynw. A British company that uses the active forms of every B vitamin. Methylcobalamin instead of cyanocobalamin or hydroxocobalamin. Methylfolate instead of folic acid. P5P instead of pyridoxine. Already in the forms the body can use the moment they're absorbed, regardless of whether the conversion machinery is still working. "It's not a miracle pill," she said. "I kept going to my injection appointments. I still went to bed early. I still walked. I still ate the fish. But this was the first thing that actually moved the fog." I asked her to walk me through her timeline. She said the first week, she slept a little longer before her brain came online in the morning. She wasn't sure if it was real or if she just wanted it to be. By week two, she remembered her grandson's friends' names without having to scroll through her phone. First time in over a year. By week three, she went back to the morning crossword. Not the cryptic one, the quick one. But she finished it before her tea went cold, which she hadn't been able to do in two years. By month two, she went to her granddaughter's school play and sat through the whole hour and a half. She said she remembered the songs, the names of the characters, the bit at the end where the frog was supposed to be a prince. She was actually there. Present. Not just managing. Month three, she finished the book her book group had been reading. The first book she'd finished in over a year. Month five, she was sitting in my surgery with a cognitive screen score that had gone in the wrong direction. The good kind of wrong. And she was asking if it was time to come off injections she'd been having every twelve weeks for the last four years. After Barbara left that day, I spent the entire evening reading everything I could find on methylcobalamin and the maintenance of myelin in older adults. The research backed up what she'd told me. The pathway was real. The form distinction was real. The studies were real. The largest, run out of Oxford, had followed several hundred people with mild cognitive impairment over two years. The group taking active forms of B vitamins lost brain tissue at a dramatically slower rate than the placebo group. The effect was strongest in the regions most responsible for memory and clear thinking. I'd known about that study. I just hadn't translated it into anything I did differently in clinic. But here's what I also learned, and it matters. Not all active-form B vitamins are the same. Most products that claim to use methylcobalamin or methylfolate actually use them in token amounts, alongside large quantities of the cheaper cyanocobalamin and folic acid, to keep the bottle cost down. Or they use the active forms at doses well below what the actual research used. I told Barbara I wanted to check her serum B12 first before we made any decision about the injections. We took her bloods. The result came back two days later. Her B12 was at the higher end of the range. Higher than she'd been on hydroxocobalamin alone in the past two years. Whatever she was now taking, in whatever form, was reaching her bloodstream, and the cognitive screen score told me it was reaching her myelin sheath, even before the bloodwork confirmed the first part. I rang her that afternoon. I told her if her next bloods in three months remained adequate, we could discuss switching from twelve-weekly hydroxocobalamin to daily oral active-form maintenance, with monitoring. That's a conversation she and I would have, with her bloods in front of us. I wanted to keep watching. But I'm telling you, after twenty-three years of writing standing prescriptions for hydroxocobalamin every twelve weeks for life, the conversation about transitioning a stable patient off injections, with her serum levels and her cognitive function in range simultaneously, that's not a conversation I would have considered before Barbara walked into my surgery last Tuesday. I started recommending rynw, quietly, to a few of my patients. The ones who were where Barbara had been six months ago. The ones whose injections were doing what injections are supposed to do, but who were still slipping in every other way that mattered. I'm watching their results now. And I'm seeing things I don't normally see. If you're reading this right now because your B12 levels are 'within range' and your memory keeps slipping anyway. If you've been on the injections for years and the first one helped but none of the others did. If you've done the sleep, the diet, the walking, and the fog is still there. If you watched your mother or your father go through this and you're quietly watching the same thing happen in your own head, one small absence at a time, and nobody can tell you how to get off the road you're on. You're not imagining it. You're not being dramatic. You don't just have to accept this. You were treating the bloodwork. Nobody was treating the myelin sheath. And without a maintained myelin sheath, none of the rest of it makes a lasting difference. The active forms of B vitamins reach the myelin sheath directly, regardless of whether your conversion enzymes are still working. The myelin gets the support it needs. Signals start firing cleanly again. The fog lifts. Words start arriving. The cycle starts to break. Not because something forced it. Because your body is doing what it already knows how to do. You just had to give it the form it can actually use. But only if the form is right. Only if the dose matches the research. Only if it's tested. rynw is the brand I've been recommending. I picked it because it's the only one I could find in the UK that uses the active forms of every key ingredient, methylcobalamin, methylfolate, P5P, at the doses the actual clinical research uses. British company. Third-party tested for purity. No fillers. 30 days to try it. If nothing changes, full refund. No questions. A note on the injections. If you're currently on B12 injections, do not stop them on your own. They are doing important work on your serum levels, and the absorption issue that put you on them is still real. What you can do is talk to your GP about adding the active forms, and then, with monitoring and proper bloodwork, having a conversation about whether the schedule still needs to be what it is. If by the end of week one you're remembering names you'd been forgetting. If by week two you finish a crossword for the first time in a year. If by week three you sit through a school play and you're actually present. If a month from now your book group meets and you've actually finished the book. If three months from now your GP runs your cognitive screen and stops. And looks at you. And asks if it might be time to think about whether the twelve-weekly injection schedule is still what's needed. You'll wish you'd found this years ago. I know Barbara does. - Dr. Catherine Bennett 👉 https://rynw.com/products/b-complex
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I'm a GP, and last Tuesday a patient of mine asked if she could stop her B12 injections. Not because she'd given up on getting better. Because of something that showed up in her cognitive screen that I have never seen in 23 years of practice. I've been managing B12 deficiency in this surgery for over two decades. I've seen the standard pattern. The bloods come back low. We start the injections, hydroxocobalamin, every twelve weeks. Within a few months the serum levels come back into range. We tell the patient they need the injections for life because the underlying absorption issue doesn't go away. Some of them feel a bit sharper at first. Most plateau. Most of the cognitive symptoms, the fog, the slow word-finding, the memory slips, never quite resolve. We tell them this is what age-related decline looks like alongside well-managed B12. We tell them to stay the course. Last Tuesday, one of them didn't. Her name is Barbara. She's been my patient for four years now, and she was coming in for the same review she gets every six months. Cognitive complaints. Quarterly hydroxocobalamin injections, by our practice nurse, since shortly after her bloods came back low at the start of all this. Score on the cognitive screen had been dropping by about two points each visit despite the injections doing their job on her serum levels. I expected the usual. A small further drop. Maybe stable if she was lucky. A conversation about whether donepezil should join the picture. Confirmation that she'd be in next month for her next injection. I did the screen. And I just stopped. Her score had gone up. Not by a small margin. By a margin I have never seen in a patient with mild cognitive impairment in 23 years of practice. Three points up. Above where she'd been when I first started recording her cognitive complaints four years ago. I looked at her. "What have you been doing differently?" "Nothing crazy. Just something a friend in my book group told me about." I didn't believe her. "New medication? Did anything change with your other prescriptions?" "No, nothing prescription. I just want to ask you something. Can I stop the injections? I don't think I need them anymore." I pulled up her records from six months ago and compared them side by side. Her trajectory had reversed. In 23 years of treating cognitive complaints in this surgery, with patients on B12 injections, on the standard schedule, on the formulary medication, doing everything we'd told them to do, I have watched scores go in one direction. Down. Lower over time. More forgetting. More confusion. More worry. This one went the other way. I sat back in my chair and I told her, honestly. "Barbara, I'd like to keep you on the injections for now while we work this out. But I need to understand what changed. Because these numbers don't match anything in your treatment history, and they don't match anything I've seen in 23 years." That's when Barbara told me everything. She said for the past four years, every six months, she'd sit in my surgery and hear the same thing. Levels are fine. Stay the course. We'll keep an eye on it. And every six months she'd go home and try something new on her own, because the course wasn't getting her where she wanted to be. She tried sleep first. The leaflet from the surgery said sleep was the foundation. She bought a new mattress. She stopped looking at her phone after 9pm. She read books about sleep. She got eight hours a night for four months solid. The fog was the same. She tried diet after that. Mediterranean. Oily fish twice a week. Blueberries every morning. Walnuts as snacks. Olive oil instead of butter. She did it for five months. Her cholesterol came down a few points. The fog was still there. She tried exercise. Walking five mornings a week, twenty-two minutes a loop around her village. Then she joined a Pilates class. Then a tai chi class on Saturdays. Her hip hurt less. Her sleep improved further. The fog stayed. And then there were the injections themselves. The first one had genuinely helped. She said the brain fog had lifted for nearly three weeks after that first appointment, and she'd told her sister about it the next time they had tea, that was the first time in two years she'd told someone something hopeful. The second injection helped a bit less. By the fourth injection she was barely noticing a difference. But her serum B12 was 'within range' so we kept her on the schedule. Twelve-weekly. Four years now. A small puncture and a small bruise and a small lift that had stopped lifting two and a half years ago. She told me she had almost accepted it. That this was just her life now. Coming in every twelve weeks for a jab in the arm. Watching the screen score creep down in between. Sitting in my surgery while I talked, kindly, about what we'd do next. Going home and feeling herself slip a little further every month and not being able to point to anything specific. Just the slow accumulation of a hundred small absences. She told me about her mother. How her mother started forgetting where she'd put her handbag in her late sixties. How she'd ask Barbara the same question three times in an evening. How she'd lose the thread of a story halfway through telling it. How she'd come into the kitchen and stand there for several seconds trying to remember why she'd come in. Small things at first. Things you tell yourself are just normal. Things Barbara used to laugh about with her sister, in the way you laugh about something because the alternative is crying about it. By the time her mother was 76, she didn't know which day of the week it was. By 78, she was getting lost on the route to the corner shop she'd been walking to for thirty years. By 79, she put the kettle in the fridge twice in one week. By 81, when Barbara visited her in the home, her mother looked up from her chair and asked the carer who the lady at the door was. Barbara was the lady at the door. Her only daughter. I hear that story every week in this surgery. Different names. Same road. Then she told me what changed. About five months ago, a friend in her book group told her about something she'd been giving her husband. This friend explained something Barbara had never heard from me, or from any specialist she'd ever seen. She said the reason B12 didn't work isn't because it's a bad idea. It's because most vitamin B supplements out there aren't in the forms your body can actually use immediately. And here is the part that stopped me, when Barbara repeated it to me, because the friend, somehow, had also understood that this was true of the injections. Not just supermarket B12 tablets. The injections too. Here's what she explained, and I'm going to put it in terms that make sense, because I've come to believe she was right and it matters. Around every nerve fibre in your brain, and there are billions of them, there is a fatty insulating layer called the myelin sheath. It's what allows electrical signals to travel cleanly and quickly along the nerve. When the myelin sheath is healthy, signals fire fast and clean. Thoughts complete themselves. Words arrive when you reach for them. Names stay where they should. The whole system runs the way it's supposed to. When the myelin sheath starts to break down, signals slow. They scatter. They lose definition. Thoughts take longer. Words don't arrive. Movements feel a half-beat behind. The whole nervous system runs at a lower register. That's the brain fog. That's the morning where the names aren't there. That's the conversation where you lose the thread. The myelin sheath is something your body has to actively maintain. Every day. With the right materials. The most important of those materials is B12, but specifically, the active form of it. The one called methylcobalamin. The B12 injections we routinely prescribe are hydroxocobalamin. That's not the same as cyanocobalamin in supermarket B12 tablets, it's closer to what your body needs. But it's still not the active form. It still requires a conversion step. And for people whose conversion enzymes are struggling, which is most people over 60, that conversion remains the bottleneck. Which is why Barbara's serum B12 was beautiful and her cognitive function wasn't. The injection delivered B12 to her bloodstream. The B12 in her bloodstream was almost the right form. Not quite. The myelin sheath was still hungry. That's why the first injection had helped. There was such a deficit when she started that even partial conversion produced a noticeable effect. Then the conversion enzymes hit their ceiling. The injections kept her serum levels topped up. The myelin kept thinning. The cognitive screen kept dropping. And we kept her on the schedule because the schedule was what the schedule was. When Barbara explained this to me, I'll be honest. I knew the underlying biology. I studied B12 metabolism in medical school. I've read the research on methylation pathways. I've ordered countless courses of hydroxocobalamin in this surgery without really thinking about it, because that's what the formulary stocks and that's what we do. But I had never put it together with what I was seeing in patients like Barbara. Patients whose injections were keeping their serum levels textbook-perfect. Whose cognitive screens kept dropping anyway. Patients I'd been telling, kindly, that some of this is just normal aging on top of well-managed B12. And I had never seen a patient's score actually go up. Not stable. Not slow the decline. Actually improve. That's what was sitting in front of me on her form. "So what did you do about it?" I asked her. She told me her friend had pointed her to a brand called rynw. A British company that uses the active forms of every B vitamin. Methylcobalamin instead of cyanocobalamin or hydroxocobalamin. Methylfolate instead of folic acid. P5P instead of pyridoxine. Already in the forms the body can use the moment they're absorbed, regardless of whether the conversion machinery is still working. "It's not a miracle pill," she said. "I kept going to my injection appointments. I still went to bed early. I still walked. I still ate the fish. But this was the first thing that actually moved the fog." I asked her to walk me through her timeline. She said the first week, she slept a little longer before her brain came online in the morning. She wasn't sure if it was real or if she just wanted it to be. By week two, she remembered her grandson's friends' names without having to scroll through her phone. First time in over a year. By week three, she went back to the morning crossword. Not the cryptic one, the quick one. But she finished it before her tea went cold, which she hadn't been able to do in two years. By month two, she went to her granddaughter's school play and sat through the whole hour and a half. She said she remembered the songs, the names of the characters, the bit at the end where the frog was supposed to be a prince. She was actually there. Present. Not just managing. Month three, she finished the book her book group had been reading. The first book she'd finished in over a year. Month five, she was sitting in my surgery with a cognitive screen score that had gone in the wrong direction. The good kind of wrong. And she was asking if it was time to come off injections she'd been having every twelve weeks for the last four years. After Barbara left that day, I spent the entire evening reading everything I could find on methylcobalamin and the maintenance of myelin in older adults. The research backed up what she'd told me. The pathway was real. The form distinction was real. The studies were real. The largest, run out of Oxford, had followed several hundred people with mild cognitive impairment over two years. The group taking active forms of B vitamins lost brain tissue at a dramatically slower rate than the placebo group. The effect was strongest in the regions most responsible for memory and clear thinking. I'd known about that study. I just hadn't translated it into anything I did differently in clinic. But here's what I also learned, and it matters. Not all active-form B vitamins are the same. Most products that claim to use methylcobalamin or methylfolate actually use them in token amounts, alongside large quantities of the cheaper cyanocobalamin and folic acid, to keep the bottle cost down. Or they use the active forms at doses well below what the actual research used. I told Barbara I wanted to check her serum B12 first before we made any decision about the injections. We took her bloods. The result came back two days later. Her B12 was at the higher end of the range. Higher than she'd been on hydroxocobalamin alone in the past two years. Whatever she was now taking, in whatever form, was reaching her bloodstream, and the cognitive screen score told me it was reaching her myelin sheath, even before the bloodwork confirmed the first part. I rang her that afternoon. I told her if her next bloods in three months remained adequate, we could discuss switching from twelve-weekly hydroxocobalamin to daily oral active-form maintenance, with monitoring. That's a conversation she and I would have, with her bloods in front of us. I wanted to keep watching. But I'm telling you, after twenty-three years of writing standing prescriptions for hydroxocobalamin every twelve weeks for life, the conversation about transitioning a stable patient off injections, with her serum levels and her cognitive function in range simultaneously, that's not a conversation I would have considered before Barbara walked into my surgery last Tuesday. I started recommending rynw, quietly, to a few of my patients. The ones who were where Barbara had been six months ago. The ones whose injections were doing what injections are supposed to do, but who were still slipping in every other way that mattered. I'm watching their results now. And I'm seeing things I don't normally see. If you're reading this right now because your B12 levels are 'within range' and your memory keeps slipping anyway. If you've been on the injections for years and the first one helped but none of the others did. If you've done the sleep, the diet, the walking, and the fog is still there. If you watched your mother or your father go through this and you're quietly watching the same thing happen in your own head, one small absence at a time, and nobody can tell you how to get off the road you're on. You're not imagining it. You're not being dramatic. You don't just have to accept this. You were treating the bloodwork. Nobody was treating the myelin sheath. And without a maintained myelin sheath, none of the rest of it makes a lasting difference. The active forms of B vitamins reach the myelin sheath directly, regardless of whether your conversion enzymes are still working. The myelin gets the support it needs. Signals start firing cleanly again. The fog lifts. Words start arriving. The cycle starts to break. Not because something forced it. Because your body is doing what it already knows how to do. You just had to give it the form it can actually use. But only if the form is right. Only if the dose matches the research. Only if it's tested. rynw is the brand I've been recommending. I picked it because it's the only one I could find in the UK that uses the active forms of every key ingredient, methylcobalamin, methylfolate, P5P, at the doses the actual clinical research uses. British company. Third-party tested for purity. No fillers. 30 days to try it. If nothing changes, full refund. No questions. A note on the injections. If you're currently on B12 injections, do not stop them on your own. They are doing important work on your serum levels, and the absorption issue that put you on them is still real. What you can do is talk to your GP about adding the active forms, and then, with monitoring and proper bloodwork, having a conversation about whether the schedule still needs to be what it is. If by the end of week one you're remembering names you'd been forgetting. If by week two you finish a crossword for the first time in a year. If by week three you sit through a school play and you're actually present. If a month from now your book group meets and you've actually finished the book. If three months from now your GP runs your cognitive screen and stops. And looks at you. And asks if it might be time to think about whether the twelve-weekly injection schedule is still what's needed. You'll wish you'd found this years ago. I know Barbara does. - Dr. Catherine Bennett 👉 https://rynw.com/products/b-complex
I'm a GP, and last Tuesday a patient of mine asked if she could stop her B12 injections. Not because she'd given up on getting better. Because of something that showed up in her cognitive screen that I have never seen in 23 years of practice. I've been managing B12 deficiency in this surgery for over two decades. I've seen the standard pattern. The bloods come back low. We start the injections, hydroxocobalamin, every twelve weeks. Within a few months the serum levels come back into range. We tell the patient they need the injections for life because the underlying absorption issue doesn't go away. Some of them feel a bit sharper at first. Most plateau. Most of the cognitive symptoms, the fog, the slow word-finding, the memory slips, never quite resolve. We tell them this is what age-related decline looks like alongside well-managed B12. We tell them to stay the course. Last Tuesday, one of them didn't. Her name is Barbara. She's been my patient for four years now, and she was coming in for the same review she gets every six months. Cognitive complaints. Quarterly hydroxocobalamin injections, by our practice nurse, since shortly after her bloods came back low at the start of all this. Score on the cognitive screen had been dropping by about two points each visit despite the injections doing their job on her serum levels. I expected the usual. A small further drop. Maybe stable if she was lucky. A conversation about whether donepezil should join the picture. Confirmation that she'd be in next month for her next injection. I did the screen. And I just stopped. Her score had gone up. Not by a small margin. By a margin I have never seen in a patient with mild cognitive impairment in 23 years of practice. Three points up. Above where she'd been when I first started recording her cognitive complaints four years ago. I looked at her. "What have you been doing differently?" "Nothing crazy. Just something a friend in my book group told me about." I didn't believe her. "New medication? Did anything change with your other prescriptions?" "No, nothing prescription. I just want to ask you something. Can I stop the injections? I don't think I need them anymore." I pulled up her records from six months ago and compared them side by side. Her trajectory had reversed. In 23 years of treating cognitive complaints in this surgery, with patients on B12 injections, on the standard schedule, on the formulary medication, doing everything we'd told them to do, I have watched scores go in one direction. Down. Lower over time. More forgetting. More confusion. More worry. This one went the other way. I sat back in my chair and I told her, honestly. "Barbara, I'd like to keep you on the injections for now while we work this out. But I need to understand what changed. Because these numbers don't match anything in your treatment history, and they don't match anything I've seen in 23 years." That's when Barbara told me everything. She said for the past four years, every six months, she'd sit in my surgery and hear the same thing. Levels are fine. Stay the course. We'll keep an eye on it. And every six months she'd go home and try something new on her own, because the course wasn't getting her where she wanted to be. She tried sleep first. The leaflet from the surgery said sleep was the foundation. She bought a new mattress. She stopped looking at her phone after 9pm. She read books about sleep. She got eight hours a night for four months solid. The fog was the same. She tried diet after that. Mediterranean. Oily fish twice a week. Blueberries every morning. Walnuts as snacks. Olive oil instead of butter. She did it for five months. Her cholesterol came down a few points. The fog was still there. She tried exercise. Walking five mornings a week, twenty-two minutes a loop around her village. Then she joined a Pilates class. Then a tai chi class on Saturdays. Her hip hurt less. Her sleep improved further. The fog stayed. And then there were the injections themselves. The first one had genuinely helped. She said the brain fog had lifted for nearly three weeks after that first appointment, and she'd told her sister about it the next time they had tea, that was the first time in two years she'd told someone something hopeful. The second injection helped a bit less. By the fourth injection she was barely noticing a difference. But her serum B12 was 'within range' so we kept her on the schedule. Twelve-weekly. Four years now. A small puncture and a small bruise and a small lift that had stopped lifting two and a half years ago. She told me she had almost accepted it. That this was just her life now. Coming in every twelve weeks for a jab in the arm. Watching the screen score creep down in between. Sitting in my surgery while I talked, kindly, about what we'd do next. Going home and feeling herself slip a little further every month and not being able to point to anything specific. Just the slow accumulation of a hundred small absences. She told me about her mother. How her mother started forgetting where she'd put her handbag in her late sixties. How she'd ask Barbara the same question three times in an evening. How she'd lose the thread of a story halfway through telling it. How she'd come into the kitchen and stand there for several seconds trying to remember why she'd come in. Small things at first. Things you tell yourself are just normal. Things Barbara used to laugh about with her sister, in the way you laugh about something because the alternative is crying about it. By the time her mother was 76, she didn't know which day of the week it was. By 78, she was getting lost on the route to the corner shop she'd been walking to for thirty years. By 79, she put the kettle in the fridge twice in one week. By 81, when Barbara visited her in the home, her mother looked up from her chair and asked the carer who the lady at the door was. Barbara was the lady at the door. Her only daughter. I hear that story every week in this surgery. Different names. Same road. Then she told me what changed. About five months ago, a friend in her book group told her about something she'd been giving her husband. This friend explained something Barbara had never heard from me, or from any specialist she'd ever seen. She said the reason B12 didn't work isn't because it's a bad idea. It's because most vitamin B supplements out there aren't in the forms your body can actually use immediately. And here is the part that stopped me, when Barbara repeated it to me, because the friend, somehow, had also understood that this was true of the injections. Not just supermarket B12 tablets. The injections too. Here's what she explained, and I'm going to put it in terms that make sense, because I've come to believe she was right and it matters. Around every nerve fibre in your brain, and there are billions of them, there is a fatty insulating layer called the myelin sheath. It's what allows electrical signals to travel cleanly and quickly along the nerve. When the myelin sheath is healthy, signals fire fast and clean. Thoughts complete themselves. Words arrive when you reach for them. Names stay where they should. The whole system runs the way it's supposed to. When the myelin sheath starts to break down, signals slow. They scatter. They lose definition. Thoughts take longer. Words don't arrive. Movements feel a half-beat behind. The whole nervous system runs at a lower register. That's the brain fog. That's the morning where the names aren't there. That's the conversation where you lose the thread. The myelin sheath is something your body has to actively maintain. Every day. With the right materials. The most important of those materials is B12, but specifically, the active form of it. The one called methylcobalamin. The B12 injections we routinely prescribe are hydroxocobalamin. That's not the same as cyanocobalamin in supermarket B12 tablets, it's closer to what your body needs. But it's still not the active form. It still requires a conversion step. And for people whose conversion enzymes are struggling, which is most people over 60, that conversion remains the bottleneck. Which is why Barbara's serum B12 was beautiful and her cognitive function wasn't. The injection delivered B12 to her bloodstream. The B12 in her bloodstream was almost the right form. Not quite. The myelin sheath was still hungry. That's why the first injection had helped. There was such a deficit when she started that even partial conversion produced a noticeable effect. Then the conversion enzymes hit their ceiling. The injections kept her serum levels topped up. The myelin kept thinning. The cognitive screen kept dropping. And we kept her on the schedule because the schedule was what the schedule was. When Barbara explained this to me, I'll be honest. I knew the underlying biology. I studied B12 metabolism in medical school. I've read the research on methylation pathways. I've ordered countless courses of hydroxocobalamin in this surgery without really thinking about it, because that's what the formulary stocks and that's what we do. But I had never put it together with what I was seeing in patients like Barbara. Patients whose injections were keeping their serum levels textbook-perfect. Whose cognitive screens kept dropping anyway. Patients I'd been telling, kindly, that some of this is just normal aging on top of well-managed B12. And I had never seen a patient's score actually go up. Not stable. Not slow the decline. Actually improve. That's what was sitting in front of me on her form. "So what did you do about it?" I asked her. She told me her friend had pointed her to a brand called rynw. A British company that uses the active forms of every B vitamin. Methylcobalamin instead of cyanocobalamin or hydroxocobalamin. Methylfolate instead of folic acid. P5P instead of pyridoxine. Already in the forms the body can use the moment they're absorbed, regardless of whether the conversion machinery is still working. "It's not a miracle pill," she said. "I kept going to my injection appointments. I still went to bed early. I still walked. I still ate the fish. But this was the first thing that actually moved the fog." I asked her to walk me through her timeline. She said the first week, she slept a little longer before her brain came online in the morning. She wasn't sure if it was real or if she just wanted it to be. By week two, she remembered her grandson's friends' names without having to scroll through her phone. First time in over a year. By week three, she went back to the morning crossword. Not the cryptic one, the quick one. But she finished it before her tea went cold, which she hadn't been able to do in two years. By month two, she went to her granddaughter's school play and sat through the whole hour and a half. She said she remembered the songs, the names of the characters, the bit at the end where the frog was supposed to be a prince. She was actually there. Present. Not just managing. Month three, she finished the book her book group had been reading. The first book she'd finished in over a year. Month five, she was sitting in my surgery with a cognitive screen score that had gone in the wrong direction. The good kind of wrong. And she was asking if it was time to come off injections she'd been having every twelve weeks for the last four years. After Barbara left that day, I spent the entire evening reading everything I could find on methylcobalamin and the maintenance of myelin in older adults. The research backed up what she'd told me. The pathway was real. The form distinction was real. The studies were real. The largest, run out of Oxford, had followed several hundred people with mild cognitive impairment over two years. The group taking active forms of B vitamins lost brain tissue at a dramatically slower rate than the placebo group. The effect was strongest in the regions most responsible for memory and clear thinking. I'd known about that study. I just hadn't translated it into anything I did differently in clinic. But here's what I also learned, and it matters. Not all active-form B vitamins are the same. Most products that claim to use methylcobalamin or methylfolate actually use them in token amounts, alongside large quantities of the cheaper cyanocobalamin and folic acid, to keep the bottle cost down. Or they use the active forms at doses well below what the actual research used. I told Barbara I wanted to check her serum B12 first before we made any decision about the injections. We took her bloods. The result came back two days later. Her B12 was at the higher end of the range. Higher than she'd been on hydroxocobalamin alone in the past two years. Whatever she was now taking, in whatever form, was reaching her bloodstream, and the cognitive screen score told me it was reaching her myelin sheath, even before the bloodwork confirmed the first part. I rang her that afternoon. I told her if her next bloods in three months remained adequate, we could discuss switching from twelve-weekly hydroxocobalamin to daily oral active-form maintenance, with monitoring. That's a conversation she and I would have, with her bloods in front of us. I wanted to keep watching. But I'm telling you, after twenty-three years of writing standing prescriptions for hydroxocobalamin every twelve weeks for life, the conversation about transitioning a stable patient off injections, with her serum levels and her cognitive function in range simultaneously, that's not a conversation I would have considered before Barbara walked into my surgery last Tuesday. I started recommending rynw, quietly, to a few of my patients. The ones who were where Barbara had been six months ago. The ones whose injections were doing what injections are supposed to do, but who were still slipping in every other way that mattered. I'm watching their results now. And I'm seeing things I don't normally see. If you're reading this right now because your B12 levels are 'within range' and your memory keeps slipping anyway. If you've been on the injections for years and the first one helped but none of the others did. If you've done the sleep, the diet, the walking, and the fog is still there. If you watched your mother or your father go through this and you're quietly watching the same thing happen in your own head, one small absence at a time, and nobody can tell you how to get off the road you're on. You're not imagining it. You're not being dramatic. You don't just have to accept this. You were treating the bloodwork. Nobody was treating the myelin sheath. And without a maintained myelin sheath, none of the rest of it makes a lasting difference. The active forms of B vitamins reach the myelin sheath directly, regardless of whether your conversion enzymes are still working. The myelin gets the support it needs. Signals start firing cleanly again. The fog lifts. Words start arriving. The cycle starts to break. Not because something forced it. Because your body is doing what it already knows how to do. You just had to give it the form it can actually use. But only if the form is right. Only if the dose matches the research. Only if it's tested. rynw is the brand I've been recommending. I picked it because it's the only one I could find in the UK that uses the active forms of every key ingredient, methylcobalamin, methylfolate, P5P, at the doses the actual clinical research uses. British company. Third-party tested for purity. No fillers. 30 days to try it. If nothing changes, full refund. No questions. A note on the injections. If you're currently on B12 injections, do not stop them on your own. They are doing important work on your serum levels, and the absorption issue that put you on them is still real. What you can do is talk to your GP about adding the active forms, and then, with monitoring and proper bloodwork, having a conversation about whether the schedule still needs to be what it is. If by the end of week one you're remembering names you'd been forgetting. If by week two you finish a crossword for the first time in a year. If by week three you sit through a school play and you're actually present. If a month from now your book group meets and you've actually finished the book. If three months from now your GP runs your cognitive screen and stops. And looks at you. And asks if it might be time to think about whether the twelve-weekly injection schedule is still what's needed. You'll wish you'd found this years ago. I know Barbara does. - Dr. Catherine Bennett 👉 https://rynw.com/products/b-complex
🔞When My ex-brother-in-law took my virginity...His liquid spurts inslde and my eyes widen, "Wait we forgot a comdom!" …………………… Chapter 1 He Dumped Me Aria's POV I stood in front of the chapel. Pink roses and white lilies decorated every corner I saw—my favorite flowers. The guests were already seated in their designer dresses and pressed suits. And soon, at the end of the red carpet would stand the man I once loved, waiting to marry his bride. Everything was perfect. Except I wasn't the bride. "I really need to see Jace today." I begged the bodyguard blocking the door. A beat-up suitcase and two boxes sat at my feet—everything I owned in the world. "No you don’t. Get out of here," the bodyguard said icily. I saw it in his eyes—disgust. Yeah I get it. No one has sympathy for the crazy ex who shows up at the wedding. But I have my reason. "If you don't let me see him, I'll just stand here and all the guests will see me," I threatened under my breath. Jace wouldn't want that. Especially not today. Today he was marrying Delilah Hart. Sister to Alpha Grayson Hart of Redstone Pack. A 100% high-society darling. All the guys in the world knew that marrying Delilah would make their wealth skyrocket, including Jace. So he made the easy call—marrying the lady who could turn him from a small-town nobody into a golden boy. And dump the girl who stayed by his side for last 4 years when he had nothing. So it’s normal why he didn’t want any guests to see me here. I represented his broke, embarrassing past. He wanted me nowhere near his glossy, glittering new world. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of that. Like a knife was twisting in my chest. “Let me in or I’m starting to yell.” "Wait here." The bodyguard finally made a call. A few minutes later, he waved me in. I wiped my eyes and struggled into the hall with my suitcase and boxes. Instantly, I felt how out of place I was. Everything reeked of wealth here. Expensive perfume. Manicured nails. Not a hair out of place. It was everything you imagined about the upper-class and way more. And me? I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans. My sneakers had holes. "God, a homeless. She stinks." A woman mutter as I walked by. I just showered this morning. My hair still smelled like strawberries and coconut. But poverty had a scent, apparently. "Mr. Carter is inside. Make it quick." The guard took me to a closed door and warned. “Thank you.” The room inside looked like something out of a movie. Marble floors. Floor-length mirrors. A chandelier that probably cost more than my apartment. I hesitated for a second as I dragged my dirty luggage across the white carpet. And there he was. The man I used to love. Adjusting his bowtie in front of a mirror. He was still heartbreakingly handsome. No wonder Delilah fell for him. When he turned and fixed his gorgeous blue eyes upon me, I still felt my heart race. "Hey, Jace," I said quietly. And immediately wanted to punch myself. Hey, Jace? That’s the best I could do? His face was ice cold. "You shouldn't come. Your ratty suitcase, your ripped jeans, your Vans. None of that belongs here." Well if you wanted to be brutal and vicious, that’s how it’s done. "Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? You dumped me over a fucking email!" I snapped. He shrugged. "Look around you. The wealthiest people in the world came for me today. This suit I’m wearing cost more than you can make in your entire life. What more explanation do you want, Aria?" Wow. I always knew he was a cold, calculating bastard. I just didn’t realize how deep it ran. "Maybe chasing Alpha’s sister got you here faster. But you know what? When she finds out how cold and empty you are. You’ll lose it all." Anger flared across his face. "I know how to love. I just won't waste that on a small-town girl like you.” he said freezingly, “Are we done here?" “No.” I took a deep breath and got into the real reason I came. "You're marrying a rich girl. Fine. But why did you have to get me fired?" Yeah. I used to work for this jerk. From intern to full-time at Apex Corp, he was my supervisor. Our relationship was a secret. And just days ago, I found out he was getting married—and I was out of a job. He fired me. "Right, your job.” The jerk shrugged, “You got it because of me. Now that I’m not around, they finally saw how incompetent you are. Problem?" Was he fucking kidding me?! "I graduated top of my class. Made it through 7 rounds of interviews. My performance exceeded every quarterly target. I earned that job!" I cried. “Come on, Aria. You really gonna be so naïve?” He walked closer, smirking. "You passed the interviews because I said so. Your sales? I made those calls. Without me, you'd be nothing but a pretty face." He seized my chin and looked me over with a disgusting look. I slapped his hand away. "Give me my job back,” I hissed, my voice slightly trembling. “My dad’s debt. My grandma’s medical bills…I need the money. You of all people should know what it’s like to be poor. Don’t. Make. Me. Beg." I was throwing my pride at his feet. But he laughed. "Well, how about I offer you a deal?" he said as though he’d been waiting for this moment. He brushed my hair back, fingers trailing down to my collarbone. I shivered in disgust. "You never let me touch you. You were so clinging to that pathetic no-sex-before-marriage rule. Maybe it's time to grow up. Let me fuck you once and I’ll write you a check you can’t refuse. How does that sound?" I widened my eyes in shock. Then I slapped him. HARD. “WHAT THE FUCK! I’m getting married in front of everyone in fucking 10 minutes!” He roared covering his face. "Fuck you, Jace!” I yelled, “You're a spineless freeloading puss! And hey—congrats on the wedding. Hope your junk is soft like a fucking spaghetti tonight!" Then I stormed out dragging my suitcase and boxes, ignoring his angry curses behind me. Hot tears poured down as I dashed across the hallway. God this couldn’t be any worse. I was prepared to drop all my self-esteem and begged with my life because I needed the job and money. But I still let him get to me. Now what do I do? My salary barely covered my rent, my father’s debt and grandma’s bill. Now with my job gone, I already got kicked out by my landlord. I probably had to sleep in a park tonight. So do I go back and let that jerk win? Let him humiliate me...No. I’d rather die than that— "Hey, watch where you're going!" someone yelled. Too late. I slammed right into the man in front of me. He was tall—so tall I felt like I’d just walked into a brick wall. His diamond cufflink was sharp like a blade, and when we collided, it sliced clean through my thin T-shirt with a loud rip. In one second, the front of my shirt was torn open, exposing my white lace bra. “Ah!” I gasped and looked up. The man in front of me was so handsome. Like a statue carved by a master artist. Yet his expression so cold. He looked down at me, and I swear I was about to drown in those stormy gray eyes of his. And then I recognized who he was. This was Jace’s son-to-be brother-in-law. Alpha of Redstone Pack. CEO of Apex Corporation. THE legendary. Grayson Hart. “Aria Collins?” His voice was sexy and velvety. He lowered his head and his eyes dropped to the exposed part of my bra. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the color of his eyes seemed to darken as he stared. Wherever his gaze landed, my skin started burning up. But wait. How did he know my name? Chapter 2 With Ex's Brother-in-law Aria’s POV Of course I recognized him. God, who didn’t? I’d met him at an Apex gala. His face was on every finance magazine cover, and any time you turned on a TV, there he was—linked to the latest scandal with some actress or model. But there was no way he’d know who I was. “I-I… Hello, Alpha Grayson,” I stammered. He turned his eyes away and said to a nearby guard, “Escort Ms. Collins out.” “Yes, Alpha.” The guards stepped in immediately, stretching out their arms like I was some kind of contaminant that might taint Grayson’s perfectly tailored suit. “Wait a minute. You’re not going to say something about my shirt?” He paused—just for a second—then flicked a piece of paper down at my feet. I looked down. A blank check. “I need a shirt I can actually wear out of here. Not your hush money.” I gritted with humiliation. But he didn’t even glance back as he walked away. “God,” I muttered under my breath. Can you believe these rich bastards? They think they can buy everything with money. People nearby were all staring, snickering under their breath. I tried to cover my chest and grab my things to escape, but it was hard to do all that with just two hands. “Oh my god…Aria Collins?” Three girls emerged from the whispering crowd. I took one look at them and sighed internally. Great. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse. “Hello. Layla. Sabrina. Brielle.” I used to work in the same team with these girls back at Apex. We were all under Jace. They adored him—spent more time flirting with at the coffee machine than actually working. Which left me doing their share of the workload. After I got fired—and when news of my secret relationship with Jace got out—they decided I was public enemy number one. “What are you even doing here, Aria? Trying to win back your ex at his wedding? That’s a new low even for you,” Layla snickered. “I’m not here to win anyone back.” I tried to push past them. But they blocked me. “What happened to your shirt?” Brielle snickered. “Did you seriously walk in here with your bra out? Is this like some low-budget fashion statement?” They burst into laughter together. “You could be completely naked and Jace still wouldn’t give a damn,” Sabrina squeaked. “Because he’s marrying Delilah. THE Delilah Hart! Redstone Pack’s sweetheart. And you…well you’re just a poor-ass small-town girl.” I stopped in my track and gave them a cold glare, “Oh yeah? Well at least I’ve actually been with Jace. Do you know how many times I had to listen to him complained about your screechy voices and cheesy perfume? Apparently he rather be with a poor-ass small-town girl than any of you.” Their jaws dropped. “Jace would never say that!” Brielle cried. “Word for word,” I rolled my eyes. “Now move. Or I’m rolling this suitcase over your pretty little skirts.” They looked like ruffled chickens, but they parted. I quickly shoved my dingy luggage ahead like a weapon and stormed out of the church. Rich people were assholes. Grayson, Jace, and their whole damn minions. I struggled to get my suitcase down the steps, and once I hit the street, cold wind slapped me in the face. I had no idea where to go. I could crash in the hospital with my grandma for a night, but she’d ask too many questions. Like why I hadn’t brought Jace around recently, or why I wasn’t staying at my apartment. I didn’t want her knowing how bad things had gotten. I thought about the park. Sleeping on a bench. But in a ripped T-shirt that exposed my whole front? Horrible idea. So I texted my best friend, May, asking to stay at her place for a few days. She was my rock. If the whole world turned against me, at least I still had her. She texted back right away inviting me to come over. Dragging my suitcase across the street toward the bus stop, I told myself it was going to be okay. This horrible day was going to end. Then I heard them. “Hey, nice shirt!” A group of street wolves were loitering near the stop. I hugged myself tighter and curled into the bench, hoping they’d get bored and leave. “C’mon baby, drop your hands. Let us see what you’re working with.” Go away. Go away. Go away. “You rip that shirt yourself? Damn that’s wild. I like that in a girl.” One of them moved closer, reaching for my shoulder. “Get away from me!” I snapped, my voice shaking. But it only fired them up. “Oh, feisty. Shake those tits for me!” They grabbed my wrists, yanked my arms down. My T-shirt gaped open completely, revealing my lace bra. The cold air made my skin pebble. They laughed even louder. I struggled and screamed. My wolf growled in rage. Shifting in the city was illegal—but right now, I didn’t have a second choice— Just then. Blinding headlights. Followed by screeching tires. A black car skidded to a stop inches away. The door flew open. A deep voice thundered, “Get in.” I was too shocked that I didn’t think twice and obeyed. The car peeled away the second I shut the door. “My suitcase!” I cried. “Someone will get it,” he said darkly. “Address.” I told the driver May’s. Then he pressed a button. A privacy screen slid up between the front and back seats, sealing us in the back. That’s when he turned toward me and leaned in. Like a beast ready to pounce. His scent hit me like a punch—sharp pine mixed with cold metal. My head started to get dizzy. “Walking on the street in that shirt was a mistake,” he said sternly. “It got like this because of you,” I mumbled. He snorted. Then the sound of rustling fabric. A heavy jacket landed across my shoulders—it was still warm from his body and carried his scent. I held my breathe. Wearing his coat almost felt like…he was wrapping himself around me. “You—do you know me?” I whispered. My gut told me that he would never do this for a strange girl. But if he knew who I was, he must know that I was his sister’s husband’s ex. That didn’t explain why he would help. “We’ve met,” he said simply. I stared at him, searching those icy gray eyes. He was staring at me too, with that cold, hungry, possessive eyes. I felt like I was completely naked in front of him. “Aria,” he warned, voice thick and husky. But I couldn’t control myself. I was leaning forward. Shit. Why did my body become so weird? My skin was on fire. My panties were wet. All I wanted was more of his scent, more of his heat. The next second his lips were crashed onto mine—Hard. Rough. I gasped and opened my mouth for him. His tongue slipped in and explored every inch of my mouth, making me shiver. His hands pushed into my torn shirt and grabbed my waist. I couldn’t control my moan when he touched my naked skin. This was crazy! He was a stranger, and most importantly, my ex’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. And I was making out with him at the back of his car. The crazy part was I didn’t even want to stop. He lifted me onto his lap like I weighed nothing. I straddled his thighs and yanked at his tie as he bite my collarbone. Then, suddenly, the car stopped. “Alpha, we’ve arrived.” That’s when it all froze. His lips paused at my neck. I was still squirming on his lap, flushed and throbbing. But he shoved me off. “We can’t do this,” he said coldly. Chapter 3 You're Special To Him Aria’s POV “So you’re telling me this guy made out with you in the backseat of his car… and then just shoved you off like nothing happened?” May asked in shock. 20 minutes later, I was sitting at her place, wrapped in one of her oversized hoodies, a steaming mug of tea in my hands. But I was still reeling from everything that had just happened. “Yup,” I muttered. “Who knows what’s wrong with him.” “What an asshole,” she huffed. “But honestly, this really isn’t like you. You dated that jerk Jace for 4 years and didn’t even sleep with him—which, by the way, was a brilliant choice—and now you're suddenly making out with a complete stranger in his car?” I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. Yeah, she had a point. “I—I don’t know. Maybe it was the whole Jace-getting-married thing. Maybe I just snapped and wanted to screw around with someone hotter just to get back at him…Honestly, it was so stupid now that I think of it.” She grinned and wiggled her brows. “So… he was hot huh?” My cheeks flushed and my mind drifted back. Those stormy gray eyes, his perfectly shaped lips on my neck, and those arms that could pick me up like I weighed nothing…Shit I need to stop. “Yeah. VERY,” I whispered, hiding my red face behind the mug. May burst out laughing. “Now we’re talking! That’s exactly what you need right now—a drop-dead gorgeous rebound to get that loser Jace out of your system. Screw your ‘no sex before marriage’ rule. Life is short.” I gave her a weak smile. Honestly, I didn’t need a rebound. I needed a job, money, and a place to live. Grayson Hart was like dessert when you can’t even afford dinner. “So… do you even know who this guy was?” she asked. I hesitated. Right at this moment, the doorbell rang. She jumped up to get it and came back a few minutes later, hauling in my luggage, her face frozen in disbelief. “OMG. You are not gonna believe what just showed up outside.” “Umm… my luggage?” I joked. “Two fucking muscular guys in black suits and guns! And a freaking stretch limo! They called me ‘ma’am’ and said they hope Miss Aria has a wonderful evening. Now, you—” She leapt at me and shook me by the shoulders. “—you tell me right now who the hell you hooked up with!” I squealed and dropped into the couch with her, laughing and giggling breathlessly. “Okay, okay—I’ll tell you. It was… Grayson Hart.” I practically whispered his name. Because honestly, I still couldn’t believe it either. May froze, eyes wide as saucers. “Grayson—THE Grayson Hart?! As in our Alpha? The CEO of Apex?!” “And Jace’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. Now you know how stupid I was earlier?” She let out a full-on scream. Then she grabbed my hand, her face flushed with excitement. “Oh my God! Aria, do you know what this means? Alpha Grayson never even lends his jacket to his model girlfriends. He likes you. You’re special!” “No,” I said firmly. “If I was special, he wouldn’t have thrown me off his lap when I tried to take off his shirt.” “Maybe he had somewhere to be—” “Don’t, May. Let’s be real. Guys like him don’t fall for girls like me.” I took another sip of tea, hiding the ache in my chest. Hell even Jace thought I was beneath him. What chance did I have with Grayson freaking Hart? “Don’t be silly, Aria. You’re gorgeous. And smart and amazing and—WAIT! I just had the best idea ever.” “What?” “That arrogant jerk Jace thinks you’re just some small-town prude who wasn’t good enough for him right? But what if you ended up with Alpha Grayson? It’ll be easy to get him because he’s already obsessed. Oh, it would destroy Jace. That dickhead would never recover.” OKAY. I’d be lying if I said that exact scenario hadn’t crossed my mind when Grayson kissed me back. What girl hasn’t daydreamed about dating the perfect guy and getting revenge in the most dramatic way possible? But right now, I couldn’t afford to daydream. Reality was already breathing down my neck. “Tempting. But right now I need a job and enough cash to keep Grandma in her hospital bed. Dating rich dudes isn’t exactly high on my to-do list.” May looked at me with soft eyes. “So…any plans? I can try to hook you up with a job, but you know I just work at a coffee shop, and with your degree, you deserve so much more.” I hugged her. “Thank you. Really. I’ll figure something out. Apex promised me severance when they fired me, so I’m going to HR tomorrow to get it sorted.” If I could get that money, at least I’d be OK for the next round of Grandma’s medical bills. — The next morning, I showed up at Apex right on time. But the second Brielle walked in with the HR manager, I had a bad feeling. “What’s she doing here?” I asked coldly. “I’ll explain in a minute,” HR replied with a polite, rehearsed smile as she sat across from me. “So Ms. Collins, I understand you’re here to discuss severance?” “Yes. So let’s not waste time. Just give me the check and I’ll be out of here.” “Unfortunately, severance only applies when the company terminates a contract without cause. In your case… it appears you were let go due to misconduct.” Misconduct? What the freaking hell. “Jace made a snap decision and booted me. What misconduct are you talking about?” “But that’s not what Mr. Carter said. He provided evidence that you made a costly error on a sales quote—omitting a few zeroes, to be exact. Cost the company millions. Here’s the email record.” She handed me a printed sheet. I swore I had never sent this email in my life. But there it was—my name in the sender field. No freaking way. Jace forged this. “And Mr. Carter reported that you had a difficult attitude toward your coworkers. Quote: ‘impatient and arrogant.’ Brielle’s here to verify that.” Brielle twirled her hair and smiled smugly. “Yeah. Aria was a horrible team player.” I stood so fast my chair screeched. “The only thing I didn’t ‘teamplayed’ with you was flirt with the boss in the breakroom!” “Liar!” she yelled. “And I asked Jace. He never said my voice was screechy!” Oh my God. I couldn’t believe how stupid she was. “Sit down, Miss Collins,” HR warned. “As of now, not only are you not getting severance, but we’re also considering legal action to recover the losses. If you understand the situation here, sign this acknowledgement—” “Does Alpha Grayson know about this?” I asked. Both of them froze. After a long pause, HR finally found her voice. “What does Alpha Grayson have to do with any of this?” “He owns Apex, doesn’t he? Does he know his team is abusing their power and firing hardworking employees illegally?” HR frowned. Brielle let out a loud snort. “Please. Don’t act like you know Alpha Grayson.” “What if I do? What if I go to him and then it’s you who gets fired?” She laughed in my face. “Oh, you mean you know him on TV?” “Let’s find out.” I shoved my chair back and stormed out, heading straight for the CEO’s private elevator at the end of the hall. HR scrambled after me, shouting my name. I was too furious to care how this ended. All I wanted now was to blow the whole damn place up. Two guards stood by the elevator. “I need to see Alpha Grayson,” I told them. “Appointment?” “No, but I swear he knows me. Just tell him it’s Aria—from yesterday. He’ll remember.” “You aren’t the first girl here saying that,” one of them mocked. “Come on, Miss Collins,” HR snapped, trying to drag me back. “This is getting crazy. Go back, sign the paper. Take responsibility for your own mistake.” “I didn’t send that email. It was Jace—he’s framing me! I will report all of you.” “Alpha Grayson doesn’t have time for your report, or your visit, or any of your little drama!” “I believe no one but me has the right to decide that,” a cold voice said behind us. Chapter 4 Take Me, Please Aria’s POV A large hand grabbed my arm and pulled me away from HR’s grip. I looked up and my heart almost stopped. Even I couldn’t believe he just showed up here. It felt like a dream. “A-Alpha Grayson,” HR stammered, her face frozen with shock and fear. “I don’t need employees who think they can make decisions for their boss,” he said freezingly while wrapping his arm around my waist. “If I see something like this again, you’re fired.” “Y-yes, Alpha. I’m terribly sorry…” HR’s expression was priceless, but I was in no mood to enjoy it. His icy pine scent consumed me again, making my body weak and hot. My wolf let out a soft purr, urging me to lean into him. But before I could even move, he let go. A pang of disappointment hit me in the chest. “Come,” he said shortly, striding toward the private elevator. I shot HR and the stunned security guards a smug look, then hurried after him. He swiped his card and the elevator doors closed. We started going up to the 58th floor. It was dead silent. My heart was beating so wildly that I was afraid he’d hear it. I snuck a glance at him—he just stared straight ahead, emotionless, keeping a distance, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Unease twisted my stomach. “So, um… what brings you here today?” I broke the silence. He sighed softly. “I owe this company.” “Oh, Oh…Right.” I wanted to punch myself in the face. The awkward silence lingered until the elevator dinged open. The 58th floor was a wide-open space with no cubicles or dividers—just massive floor-to-ceiling windows and a sweeping view of the entire city. “Wow,” I whispered under my breath. Grayson was already walking ahead. I jogged to catch up as he led me into an office at the far end of the floor. A stunning female assistant closed the door behind us, and once again, it was just the two of us. My heart rocketed back into my throat. He casually unbuttoned his jacket. It was amazing how he made even that look sexy. “So you insisted on seeing me?” he asked. He didn’t ask me to sit. He didn’t even move closer. That distance stung a little. “I worked here till a week ago when I found out I was let go for no reason…” I quickly told him the story of how I was fired. “This is clearly illegal in so many ways… can you help me get my job back?” “Unfortunately, no,” he replied, barely hesitating. My heart dropped like a stone. “Why not?” “I’ll have the hiring department look into whether your termination followed proper protocol. But this isn’t something a CEO handles directly. Anything else?” The hiring department? That could take weeks—and I didn’t have weeks. “No… you don’t get it,” I stepped forward, my voice trembling. “My grandma’s in the hospital. Her bills are getting insane every month. And I’m already deep in debt… If I can’t make money, I don’t even know— I really, REALLY need this job.” I knew we came from two different worlds, but laying out the most desperate parts of my life in front of him still made me feel horribly exposed. I just hoped—begged—that he’d understand. But he didn’t. His gray eyes stayed emotionless. “I’m sorry, Miss Collins,” he said quietly. Tears rushed into my eyes. I couldn’t even breathe. All I could think about were the bills, the debt, the mountain of shit waiting for me the second I left this building. “If there’s nothing else, my assistant will show you out.” he said, reaching for the intercom. I rushed forward and pressed my hand down on his before he could call anyone in. His whole body stiffened—but he didn’t pull away. He just stared down at me. I stepped in closer, tilting my head up. His gray eyes darkened like a storm brewing in the distance. His pine scent wrapped around me again, thick and intoxicating. As werewolves, our scent only spikes during a fight or sexual arousal. It was damn obvious which case this was. “You clearly feel something for me,” I whispered. He said nothing. I placed my hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat. It was racing as well. His breathing had also turned shallow. “What are you doing, Miss Collins?” he asked tightly. “Trying to seduce your way into a job?” “You can do whatever you want,” I locked eyes with him. “I won’t stop you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. God, I wanted to lick it. And… well, I did. I leaned up and pressed my lips to it. He let out a growl. The next second, I was pinned on his desk. He stood between my spread legs, one hand by my head. I whimpered, clamping my thighs together—the heat between them was almost unbearable. Just like in the backseat of his car. His hand slid from the desk to my throat. It was so big, he could probably snap my neck if he wanted. “You shouldn’t keep tempting me, Miss Collins.” His body was pressed against my thighs—I definitely felt the effect I was having on him. “Why?” I whispered, licking my lips. “Because your self-control isn’t as strong as you thought?” “Because I don’t fuck virgins.” What the actual hell The next second, he had pulled away. I scrambled off the desk, face red, eyes wide. “What did you just say?!” I snapped. “Why—How the hell do you even know—?” “I know who you are. And I know about your relationship with my sister’s husband.” And just like that, everything clicked. It was Jace. That bastard didn’t just dump me—he ran his mouth about my virginity to everyone, including Grayson. Humiliation crashed over me like a wave. “Jace is a fucking asshole,” I snapped shakily. Grayson shrugged. “Obviously. But Brielle likes him. And he’s family now. I’m sorry but I just can’t get involved in this.” I climbed off his desk with my whole body red and shaking. He didn’t want me. And he was taking his sister and Jace’s side. I was so damn stupid to think that one kiss in the car actually meant anything. But this was Grayson Hart for Christ’s sake. He could have anyone he wanted. “I’m sure you’re a very capable employee, Miss Collins. But seducing me won’t help your career. I wish you all the best.” He finally pressed the intercom button. His assistant appeared at the door, waiting for me to leave. “Bye,” I whispered without even look back. I didn’t want him to notice my falling tears. I walked out of that office, numb, and rode the elevator down like a ghost. My mind was a storm of bills, debt, and Grayson’s ice-cold stare. Now I desperately needed a new job. “Miss Collins!” I turned and saw his assistant come rushing out again, holding an envelope. “Alpha Grayson asked me to give you this,” she said, handing it over. “What is it?” Why didn’t he give it to me earlier? “He didn’t say. Maybe you’ll know once you open it.” She gave me a mysterious smile and walked away. I opened the envelope. A blank check slid out first—I held my breath in shock. Then I found a crumpled note. His handwriting, rushed and messy. Haven’t repaid you for the shirt. Hope everything works out for you Aria. Stay strong. —Grayson Chapter 5 Getting My Attention Aria’s POV “That check clearly means something,” May insisted. “Come on. We’re not doing this again,” I sighed. “If he’s not into you, then why did he let his assistant come after you with a check? He probably saw you crying and couldn’t stand it. You should definitely go back and see him again.” “Nope,” I shut it down immediately. “I had one perfect, fairytale encounter with a rich bachelor. That’s enough. I’m not about to go back there and humiliate myself all over again.” “But—” “Hey, you two!” our manager yelled from the other end of the aisle. “Less talking, more working!” We rolled our eyes at each other and got back to inventory. May had helped me land this supermarket job. It was part of a chain under a big corporation, so the pay and benefits weren’t bad. May still thought it was beneath someone with my degree, but honestly, I was just grateful to be employed. Once we finished our section, the manager wandered off to shout at someone else, and May scooted back over to me. “Just imagine it,” she grinned. “You could write a couple million on that blank check and boom! Instant rich girl life.” “I’m not gonna do that.” “Sure you won’t. You’re too nice,” she muttered, half-admiring, half-scolding. “So? What are you gonna write?” I hesitated. At first, I actually considered writing the price of a shirt. 19.99 that was. Because apparently, my dignity still thinks it matters. But let’s be real, if Grayson was just trying to pay me back for a ripped tee, he would’ve handed his assistant a $20 bill, not a blank check. Maybe… he felt bad I lost my job too. “I’m going to write the amount I should’ve gotten in severance,” I admitted eventually. May's eyes bulged. “That’s it?!” “I know it’s not much, but it’s what I actually deserve. And it’ll help me cover two months of bills.” She sighed like I was letting go of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But my mind was made up. This was my chance to walk away from the mess. I still wanted to rip Jace’s smug face off, but the best revenge right now was surviving. 6 hours later, we finished our shift exhausted and aching. Everyone else got to clock out, but not me—I’d volunteered for night shift and closing duties. The staffs left one by one, yawning, including May. Finally I was alone in this big market. Now here’s the big secret— I actually lived here now. Nobody knew this, not even May. She thought I’d found a new apartment and moved out, but I just couldn’t keep bothering her anymore—her roommates were getting irritated with me hogging the living room and utilities. And renting my own place seemed way out of budget now. So I stayed in this supermarket instead. I closed up the store at night and opened it early in the morning. For the 5 or 6 hours in between, I made a bed out of my coat and slept on the floor near the refrigerated section. Now don’t ask me why I can’t sleep in the staff’s break room. That room was too hot without AC. At least it was cool by the freezer. Tonight I was extra exhausted. The manager made us girls haul too many heavy crates around. I passed out in seconds. But it felt like I’d only been asleep for five minutes—my alarm hadn’t even gone off yet—when I was jolted awake by someone screaming. “OH MY GOD—what the hell are you doing?!” I shot upright, completely disoriented. And froze. In front of me stood an entire group of people—including the manager and several guys in suits, all staring at me wide eyes. And I was only in a tank top and shorts. Half naked. OH GOD. What the hell—Is it morning already?! Why didn’t I hear my alarm? I scrambled to pull my clothes over my body, my hands shaking. The stares didn’t stop. They got more invasive. “Aria Collins! What the fuck are you doing?!” the manager stormed over and roared. “Napping half-naked in my fucking store?! Are you a fucking sex perv?!” My face went beet red, “No! I—I was just staying here temporarily—” “Temporarily?!” he yelled, eyes bulging. “I hired an employee, not a fucking squatter! How much water and electricity have you used free?! Are you stealing food too?!” “No I swear. I shut everything off when I’m done, I don’t use the water unless I have to. And I paid for everything I’ve eaten.” Tears blurred my vision as I tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening. His spit actually hit my cheek as he snarled. “Of all days—you had to pick the day corporate shows up to camp out in my perfect store. You filthy, disgusting little—” “Aria Collins?” A new voice called my name. It came from one of the suited men. I looked up—and my heart dropped. It was Jonathan. A former coworker from Apex. “Holy shit, it is you,” he grinned, raising his brows. “Almost didn’t recognize you at first.” “You… what are you doing here?” I stammered. “Apex owns this supermarket chain. We’re doing site inspections today,” he said with a smirk, his eyes trailing down to my bare legs. “Man! Most people hit rock bottom after getting fired from Apex, but you fall faster than anyone.” “I’m working. Making a decent living,” I said in shaky voice. “There’s no shame with that.” “Oh really?” he sneered. “Does your job include lying around half-naked on the floor? What is this, a new hooker gimmick?” The suits burst out laughing. My furious tears were on the verge of falling. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll fire her right away.” The manager groaned. “Hold up,” Jonathan drawled with a smirk. “This chick got fired from Apex for messing up a seven-figure deal. You might wanna check your inventory. She could be stealing.” “You know that’s a lie. Jace got me fired out of spite! I never made a mistake—” “Oh please,” he cut me off. “Everyone in the industry knows how you fucked up. Jace was so embarrassed that he had to apologize for you.” The manager grabbed my wrist. “Then you’re definitely stealing from this market as well. That’s it you are going to jail. When I figure out what you’ve taken, you must pay back everything!” My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t doubt for a second that the manager would come up with something that I didn’t steal, just like how Jace framed me before. It wasn’t hard for guys like them. But I couldn’t go to jail. My grandma had no one to count on but me. I can’t leave her. The wolf in me surfaced up the next second—I snarled at the manager, yanked my arm free, and ran. “Stop her!” someone shouted behind me. I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I had to escape. I bolted out of the store, desperate and horrified—and slammed right into a solid chest. “Get away from Alpha!” a bodyguard barked. But he pulled me in instead. “Aria?” I was still shaking involuntarily. He unbuttoned the front and wrapped me in, covering my half-naked body. “It’s OK.” his voice was deep with clear hint of rage. I clutched his shirt, gasping for air. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to breathe at all. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Yet I couldn’t make a sound. “She’s having a panic attack,” a woman said nearby. “Alpha, if I may—” I silently prayed him not to hand me over. And he didn’t. “It’s fine, Nova,” he refused. “Aria, you’re safe now. Breathe.” Panicked footsteps echoed behind us. Jonathan’s voice rang out, stunned: “Alpha Grayson! Oh God—w-what’s going on here?!” “Nova,” Grayson said in a cold, dangerous voice, “stay here. Don’t let anyone leave.” “Yes, Alpha.” He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, one arm under my legs, the other around my back. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. Then he carried me through the crowd, into the store, and into a private room. When he set me down in a chair, I was still trembling and sobbing. He finally took off his coat and draped it over my legs, then crouched down in front of me. “You’re safe here,” he said. That’s when I broke down. Crying out loud. Everything—fear, shame, panic—everything spilled out in a messy, helpless flood. I clutched his wrist like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and for once… he didn’t pull away. He said nothing the whole time. Just stayed there with me until the sobs quieted. “Th-thank you…I’m better now.” I sniffled. He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. I trembled at the way he touched my skin. His voice was low, rough, and a little strained. “You’re starting to make me wonder, Miss Collins. If all these run-ins are just your way of getting my attention.”
🔞When My ex-brother-in-law took my virginity...His liquid spurts inslde and my eyes widen, "Wait we forgot a comdom!" …………………… Chapter 1 He Dumped Me Aria's POV I stood in front of the chapel. Pink roses and white lilies decorated every corner I saw—my favorite flowers. The guests were already seated in their designer dresses and pressed suits. And soon, at the end of the red carpet would stand the man I once loved, waiting to marry his bride. Everything was perfect. Except I wasn't the bride. "I really need to see Jace today." I begged the bodyguard blocking the door. A beat-up suitcase and two boxes sat at my feet—everything I owned in the world. "No you don’t. Get out of here," the bodyguard said icily. I saw it in his eyes—disgust. Yeah I get it. No one has sympathy for the crazy ex who shows up at the wedding. But I have my reason. "If you don't let me see him, I'll just stand here and all the guests will see me," I threatened under my breath. Jace wouldn't want that. Especially not today. Today he was marrying Delilah Hart. Sister to Alpha Grayson Hart of Redstone Pack. A 100% high-society darling. All the guys in the world knew that marrying Delilah would make their wealth skyrocket, including Jace. So he made the easy call—marrying the lady who could turn him from a small-town nobody into a golden boy. And dump the girl who stayed by his side for last 4 years when he had nothing. So it’s normal why he didn’t want any guests to see me here. I represented his broke, embarrassing past. He wanted me nowhere near his glossy, glittering new world. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of that. Like a knife was twisting in my chest. “Let me in or I’m starting to yell.” "Wait here." The bodyguard finally made a call. A few minutes later, he waved me in. I wiped my eyes and struggled into the hall with my suitcase and boxes. Instantly, I felt how out of place I was. Everything reeked of wealth here. Expensive perfume. Manicured nails. Not a hair out of place. It was everything you imagined about the upper-class and way more. And me? I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans. My sneakers had holes. "God, a homeless. She stinks." A woman mutter as I walked by. I just showered this morning. My hair still smelled like strawberries and coconut. But poverty had a scent, apparently. "Mr. Carter is inside. Make it quick." The guard took me to a closed door and warned. “Thank you.” The room inside looked like something out of a movie. Marble floors. Floor-length mirrors. A chandelier that probably cost more than my apartment. I hesitated for a second as I dragged my dirty luggage across the white carpet. And there he was. The man I used to love. Adjusting his bowtie in front of a mirror. He was still heartbreakingly handsome. No wonder Delilah fell for him. When he turned and fixed his gorgeous blue eyes upon me, I still felt my heart race. "Hey, Jace," I said quietly. And immediately wanted to punch myself. Hey, Jace? That’s the best I could do? His face was ice cold. "You shouldn't come. Your ratty suitcase, your ripped jeans, your Vans. None of that belongs here." Well if you wanted to be brutal and vicious, that’s how it’s done. "Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? You dumped me over a fucking email!" I snapped. He shrugged. "Look around you. The wealthiest people in the world came for me today. This suit I’m wearing cost more than you can make in your entire life. What more explanation do you want, Aria?" Wow. I always knew he was a cold, calculating bastard. I just didn’t realize how deep it ran. "Maybe chasing Alpha’s sister got you here faster. But you know what? When she finds out how cold and empty you are. You’ll lose it all." Anger flared across his face. "I know how to love. I just won't waste that on a small-town girl like you.” he said freezingly, “Are we done here?" “No.” I took a deep breath and got into the real reason I came. "You're marrying a rich girl. Fine. But why did you have to get me fired?" Yeah. I used to work for this jerk. From intern to full-time at Apex Corp, he was my supervisor. Our relationship was a secret. And just days ago, I found out he was getting married—and I was out of a job. He fired me. "Right, your job.” The jerk shrugged, “You got it because of me. Now that I’m not around, they finally saw how incompetent you are. Problem?" Was he fucking kidding me?! "I graduated top of my class. Made it through 7 rounds of interviews. My performance exceeded every quarterly target. I earned that job!" I cried. “Come on, Aria. You really gonna be so naïve?” He walked closer, smirking. "You passed the interviews because I said so. Your sales? I made those calls. Without me, you'd be nothing but a pretty face." He seized my chin and looked me over with a disgusting look. I slapped his hand away. "Give me my job back,” I hissed, my voice slightly trembling. “My dad’s debt. My grandma’s medical bills…I need the money. You of all people should know what it’s like to be poor. Don’t. Make. Me. Beg." I was throwing my pride at his feet. But he laughed. "Well, how about I offer you a deal?" he said as though he’d been waiting for this moment. He brushed my hair back, fingers trailing down to my collarbone. I shivered in disgust. "You never let me touch you. You were so clinging to that pathetic no-sex-before-marriage rule. Maybe it's time to grow up. Let me fuck you once and I’ll write you a check you can’t refuse. How does that sound?" I widened my eyes in shock. Then I slapped him. HARD. “WHAT THE FUCK! I’m getting married in front of everyone in fucking 10 minutes!” He roared covering his face. "Fuck you, Jace!” I yelled, “You're a spineless freeloading puss! And hey—congrats on the wedding. Hope your junk is soft like a fucking spaghetti tonight!" Then I stormed out dragging my suitcase and boxes, ignoring his angry curses behind me. Hot tears poured down as I dashed across the hallway. God this couldn’t be any worse. I was prepared to drop all my self-esteem and begged with my life because I needed the job and money. But I still let him get to me. Now what do I do? My salary barely covered my rent, my father’s debt and grandma’s bill. Now with my job gone, I already got kicked out by my landlord. I probably had to sleep in a park tonight. So do I go back and let that jerk win? Let him humiliate me...No. I’d rather die than that— "Hey, watch where you're going!" someone yelled. Too late. I slammed right into the man in front of me. He was tall—so tall I felt like I’d just walked into a brick wall. His diamond cufflink was sharp like a blade, and when we collided, it sliced clean through my thin T-shirt with a loud rip. In one second, the front of my shirt was torn open, exposing my white lace bra. “Ah!” I gasped and looked up. The man in front of me was so handsome. Like a statue carved by a master artist. Yet his expression so cold. He looked down at me, and I swear I was about to drown in those stormy gray eyes of his. And then I recognized who he was. This was Jace’s son-to-be brother-in-law. Alpha of Redstone Pack. CEO of Apex Corporation. THE legendary. Grayson Hart. “Aria Collins?” His voice was sexy and velvety. He lowered his head and his eyes dropped to the exposed part of my bra. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the color of his eyes seemed to darken as he stared. Wherever his gaze landed, my skin started burning up. But wait. How did he know my name? Chapter 2 With Ex's Brother-in-law Aria’s POV Of course I recognized him. God, who didn’t? I’d met him at an Apex gala. His face was on every finance magazine cover, and any time you turned on a TV, there he was—linked to the latest scandal with some actress or model. But there was no way he’d know who I was. “I-I… Hello, Alpha Grayson,” I stammered. He turned his eyes away and said to a nearby guard, “Escort Ms. Collins out.” “Yes, Alpha.” The guards stepped in immediately, stretching out their arms like I was some kind of contaminant that might taint Grayson’s perfectly tailored suit. “Wait a minute. You’re not going to say something about my shirt?” He paused—just for a second—then flicked a piece of paper down at my feet. I looked down. A blank check. “I need a shirt I can actually wear out of here. Not your hush money.” I gritted with humiliation. But he didn’t even glance back as he walked away. “God,” I muttered under my breath. Can you believe these rich bastards? They think they can buy everything with money. People nearby were all staring, snickering under their breath. I tried to cover my chest and grab my things to escape, but it was hard to do all that with just two hands. “Oh my god…Aria Collins?” Three girls emerged from the whispering crowd. I took one look at them and sighed internally. Great. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse. “Hello. Layla. Sabrina. Brielle.” I used to work in the same team with these girls back at Apex. We were all under Jace. They adored him—spent more time flirting with at the coffee machine than actually working. Which left me doing their share of the workload. After I got fired—and when news of my secret relationship with Jace got out—they decided I was public enemy number one. “What are you even doing here, Aria? Trying to win back your ex at his wedding? That’s a new low even for you,” Layla snickered. “I’m not here to win anyone back.” I tried to push past them. But they blocked me. “What happened to your shirt?” Brielle snickered. “Did you seriously walk in here with your bra out? Is this like some low-budget fashion statement?” They burst into laughter together. “You could be completely naked and Jace still wouldn’t give a damn,” Sabrina squeaked. “Because he’s marrying Delilah. THE Delilah Hart! Redstone Pack’s sweetheart. And you…well you’re just a poor-ass small-town girl.” I stopped in my track and gave them a cold glare, “Oh yeah? Well at least I’ve actually been with Jace. Do you know how many times I had to listen to him complained about your screechy voices and cheesy perfume? Apparently he rather be with a poor-ass small-town girl than any of you.” Their jaws dropped. “Jace would never say that!” Brielle cried. “Word for word,” I rolled my eyes. “Now move. Or I’m rolling this suitcase over your pretty little skirts.” They looked like ruffled chickens, but they parted. I quickly shoved my dingy luggage ahead like a weapon and stormed out of the church. Rich people were assholes. Grayson, Jace, and their whole damn minions. I struggled to get my suitcase down the steps, and once I hit the street, cold wind slapped me in the face. I had no idea where to go. I could crash in the hospital with my grandma for a night, but she’d ask too many questions. Like why I hadn’t brought Jace around recently, or why I wasn’t staying at my apartment. I didn’t want her knowing how bad things had gotten. I thought about the park. Sleeping on a bench. But in a ripped T-shirt that exposed my whole front? Horrible idea. So I texted my best friend, May, asking to stay at her place for a few days. She was my rock. If the whole world turned against me, at least I still had her. She texted back right away inviting me to come over. Dragging my suitcase across the street toward the bus stop, I told myself it was going to be okay. This horrible day was going to end. Then I heard them. “Hey, nice shirt!” A group of street wolves were loitering near the stop. I hugged myself tighter and curled into the bench, hoping they’d get bored and leave. “C’mon baby, drop your hands. Let us see what you’re working with.” Go away. Go away. Go away. “You rip that shirt yourself? Damn that’s wild. I like that in a girl.” One of them moved closer, reaching for my shoulder. “Get away from me!” I snapped, my voice shaking. But it only fired them up. “Oh, feisty. Shake those tits for me!” They grabbed my wrists, yanked my arms down. My T-shirt gaped open completely, revealing my lace bra. The cold air made my skin pebble. They laughed even louder. I struggled and screamed. My wolf growled in rage. Shifting in the city was illegal—but right now, I didn’t have a second choice— Just then. Blinding headlights. Followed by screeching tires. A black car skidded to a stop inches away. The door flew open. A deep voice thundered, “Get in.” I was too shocked that I didn’t think twice and obeyed. The car peeled away the second I shut the door. “My suitcase!” I cried. “Someone will get it,” he said darkly. “Address.” I told the driver May’s. Then he pressed a button. A privacy screen slid up between the front and back seats, sealing us in the back. That’s when he turned toward me and leaned in. Like a beast ready to pounce. His scent hit me like a punch—sharp pine mixed with cold metal. My head started to get dizzy. “Walking on the street in that shirt was a mistake,” he said sternly. “It got like this because of you,” I mumbled. He snorted. Then the sound of rustling fabric. A heavy jacket landed across my shoulders—it was still warm from his body and carried his scent. I held my breathe. Wearing his coat almost felt like…he was wrapping himself around me. “You—do you know me?” I whispered. My gut told me that he would never do this for a strange girl. But if he knew who I was, he must know that I was his sister’s husband’s ex. That didn’t explain why he would help. “We’ve met,” he said simply. I stared at him, searching those icy gray eyes. He was staring at me too, with that cold, hungry, possessive eyes. I felt like I was completely naked in front of him. “Aria,” he warned, voice thick and husky. But I couldn’t control myself. I was leaning forward. Shit. Why did my body become so weird? My skin was on fire. My panties were wet. All I wanted was more of his scent, more of his heat. The next second his lips were crashed onto mine—Hard. Rough. I gasped and opened my mouth for him. His tongue slipped in and explored every inch of my mouth, making me shiver. His hands pushed into my torn shirt and grabbed my waist. I couldn’t control my moan when he touched my naked skin. This was crazy! He was a stranger, and most importantly, my ex’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. And I was making out with him at the back of his car. The crazy part was I didn’t even want to stop. He lifted me onto his lap like I weighed nothing. I straddled his thighs and yanked at his tie as he bite my collarbone. Then, suddenly, the car stopped. “Alpha, we’ve arrived.” That’s when it all froze. His lips paused at my neck. I was still squirming on his lap, flushed and throbbing. But he shoved me off. “We can’t do this,” he said coldly. Chapter 3 You're Special To Him Aria’s POV “So you’re telling me this guy made out with you in the backseat of his car… and then just shoved you off like nothing happened?” May asked in shock. 20 minutes later, I was sitting at her place, wrapped in one of her oversized hoodies, a steaming mug of tea in my hands. But I was still reeling from everything that had just happened. “Yup,” I muttered. “Who knows what’s wrong with him.” “What an asshole,” she huffed. “But honestly, this really isn’t like you. You dated that jerk Jace for 4 years and didn’t even sleep with him—which, by the way, was a brilliant choice—and now you're suddenly making out with a complete stranger in his car?” I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. Yeah, she had a point. “I—I don’t know. Maybe it was the whole Jace-getting-married thing. Maybe I just snapped and wanted to screw around with someone hotter just to get back at him…Honestly, it was so stupid now that I think of it.” She grinned and wiggled her brows. “So… he was hot huh?” My cheeks flushed and my mind drifted back. Those stormy gray eyes, his perfectly shaped lips on my neck, and those arms that could pick me up like I weighed nothing…Shit I need to stop. “Yeah. VERY,” I whispered, hiding my red face behind the mug. May burst out laughing. “Now we’re talking! That’s exactly what you need right now—a drop-dead gorgeous rebound to get that loser Jace out of your system. Screw your ‘no sex before marriage’ rule. Life is short.” I gave her a weak smile. Honestly, I didn’t need a rebound. I needed a job, money, and a place to live. Grayson Hart was like dessert when you can’t even afford dinner. “So… do you even know who this guy was?” she asked. I hesitated. Right at this moment, the doorbell rang. She jumped up to get it and came back a few minutes later, hauling in my luggage, her face frozen in disbelief. “OMG. You are not gonna believe what just showed up outside.” “Umm… my luggage?” I joked. “Two fucking muscular guys in black suits and guns! And a freaking stretch limo! They called me ‘ma’am’ and said they hope Miss Aria has a wonderful evening. Now, you—” She leapt at me and shook me by the shoulders. “—you tell me right now who the hell you hooked up with!” I squealed and dropped into the couch with her, laughing and giggling breathlessly. “Okay, okay—I’ll tell you. It was… Grayson Hart.” I practically whispered his name. Because honestly, I still couldn’t believe it either. May froze, eyes wide as saucers. “Grayson—THE Grayson Hart?! As in our Alpha? The CEO of Apex?!” “And Jace’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. Now you know how stupid I was earlier?” She let out a full-on scream. Then she grabbed my hand, her face flushed with excitement. “Oh my God! Aria, do you know what this means? Alpha Grayson never even lends his jacket to his model girlfriends. He likes you. You’re special!” “No,” I said firmly. “If I was special, he wouldn’t have thrown me off his lap when I tried to take off his shirt.” “Maybe he had somewhere to be—” “Don’t, May. Let’s be real. Guys like him don’t fall for girls like me.” I took another sip of tea, hiding the ache in my chest. Hell even Jace thought I was beneath him. What chance did I have with Grayson freaking Hart? “Don’t be silly, Aria. You’re gorgeous. And smart and amazing and—WAIT! I just had the best idea ever.” “What?” “That arrogant jerk Jace thinks you’re just some small-town prude who wasn’t good enough for him right? But what if you ended up with Alpha Grayson? It’ll be easy to get him because he’s already obsessed. Oh, it would destroy Jace. That dickhead would never recover.” OKAY. I’d be lying if I said that exact scenario hadn’t crossed my mind when Grayson kissed me back. What girl hasn’t daydreamed about dating the perfect guy and getting revenge in the most dramatic way possible? But right now, I couldn’t afford to daydream. Reality was already breathing down my neck. “Tempting. But right now I need a job and enough cash to keep Grandma in her hospital bed. Dating rich dudes isn’t exactly high on my to-do list.” May looked at me with soft eyes. “So…any plans? I can try to hook you up with a job, but you know I just work at a coffee shop, and with your degree, you deserve so much more.” I hugged her. “Thank you. Really. I’ll figure something out. Apex promised me severance when they fired me, so I’m going to HR tomorrow to get it sorted.” If I could get that money, at least I’d be OK for the next round of Grandma’s medical bills. — The next morning, I showed up at Apex right on time. But the second Brielle walked in with the HR manager, I had a bad feeling. “What’s she doing here?” I asked coldly. “I’ll explain in a minute,” HR replied with a polite, rehearsed smile as she sat across from me. “So Ms. Collins, I understand you’re here to discuss severance?” “Yes. So let’s not waste time. Just give me the check and I’ll be out of here.” “Unfortunately, severance only applies when the company terminates a contract without cause. In your case… it appears you were let go due to misconduct.” Misconduct? What the freaking hell. “Jace made a snap decision and booted me. What misconduct are you talking about?” “But that’s not what Mr. Carter said. He provided evidence that you made a costly error on a sales quote—omitting a few zeroes, to be exact. Cost the company millions. Here’s the email record.” She handed me a printed sheet. I swore I had never sent this email in my life. But there it was—my name in the sender field. No freaking way. Jace forged this. “And Mr. Carter reported that you had a difficult attitude toward your coworkers. Quote: ‘impatient and arrogant.’ Brielle’s here to verify that.” Brielle twirled her hair and smiled smugly. “Yeah. Aria was a horrible team player.” I stood so fast my chair screeched. “The only thing I didn’t ‘teamplayed’ with you was flirt with the boss in the breakroom!” “Liar!” she yelled. “And I asked Jace. He never said my voice was screechy!” Oh my God. I couldn’t believe how stupid she was. “Sit down, Miss Collins,” HR warned. “As of now, not only are you not getting severance, but we’re also considering legal action to recover the losses. If you understand the situation here, sign this acknowledgement—” “Does Alpha Grayson know about this?” I asked. Both of them froze. After a long pause, HR finally found her voice. “What does Alpha Grayson have to do with any of this?” “He owns Apex, doesn’t he? Does he know his team is abusing their power and firing hardworking employees illegally?” HR frowned. Brielle let out a loud snort. “Please. Don’t act like you know Alpha Grayson.” “What if I do? What if I go to him and then it’s you who gets fired?” She laughed in my face. “Oh, you mean you know him on TV?” “Let’s find out.” I shoved my chair back and stormed out, heading straight for the CEO’s private elevator at the end of the hall. HR scrambled after me, shouting my name. I was too furious to care how this ended. All I wanted now was to blow the whole damn place up. Two guards stood by the elevator. “I need to see Alpha Grayson,” I told them. “Appointment?” “No, but I swear he knows me. Just tell him it’s Aria—from yesterday. He’ll remember.” “You aren’t the first girl here saying that,” one of them mocked. “Come on, Miss Collins,” HR snapped, trying to drag me back. “This is getting crazy. Go back, sign the paper. Take responsibility for your own mistake.” “I didn’t send that email. It was Jace—he’s framing me! I will report all of you.” “Alpha Grayson doesn’t have time for your report, or your visit, or any of your little drama!” “I believe no one but me has the right to decide that,” a cold voice said behind us. Chapter 4 Take Me, Please Aria’s POV A large hand grabbed my arm and pulled me away from HR’s grip. I looked up and my heart almost stopped. Even I couldn’t believe he just showed up here. It felt like a dream. “A-Alpha Grayson,” HR stammered, her face frozen with shock and fear. “I don’t need employees who think they can make decisions for their boss,” he said freezingly while wrapping his arm around my waist. “If I see something like this again, you’re fired.” “Y-yes, Alpha. I’m terribly sorry…” HR’s expression was priceless, but I was in no mood to enjoy it. His icy pine scent consumed me again, making my body weak and hot. My wolf let out a soft purr, urging me to lean into him. But before I could even move, he let go. A pang of disappointment hit me in the chest. “Come,” he said shortly, striding toward the private elevator. I shot HR and the stunned security guards a smug look, then hurried after him. He swiped his card and the elevator doors closed. We started going up to the 58th floor. It was dead silent. My heart was beating so wildly that I was afraid he’d hear it. I snuck a glance at him—he just stared straight ahead, emotionless, keeping a distance, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Unease twisted my stomach. “So, um… what brings you here today?” I broke the silence. He sighed softly. “I owe this company.” “Oh, Oh…Right.” I wanted to punch myself in the face. The awkward silence lingered until the elevator dinged open. The 58th floor was a wide-open space with no cubicles or dividers—just massive floor-to-ceiling windows and a sweeping view of the entire city. “Wow,” I whispered under my breath. Grayson was already walking ahead. I jogged to catch up as he led me into an office at the far end of the floor. A stunning female assistant closed the door behind us, and once again, it was just the two of us. My heart rocketed back into my throat. He casually unbuttoned his jacket. It was amazing how he made even that look sexy. “So you insisted on seeing me?” he asked. He didn’t ask me to sit. He didn’t even move closer. That distance stung a little. “I worked here till a week ago when I found out I was let go for no reason…” I quickly told him the story of how I was fired. “This is clearly illegal in so many ways… can you help me get my job back?” “Unfortunately, no,” he replied, barely hesitating. My heart dropped like a stone. “Why not?” “I’ll have the hiring department look into whether your termination followed proper protocol. But this isn’t something a CEO handles directly. Anything else?” The hiring department? That could take weeks—and I didn’t have weeks. “No… you don’t get it,” I stepped forward, my voice trembling. “My grandma’s in the hospital. Her bills are getting insane every month. And I’m already deep in debt… If I can’t make money, I don’t even know— I really, REALLY need this job.” I knew we came from two different worlds, but laying out the most desperate parts of my life in front of him still made me feel horribly exposed. I just hoped—begged—that he’d understand. But he didn’t. His gray eyes stayed emotionless. “I’m sorry, Miss Collins,” he said quietly. Tears rushed into my eyes. I couldn’t even breathe. All I could think about were the bills, the debt, the mountain of shit waiting for me the second I left this building. “If there’s nothing else, my assistant will show you out.” he said, reaching for the intercom. I rushed forward and pressed my hand down on his before he could call anyone in. His whole body stiffened—but he didn’t pull away. He just stared down at me. I stepped in closer, tilting my head up. His gray eyes darkened like a storm brewing in the distance. His pine scent wrapped around me again, thick and intoxicating. As werewolves, our scent only spikes during a fight or sexual arousal. It was damn obvious which case this was. “You clearly feel something for me,” I whispered. He said nothing. I placed my hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat. It was racing as well. His breathing had also turned shallow. “What are you doing, Miss Collins?” he asked tightly. “Trying to seduce your way into a job?” “You can do whatever you want,” I locked eyes with him. “I won’t stop you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. God, I wanted to lick it. And… well, I did. I leaned up and pressed my lips to it. He let out a growl. The next second, I was pinned on his desk. He stood between my spread legs, one hand by my head. I whimpered, clamping my thighs together—the heat between them was almost unbearable. Just like in the backseat of his car. His hand slid from the desk to my throat. It was so big, he could probably snap my neck if he wanted. “You shouldn’t keep tempting me, Miss Collins.” His body was pressed against my thighs—I definitely felt the effect I was having on him. “Why?” I whispered, licking my lips. “Because your self-control isn’t as strong as you thought?” “Because I don’t fuck virgins.” What the actual hell The next second, he had pulled away. I scrambled off the desk, face red, eyes wide. “What did you just say?!” I snapped. “Why—How the hell do you even know—?” “I know who you are. And I know about your relationship with my sister’s husband.” And just like that, everything clicked. It was Jace. That bastard didn’t just dump me—he ran his mouth about my virginity to everyone, including Grayson. Humiliation crashed over me like a wave. “Jace is a fucking asshole,” I snapped shakily. Grayson shrugged. “Obviously. But Brielle likes him. And he’s family now. I’m sorry but I just can’t get involved in this.” I climbed off his desk with my whole body red and shaking. He didn’t want me. And he was taking his sister and Jace’s side. I was so damn stupid to think that one kiss in the car actually meant anything. But this was Grayson Hart for Christ’s sake. He could have anyone he wanted. “I’m sure you’re a very capable employee, Miss Collins. But seducing me won’t help your career. I wish you all the best.” He finally pressed the intercom button. His assistant appeared at the door, waiting for me to leave. “Bye,” I whispered without even look back. I didn’t want him to notice my falling tears. I walked out of that office, numb, and rode the elevator down like a ghost. My mind was a storm of bills, debt, and Grayson’s ice-cold stare. Now I desperately needed a new job. “Miss Collins!” I turned and saw his assistant come rushing out again, holding an envelope. “Alpha Grayson asked me to give you this,” she said, handing it over. “What is it?” Why didn’t he give it to me earlier? “He didn’t say. Maybe you’ll know once you open it.” She gave me a mysterious smile and walked away. I opened the envelope. A blank check slid out first—I held my breath in shock. Then I found a crumpled note. His handwriting, rushed and messy. Haven’t repaid you for the shirt. Hope everything works out for you Aria. Stay strong. —Grayson Chapter 5 Getting My Attention Aria’s POV “That check clearly means something,” May insisted. “Come on. We’re not doing this again,” I sighed. “If he’s not into you, then why did he let his assistant come after you with a check? He probably saw you crying and couldn’t stand it. You should definitely go back and see him again.” “Nope,” I shut it down immediately. “I had one perfect, fairytale encounter with a rich bachelor. That’s enough. I’m not about to go back there and humiliate myself all over again.” “But—” “Hey, you two!” our manager yelled from the other end of the aisle. “Less talking, more working!” We rolled our eyes at each other and got back to inventory. May had helped me land this supermarket job. It was part of a chain under a big corporation, so the pay and benefits weren’t bad. May still thought it was beneath someone with my degree, but honestly, I was just grateful to be employed. Once we finished our section, the manager wandered off to shout at someone else, and May scooted back over to me. “Just imagine it,” she grinned. “You could write a couple million on that blank check and boom! Instant rich girl life.” “I’m not gonna do that.” “Sure you won’t. You’re too nice,” she muttered, half-admiring, half-scolding. “So? What are you gonna write?” I hesitated. At first, I actually considered writing the price of a shirt. 19.99 that was. Because apparently, my dignity still thinks it matters. But let’s be real, if Grayson was just trying to pay me back for a ripped tee, he would’ve handed his assistant a $20 bill, not a blank check. Maybe… he felt bad I lost my job too. “I’m going to write the amount I should’ve gotten in severance,” I admitted eventually. May's eyes bulged. “That’s it?!” “I know it’s not much, but it’s what I actually deserve. And it’ll help me cover two months of bills.” She sighed like I was letting go of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But my mind was made up. This was my chance to walk away from the mess. I still wanted to rip Jace’s smug face off, but the best revenge right now was surviving. 6 hours later, we finished our shift exhausted and aching. Everyone else got to clock out, but not me—I’d volunteered for night shift and closing duties. The staffs left one by one, yawning, including May. Finally I was alone in this big market. Now here’s the big secret— I actually lived here now. Nobody knew this, not even May. She thought I’d found a new apartment and moved out, but I just couldn’t keep bothering her anymore—her roommates were getting irritated with me hogging the living room and utilities. And renting my own place seemed way out of budget now. So I stayed in this supermarket instead. I closed up the store at night and opened it early in the morning. For the 5 or 6 hours in between, I made a bed out of my coat and slept on the floor near the refrigerated section. Now don’t ask me why I can’t sleep in the staff’s break room. That room was too hot without AC. At least it was cool by the freezer. Tonight I was extra exhausted. The manager made us girls haul too many heavy crates around. I passed out in seconds. But it felt like I’d only been asleep for five minutes—my alarm hadn’t even gone off yet—when I was jolted awake by someone screaming. “OH MY GOD—what the hell are you doing?!” I shot upright, completely disoriented. And froze. In front of me stood an entire group of people—including the manager and several guys in suits, all staring at me wide eyes. And I was only in a tank top and shorts. Half naked. OH GOD. What the hell—Is it morning already?! Why didn’t I hear my alarm? I scrambled to pull my clothes over my body, my hands shaking. The stares didn’t stop. They got more invasive. “Aria Collins! What the fuck are you doing?!” the manager stormed over and roared. “Napping half-naked in my fucking store?! Are you a fucking sex perv?!” My face went beet red, “No! I—I was just staying here temporarily—” “Temporarily?!” he yelled, eyes bulging. “I hired an employee, not a fucking squatter! How much water and electricity have you used free?! Are you stealing food too?!” “No I swear. I shut everything off when I’m done, I don’t use the water unless I have to. And I paid for everything I’ve eaten.” Tears blurred my vision as I tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening. His spit actually hit my cheek as he snarled. “Of all days—you had to pick the day corporate shows up to camp out in my perfect store. You filthy, disgusting little—” “Aria Collins?” A new voice called my name. It came from one of the suited men. I looked up—and my heart dropped. It was Jonathan. A former coworker from Apex. “Holy shit, it is you,” he grinned, raising his brows. “Almost didn’t recognize you at first.” “You… what are you doing here?” I stammered. “Apex owns this supermarket chain. We’re doing site inspections today,” he said with a smirk, his eyes trailing down to my bare legs. “Man! Most people hit rock bottom after getting fired from Apex, but you fall faster than anyone.” “I’m working. Making a decent living,” I said in shaky voice. “There’s no shame with that.” “Oh really?” he sneered. “Does your job include lying around half-naked on the floor? What is this, a new hooker gimmick?” The suits burst out laughing. My furious tears were on the verge of falling. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll fire her right away.” The manager groaned. “Hold up,” Jonathan drawled with a smirk. “This chick got fired from Apex for messing up a seven-figure deal. You might wanna check your inventory. She could be stealing.” “You know that’s a lie. Jace got me fired out of spite! I never made a mistake—” “Oh please,” he cut me off. “Everyone in the industry knows how you fucked up. Jace was so embarrassed that he had to apologize for you.” The manager grabbed my wrist. “Then you’re definitely stealing from this market as well. That’s it you are going to jail. When I figure out what you’ve taken, you must pay back everything!” My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t doubt for a second that the manager would come up with something that I didn’t steal, just like how Jace framed me before. It wasn’t hard for guys like them. But I couldn’t go to jail. My grandma had no one to count on but me. I can’t leave her. The wolf in me surfaced up the next second—I snarled at the manager, yanked my arm free, and ran. “Stop her!” someone shouted behind me. I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I had to escape. I bolted out of the store, desperate and horrified—and slammed right into a solid chest. “Get away from Alpha!” a bodyguard barked. But he pulled me in instead. “Aria?” I was still shaking involuntarily. He unbuttoned the front and wrapped me in, covering my half-naked body. “It’s OK.” his voice was deep with clear hint of rage. I clutched his shirt, gasping for air. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to breathe at all. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Yet I couldn’t make a sound. “She’s having a panic attack,” a woman said nearby. “Alpha, if I may—” I silently prayed him not to hand me over. And he didn’t. “It’s fine, Nova,” he refused. “Aria, you’re safe now. Breathe.” Panicked footsteps echoed behind us. Jonathan’s voice rang out, stunned: “Alpha Grayson! Oh God—w-what’s going on here?!” “Nova,” Grayson said in a cold, dangerous voice, “stay here. Don’t let anyone leave.” “Yes, Alpha.” He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, one arm under my legs, the other around my back. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. Then he carried me through the crowd, into the store, and into a private room. When he set me down in a chair, I was still trembling and sobbing. He finally took off his coat and draped it over my legs, then crouched down in front of me. “You’re safe here,” he said. That’s when I broke down. Crying out loud. Everything—fear, shame, panic—everything spilled out in a messy, helpless flood. I clutched his wrist like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and for once… he didn’t pull away. He said nothing the whole time. Just stayed there with me until the sobs quieted. “Th-thank you…I’m better now.” I sniffled. He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. I trembled at the way he touched my skin. His voice was low, rough, and a little strained. “You’re starting to make me wonder, Miss Collins. If all these run-ins are just your way of getting my attention.”
🔞When My ex-brother-in-law took my virginity...His liquid spurts inslde and my eyes widen, "Wait we forgot a comdom!" …………………… Chapter 1 He Dumped Me Aria's POV I stood in front of the chapel. Pink roses and white lilies decorated every corner I saw—my favorite flowers. The guests were already seated in their designer dresses and pressed suits. And soon, at the end of the red carpet would stand the man I once loved, waiting to marry his bride. Everything was perfect. Except I wasn't the bride. "I really need to see Jace today." I begged the bodyguard blocking the door. A beat-up suitcase and two boxes sat at my feet—everything I owned in the world. "No you don’t. Get out of here," the bodyguard said icily. I saw it in his eyes—disgust. Yeah I get it. No one has sympathy for the crazy ex who shows up at the wedding. But I have my reason. "If you don't let me see him, I'll just stand here and all the guests will see me," I threatened under my breath. Jace wouldn't want that. Especially not today. Today he was marrying Delilah Hart. Sister to Alpha Grayson Hart of Redstone Pack. A 100% high-society darling. All the guys in the world knew that marrying Delilah would make their wealth skyrocket, including Jace. So he made the easy call—marrying the lady who could turn him from a small-town nobody into a golden boy. And dump the girl who stayed by his side for last 4 years when he had nothing. So it’s normal why he didn’t want any guests to see me here. I represented his broke, embarrassing past. He wanted me nowhere near his glossy, glittering new world. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of that. Like a knife was twisting in my chest. “Let me in or I’m starting to yell.” "Wait here." The bodyguard finally made a call. A few minutes later, he waved me in. I wiped my eyes and struggled into the hall with my suitcase and boxes. Instantly, I felt how out of place I was. Everything reeked of wealth here. Expensive perfume. Manicured nails. Not a hair out of place. It was everything you imagined about the upper-class and way more. And me? I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans. My sneakers had holes. "God, a homeless. She stinks." A woman mutter as I walked by. I just showered this morning. My hair still smelled like strawberries and coconut. But poverty had a scent, apparently. "Mr. Carter is inside. Make it quick." The guard took me to a closed door and warned. “Thank you.” The room inside looked like something out of a movie. Marble floors. Floor-length mirrors. A chandelier that probably cost more than my apartment. I hesitated for a second as I dragged my dirty luggage across the white carpet. And there he was. The man I used to love. Adjusting his bowtie in front of a mirror. He was still heartbreakingly handsome. No wonder Delilah fell for him. When he turned and fixed his gorgeous blue eyes upon me, I still felt my heart race. "Hey, Jace," I said quietly. And immediately wanted to punch myself. Hey, Jace? That’s the best I could do? His face was ice cold. "You shouldn't come. Your ratty suitcase, your ripped jeans, your Vans. None of that belongs here." Well if you wanted to be brutal and vicious, that’s how it’s done. "Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? You dumped me over a fucking email!" I snapped. He shrugged. "Look around you. The wealthiest people in the world came for me today. This suit I’m wearing cost more than you can make in your entire life. What more explanation do you want, Aria?" Wow. I always knew he was a cold, calculating bastard. I just didn’t realize how deep it ran. "Maybe chasing Alpha’s sister got you here faster. But you know what? When she finds out how cold and empty you are. You’ll lose it all." Anger flared across his face. "I know how to love. I just won't waste that on a small-town girl like you.” he said freezingly, “Are we done here?" “No.” I took a deep breath and got into the real reason I came. "You're marrying a rich girl. Fine. But why did you have to get me fired?" Yeah. I used to work for this jerk. From intern to full-time at Apex Corp, he was my supervisor. Our relationship was a secret. And just days ago, I found out he was getting married—and I was out of a job. He fired me. "Right, your job.” The jerk shrugged, “You got it because of me. Now that I’m not around, they finally saw how incompetent you are. Problem?" Was he fucking kidding me?! "I graduated top of my class. Made it through 7 rounds of interviews. My performance exceeded every quarterly target. I earned that job!" I cried. “Come on, Aria. You really gonna be so naïve?” He walked closer, smirking. "You passed the interviews because I said so. Your sales? I made those calls. Without me, you'd be nothing but a pretty face." He seized my chin and looked me over with a disgusting look. I slapped his hand away. "Give me my job back,” I hissed, my voice slightly trembling. “My dad’s debt. My grandma’s medical bills…I need the money. You of all people should know what it’s like to be poor. Don’t. Make. Me. Beg." I was throwing my pride at his feet. But he laughed. "Well, how about I offer you a deal?" he said as though he’d been waiting for this moment. He brushed my hair back, fingers trailing down to my collarbone. I shivered in disgust. "You never let me touch you. You were so clinging to that pathetic no-sex-before-marriage rule. Maybe it's time to grow up. Let me fuck you once and I’ll write you a check you can’t refuse. How does that sound?" I widened my eyes in shock. Then I slapped him. HARD. “WHAT THE FUCK! I’m getting married in front of everyone in fucking 10 minutes!” He roared covering his face. "Fuck you, Jace!” I yelled, “You're a spineless freeloading puss! And hey—congrats on the wedding. Hope your junk is soft like a fucking spaghetti tonight!" Then I stormed out dragging my suitcase and boxes, ignoring his angry curses behind me. Hot tears poured down as I dashed across the hallway. God this couldn’t be any worse. I was prepared to drop all my self-esteem and begged with my life because I needed the job and money. But I still let him get to me. Now what do I do? My salary barely covered my rent, my father’s debt and grandma’s bill. Now with my job gone, I already got kicked out by my landlord. I probably had to sleep in a park tonight. So do I go back and let that jerk win? Let him humiliate me...No. I’d rather die than that— "Hey, watch where you're going!" someone yelled. Too late. I slammed right into the man in front of me. He was tall—so tall I felt like I’d just walked into a brick wall. His diamond cufflink was sharp like a blade, and when we collided, it sliced clean through my thin T-shirt with a loud rip. In one second, the front of my shirt was torn open, exposing my white lace bra. “Ah!” I gasped and looked up. The man in front of me was so handsome. Like a statue carved by a master artist. Yet his expression so cold. He looked down at me, and I swear I was about to drown in those stormy gray eyes of his. And then I recognized who he was. This was Jace’s son-to-be brother-in-law. Alpha of Redstone Pack. CEO of Apex Corporation. THE legendary. Grayson Hart. “Aria Collins?” His voice was sexy and velvety. He lowered his head and his eyes dropped to the exposed part of my bra. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the color of his eyes seemed to darken as he stared. Wherever his gaze landed, my skin started burning up. But wait. How did he know my name? Chapter 2 With Ex's Brother-in-law Aria’s POV Of course I recognized him. God, who didn’t? I’d met him at an Apex gala. His face was on every finance magazine cover, and any time you turned on a TV, there he was—linked to the latest scandal with some actress or model. But there was no way he’d know who I was. “I-I… Hello, Alpha Grayson,” I stammered. He turned his eyes away and said to a nearby guard, “Escort Ms. Collins out.” “Yes, Alpha.” The guards stepped in immediately, stretching out their arms like I was some kind of contaminant that might taint Grayson’s perfectly tailored suit. “Wait a minute. You’re not going to say something about my shirt?” He paused—just for a second—then flicked a piece of paper down at my feet. I looked down. A blank check. “I need a shirt I can actually wear out of here. Not your hush money.” I gritted with humiliation. But he didn’t even glance back as he walked away. “God,” I muttered under my breath. Can you believe these rich bastards? They think they can buy everything with money. People nearby were all staring, snickering under their breath. I tried to cover my chest and grab my things to escape, but it was hard to do all that with just two hands. “Oh my god…Aria Collins?” Three girls emerged from the whispering crowd. I took one look at them and sighed internally. Great. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse. “Hello. Layla. Sabrina. Brielle.” I used to work in the same team with these girls back at Apex. We were all under Jace. They adored him—spent more time flirting with at the coffee machine than actually working. Which left me doing their share of the workload. After I got fired—and when news of my secret relationship with Jace got out—they decided I was public enemy number one. “What are you even doing here, Aria? Trying to win back your ex at his wedding? That’s a new low even for you,” Layla snickered. “I’m not here to win anyone back.” I tried to push past them. But they blocked me. “What happened to your shirt?” Brielle snickered. “Did you seriously walk in here with your bra out? Is this like some low-budget fashion statement?” They burst into laughter together. “You could be completely naked and Jace still wouldn’t give a damn,” Sabrina squeaked. “Because he’s marrying Delilah. THE Delilah Hart! Redstone Pack’s sweetheart. And you…well you’re just a poor-ass small-town girl.” I stopped in my track and gave them a cold glare, “Oh yeah? Well at least I’ve actually been with Jace. Do you know how many times I had to listen to him complained about your screechy voices and cheesy perfume? Apparently he rather be with a poor-ass small-town girl than any of you.” Their jaws dropped. “Jace would never say that!” Brielle cried. “Word for word,” I rolled my eyes. “Now move. Or I’m rolling this suitcase over your pretty little skirts.” They looked like ruffled chickens, but they parted. I quickly shoved my dingy luggage ahead like a weapon and stormed out of the church. Rich people were assholes. Grayson, Jace, and their whole damn minions. I struggled to get my suitcase down the steps, and once I hit the street, cold wind slapped me in the face. I had no idea where to go. I could crash in the hospital with my grandma for a night, but she’d ask too many questions. Like why I hadn’t brought Jace around recently, or why I wasn’t staying at my apartment. I didn’t want her knowing how bad things had gotten. I thought about the park. Sleeping on a bench. But in a ripped T-shirt that exposed my whole front? Horrible idea. So I texted my best friend, May, asking to stay at her place for a few days. She was my rock. If the whole world turned against me, at least I still had her. She texted back right away inviting me to come over. Dragging my suitcase across the street toward the bus stop, I told myself it was going to be okay. This horrible day was going to end. Then I heard them. “Hey, nice shirt!” A group of street wolves were loitering near the stop. I hugged myself tighter and curled into the bench, hoping they’d get bored and leave. “C’mon baby, drop your hands. Let us see what you’re working with.” Go away. Go away. Go away. “You rip that shirt yourself? Damn that’s wild. I like that in a girl.” One of them moved closer, reaching for my shoulder. “Get away from me!” I snapped, my voice shaking. But it only fired them up. “Oh, feisty. Shake those tits for me!” They grabbed my wrists, yanked my arms down. My T-shirt gaped open completely, revealing my lace bra. The cold air made my skin pebble. They laughed even louder. I struggled and screamed. My wolf growled in rage. Shifting in the city was illegal—but right now, I didn’t have a second choice— Just then. Blinding headlights. Followed by screeching tires. A black car skidded to a stop inches away. The door flew open. A deep voice thundered, “Get in.” I was too shocked that I didn’t think twice and obeyed. The car peeled away the second I shut the door. “My suitcase!” I cried. “Someone will get it,” he said darkly. “Address.” I told the driver May’s. Then he pressed a button. A privacy screen slid up between the front and back seats, sealing us in the back. That’s when he turned toward me and leaned in. Like a beast ready to pounce. His scent hit me like a punch—sharp pine mixed with cold metal. My head started to get dizzy. “Walking on the street in that shirt was a mistake,” he said sternly. “It got like this because of you,” I mumbled. He snorted. Then the sound of rustling fabric. A heavy jacket landed across my shoulders—it was still warm from his body and carried his scent. I held my breathe. Wearing his coat almost felt like…he was wrapping himself around me. “You—do you know me?” I whispered. My gut told me that he would never do this for a strange girl. But if he knew who I was, he must know that I was his sister’s husband’s ex. That didn’t explain why he would help. “We’ve met,” he said simply. I stared at him, searching those icy gray eyes. He was staring at me too, with that cold, hungry, possessive eyes. I felt like I was completely naked in front of him. “Aria,” he warned, voice thick and husky. But I couldn’t control myself. I was leaning forward. Shit. Why did my body become so weird? My skin was on fire. My panties were wet. All I wanted was more of his scent, more of his heat. The next second his lips were crashed onto mine—Hard. Rough. I gasped and opened my mouth for him. His tongue slipped in and explored every inch of my mouth, making me shiver. His hands pushed into my torn shirt and grabbed my waist. I couldn’t control my moan when he touched my naked skin. This was crazy! He was a stranger, and most importantly, my ex’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. And I was making out with him at the back of his car. The crazy part was I didn’t even want to stop. He lifted me onto his lap like I weighed nothing. I straddled his thighs and yanked at his tie as he bite my collarbone. Then, suddenly, the car stopped. “Alpha, we’ve arrived.” That’s when it all froze. His lips paused at my neck. I was still squirming on his lap, flushed and throbbing. But he shoved me off. “We can’t do this,” he said coldly. Chapter 3 You're Special To Him Aria’s POV “So you’re telling me this guy made out with you in the backseat of his car… and then just shoved you off like nothing happened?” May asked in shock. 20 minutes later, I was sitting at her place, wrapped in one of her oversized hoodies, a steaming mug of tea in my hands. But I was still reeling from everything that had just happened. “Yup,” I muttered. “Who knows what’s wrong with him.” “What an asshole,” she huffed. “But honestly, this really isn’t like you. You dated that jerk Jace for 4 years and didn’t even sleep with him—which, by the way, was a brilliant choice—and now you're suddenly making out with a complete stranger in his car?” I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. Yeah, she had a point. “I—I don’t know. Maybe it was the whole Jace-getting-married thing. Maybe I just snapped and wanted to screw around with someone hotter just to get back at him…Honestly, it was so stupid now that I think of it.” She grinned and wiggled her brows. “So… he was hot huh?” My cheeks flushed and my mind drifted back. Those stormy gray eyes, his perfectly shaped lips on my neck, and those arms that could pick me up like I weighed nothing…Shit I need to stop. “Yeah. VERY,” I whispered, hiding my red face behind the mug. May burst out laughing. “Now we’re talking! That’s exactly what you need right now—a drop-dead gorgeous rebound to get that loser Jace out of your system. Screw your ‘no sex before marriage’ rule. Life is short.” I gave her a weak smile. Honestly, I didn’t need a rebound. I needed a job, money, and a place to live. Grayson Hart was like dessert when you can’t even afford dinner. “So… do you even know who this guy was?” she asked. I hesitated. Right at this moment, the doorbell rang. She jumped up to get it and came back a few minutes later, hauling in my luggage, her face frozen in disbelief. “OMG. You are not gonna believe what just showed up outside.” “Umm… my luggage?” I joked. “Two fucking muscular guys in black suits and guns! And a freaking stretch limo! They called me ‘ma’am’ and said they hope Miss Aria has a wonderful evening. Now, you—” She leapt at me and shook me by the shoulders. “—you tell me right now who the hell you hooked up with!” I squealed and dropped into the couch with her, laughing and giggling breathlessly. “Okay, okay—I’ll tell you. It was… Grayson Hart.” I practically whispered his name. Because honestly, I still couldn’t believe it either. May froze, eyes wide as saucers. “Grayson—THE Grayson Hart?! As in our Alpha? The CEO of Apex?!” “And Jace’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. Now you know how stupid I was earlier?” She let out a full-on scream. Then she grabbed my hand, her face flushed with excitement. “Oh my God! Aria, do you know what this means? Alpha Grayson never even lends his jacket to his model girlfriends. He likes you. You’re special!” “No,” I said firmly. “If I was special, he wouldn’t have thrown me off his lap when I tried to take off his shirt.” “Maybe he had somewhere to be—” “Don’t, May. Let’s be real. Guys like him don’t fall for girls like me.” I took another sip of tea, hiding the ache in my chest. Hell even Jace thought I was beneath him. What chance did I have with Grayson freaking Hart? “Don’t be silly, Aria. You’re gorgeous. And smart and amazing and—WAIT! I just had the best idea ever.” “What?” “That arrogant jerk Jace thinks you’re just some small-town prude who wasn’t good enough for him right? But what if you ended up with Alpha Grayson? It’ll be easy to get him because he’s already obsessed. Oh, it would destroy Jace. That dickhead would never recover.” OKAY. I’d be lying if I said that exact scenario hadn’t crossed my mind when Grayson kissed me back. What girl hasn’t daydreamed about dating the perfect guy and getting revenge in the most dramatic way possible? But right now, I couldn’t afford to daydream. Reality was already breathing down my neck. “Tempting. But right now I need a job and enough cash to keep Grandma in her hospital bed. Dating rich dudes isn’t exactly high on my to-do list.” May looked at me with soft eyes. “So…any plans? I can try to hook you up with a job, but you know I just work at a coffee shop, and with your degree, you deserve so much more.” I hugged her. “Thank you. Really. I’ll figure something out. Apex promised me severance when they fired me, so I’m going to HR tomorrow to get it sorted.” If I could get that money, at least I’d be OK for the next round of Grandma’s medical bills. — The next morning, I showed up at Apex right on time. But the second Brielle walked in with the HR manager, I had a bad feeling. “What’s she doing here?” I asked coldly. “I’ll explain in a minute,” HR replied with a polite, rehearsed smile as she sat across from me. “So Ms. Collins, I understand you’re here to discuss severance?” “Yes. So let’s not waste time. Just give me the check and I’ll be out of here.” “Unfortunately, severance only applies when the company terminates a contract without cause. In your case… it appears you were let go due to misconduct.” Misconduct? What the freaking hell. “Jace made a snap decision and booted me. What misconduct are you talking about?” “But that’s not what Mr. Carter said. He provided evidence that you made a costly error on a sales quote—omitting a few zeroes, to be exact. Cost the company millions. Here’s the email record.” She handed me a printed sheet. I swore I had never sent this email in my life. But there it was—my name in the sender field. No freaking way. Jace forged this. “And Mr. Carter reported that you had a difficult attitude toward your coworkers. Quote: ‘impatient and arrogant.’ Brielle’s here to verify that.” Brielle twirled her hair and smiled smugly. “Yeah. Aria was a horrible team player.” I stood so fast my chair screeched. “The only thing I didn’t ‘teamplayed’ with you was flirt with the boss in the breakroom!” “Liar!” she yelled. “And I asked Jace. He never said my voice was screechy!” Oh my God. I couldn’t believe how stupid she was. “Sit down, Miss Collins,” HR warned. “As of now, not only are you not getting severance, but we’re also considering legal action to recover the losses. If you understand the situation here, sign this acknowledgement—” “Does Alpha Grayson know about this?” I asked. Both of them froze. After a long pause, HR finally found her voice. “What does Alpha Grayson have to do with any of this?” “He owns Apex, doesn’t he? Does he know his team is abusing their power and firing hardworking employees illegally?” HR frowned. Brielle let out a loud snort. “Please. Don’t act like you know Alpha Grayson.” “What if I do? What if I go to him and then it’s you who gets fired?” She laughed in my face. “Oh, you mean you know him on TV?” “Let’s find out.” I shoved my chair back and stormed out, heading straight for the CEO’s private elevator at the end of the hall. HR scrambled after me, shouting my name. I was too furious to care how this ended. All I wanted now was to blow the whole damn place up. Two guards stood by the elevator. “I need to see Alpha Grayson,” I told them. “Appointment?” “No, but I swear he knows me. Just tell him it’s Aria—from yesterday. He’ll remember.” “You aren’t the first girl here saying that,” one of them mocked. “Come on, Miss Collins,” HR snapped, trying to drag me back. “This is getting crazy. Go back, sign the paper. Take responsibility for your own mistake.” “I didn’t send that email. It was Jace—he’s framing me! I will report all of you.” “Alpha Grayson doesn’t have time for your report, or your visit, or any of your little drama!” “I believe no one but me has the right to decide that,” a cold voice said behind us. Chapter 4 Take Me, Please Aria’s POV A large hand grabbed my arm and pulled me away from HR’s grip. I looked up and my heart almost stopped. Even I couldn’t believe he just showed up here. It felt like a dream. “A-Alpha Grayson,” HR stammered, her face frozen with shock and fear. “I don’t need employees who think they can make decisions for their boss,” he said freezingly while wrapping his arm around my waist. “If I see something like this again, you’re fired.” “Y-yes, Alpha. I’m terribly sorry…” HR’s expression was priceless, but I was in no mood to enjoy it. His icy pine scent consumed me again, making my body weak and hot. My wolf let out a soft purr, urging me to lean into him. But before I could even move, he let go. A pang of disappointment hit me in the chest. “Come,” he said shortly, striding toward the private elevator. I shot HR and the stunned security guards a smug look, then hurried after him. He swiped his card and the elevator doors closed. We started going up to the 58th floor. It was dead silent. My heart was beating so wildly that I was afraid he’d hear it. I snuck a glance at him—he just stared straight ahead, emotionless, keeping a distance, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Unease twisted my stomach. “So, um… what brings you here today?” I broke the silence. He sighed softly. “I owe this company.” “Oh, Oh…Right.” I wanted to punch myself in the face. The awkward silence lingered until the elevator dinged open. The 58th floor was a wide-open space with no cubicles or dividers—just massive floor-to-ceiling windows and a sweeping view of the entire city. “Wow,” I whispered under my breath. Grayson was already walking ahead. I jogged to catch up as he led me into an office at the far end of the floor. A stunning female assistant closed the door behind us, and once again, it was just the two of us. My heart rocketed back into my throat. He casually unbuttoned his jacket. It was amazing how he made even that look sexy. “So you insisted on seeing me?” he asked. He didn’t ask me to sit. He didn’t even move closer. That distance stung a little. “I worked here till a week ago when I found out I was let go for no reason…” I quickly told him the story of how I was fired. “This is clearly illegal in so many ways… can you help me get my job back?” “Unfortunately, no,” he replied, barely hesitating. My heart dropped like a stone. “Why not?” “I’ll have the hiring department look into whether your termination followed proper protocol. But this isn’t something a CEO handles directly. Anything else?” The hiring department? That could take weeks—and I didn’t have weeks. “No… you don’t get it,” I stepped forward, my voice trembling. “My grandma’s in the hospital. Her bills are getting insane every month. And I’m already deep in debt… If I can’t make money, I don’t even know— I really, REALLY need this job.” I knew we came from two different worlds, but laying out the most desperate parts of my life in front of him still made me feel horribly exposed. I just hoped—begged—that he’d understand. But he didn’t. His gray eyes stayed emotionless. “I’m sorry, Miss Collins,” he said quietly. Tears rushed into my eyes. I couldn’t even breathe. All I could think about were the bills, the debt, the mountain of shit waiting for me the second I left this building. “If there’s nothing else, my assistant will show you out.” he said, reaching for the intercom. I rushed forward and pressed my hand down on his before he could call anyone in. His whole body stiffened—but he didn’t pull away. He just stared down at me. I stepped in closer, tilting my head up. His gray eyes darkened like a storm brewing in the distance. His pine scent wrapped around me again, thick and intoxicating. As werewolves, our scent only spikes during a fight or sexual arousal. It was damn obvious which case this was. “You clearly feel something for me,” I whispered. He said nothing. I placed my hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat. It was racing as well. His breathing had also turned shallow. “What are you doing, Miss Collins?” he asked tightly. “Trying to seduce your way into a job?” “You can do whatever you want,” I locked eyes with him. “I won’t stop you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. God, I wanted to lick it. And… well, I did. I leaned up and pressed my lips to it. He let out a growl. The next second, I was pinned on his desk. He stood between my spread legs, one hand by my head. I whimpered, clamping my thighs together—the heat between them was almost unbearable. Just like in the backseat of his car. His hand slid from the desk to my throat. It was so big, he could probably snap my neck if he wanted. “You shouldn’t keep tempting me, Miss Collins.” His body was pressed against my thighs—I definitely felt the effect I was having on him. “Why?” I whispered, licking my lips. “Because your self-control isn’t as strong as you thought?” “Because I don’t fuck virgins.” What the actual hell The next second, he had pulled away. I scrambled off the desk, face red, eyes wide. “What did you just say?!” I snapped. “Why—How the hell do you even know—?” “I know who you are. And I know about your relationship with my sister’s husband.” And just like that, everything clicked. It was Jace. That bastard didn’t just dump me—he ran his mouth about my virginity to everyone, including Grayson. Humiliation crashed over me like a wave. “Jace is a fucking asshole,” I snapped shakily. Grayson shrugged. “Obviously. But Brielle likes him. And he’s family now. I’m sorry but I just can’t get involved in this.” I climbed off his desk with my whole body red and shaking. He didn’t want me. And he was taking his sister and Jace’s side. I was so damn stupid to think that one kiss in the car actually meant anything. But this was Grayson Hart for Christ’s sake. He could have anyone he wanted. “I’m sure you’re a very capable employee, Miss Collins. But seducing me won’t help your career. I wish you all the best.” He finally pressed the intercom button. His assistant appeared at the door, waiting for me to leave. “Bye,” I whispered without even look back. I didn’t want him to notice my falling tears. I walked out of that office, numb, and rode the elevator down like a ghost. My mind was a storm of bills, debt, and Grayson’s ice-cold stare. Now I desperately needed a new job. “Miss Collins!” I turned and saw his assistant come rushing out again, holding an envelope. “Alpha Grayson asked me to give you this,” she said, handing it over. “What is it?” Why didn’t he give it to me earlier? “He didn’t say. Maybe you’ll know once you open it.” She gave me a mysterious smile and walked away. I opened the envelope. A blank check slid out first—I held my breath in shock. Then I found a crumpled note. His handwriting, rushed and messy. Haven’t repaid you for the shirt. Hope everything works out for you Aria. Stay strong. —Grayson Chapter 5 Getting My Attention Aria’s POV “That check clearly means something,” May insisted. “Come on. We’re not doing this again,” I sighed. “If he’s not into you, then why did he let his assistant come after you with a check? He probably saw you crying and couldn’t stand it. You should definitely go back and see him again.” “Nope,” I shut it down immediately. “I had one perfect, fairytale encounter with a rich bachelor. That’s enough. I’m not about to go back there and humiliate myself all over again.” “But—” “Hey, you two!” our manager yelled from the other end of the aisle. “Less talking, more working!” We rolled our eyes at each other and got back to inventory. May had helped me land this supermarket job. It was part of a chain under a big corporation, so the pay and benefits weren’t bad. May still thought it was beneath someone with my degree, but honestly, I was just grateful to be employed. Once we finished our section, the manager wandered off to shout at someone else, and May scooted back over to me. “Just imagine it,” she grinned. “You could write a couple million on that blank check and boom! Instant rich girl life.” “I’m not gonna do that.” “Sure you won’t. You’re too nice,” she muttered, half-admiring, half-scolding. “So? What are you gonna write?” I hesitated. At first, I actually considered writing the price of a shirt. 19.99 that was. Because apparently, my dignity still thinks it matters. But let’s be real, if Grayson was just trying to pay me back for a ripped tee, he would’ve handed his assistant a $20 bill, not a blank check. Maybe… he felt bad I lost my job too. “I’m going to write the amount I should’ve gotten in severance,” I admitted eventually. May's eyes bulged. “That’s it?!” “I know it’s not much, but it’s what I actually deserve. And it’ll help me cover two months of bills.” She sighed like I was letting go of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But my mind was made up. This was my chance to walk away from the mess. I still wanted to rip Jace’s smug face off, but the best revenge right now was surviving. 6 hours later, we finished our shift exhausted and aching. Everyone else got to clock out, but not me—I’d volunteered for night shift and closing duties. The staffs left one by one, yawning, including May. Finally I was alone in this big market. Now here’s the big secret— I actually lived here now. Nobody knew this, not even May. She thought I’d found a new apartment and moved out, but I just couldn’t keep bothering her anymore—her roommates were getting irritated with me hogging the living room and utilities. And renting my own place seemed way out of budget now. So I stayed in this supermarket instead. I closed up the store at night and opened it early in the morning. For the 5 or 6 hours in between, I made a bed out of my coat and slept on the floor near the refrigerated section. Now don’t ask me why I can’t sleep in the staff’s break room. That room was too hot without AC. At least it was cool by the freezer. Tonight I was extra exhausted. The manager made us girls haul too many heavy crates around. I passed out in seconds. But it felt like I’d only been asleep for five minutes—my alarm hadn’t even gone off yet—when I was jolted awake by someone screaming. “OH MY GOD—what the hell are you doing?!” I shot upright, completely disoriented. And froze. In front of me stood an entire group of people—including the manager and several guys in suits, all staring at me wide eyes. And I was only in a tank top and shorts. Half naked. OH GOD. What the hell—Is it morning already?! Why didn’t I hear my alarm? I scrambled to pull my clothes over my body, my hands shaking. The stares didn’t stop. They got more invasive. “Aria Collins! What the fuck are you doing?!” the manager stormed over and roared. “Napping half-naked in my fucking store?! Are you a fucking sex perv?!” My face went beet red, “No! I—I was just staying here temporarily—” “Temporarily?!” he yelled, eyes bulging. “I hired an employee, not a fucking squatter! How much water and electricity have you used free?! Are you stealing food too?!” “No I swear. I shut everything off when I’m done, I don’t use the water unless I have to. And I paid for everything I’ve eaten.” Tears blurred my vision as I tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening. His spit actually hit my cheek as he snarled. “Of all days—you had to pick the day corporate shows up to camp out in my perfect store. You filthy, disgusting little—” “Aria Collins?” A new voice called my name. It came from one of the suited men. I looked up—and my heart dropped. It was Jonathan. A former coworker from Apex. “Holy shit, it is you,” he grinned, raising his brows. “Almost didn’t recognize you at first.” “You… what are you doing here?” I stammered. “Apex owns this supermarket chain. We’re doing site inspections today,” he said with a smirk, his eyes trailing down to my bare legs. “Man! Most people hit rock bottom after getting fired from Apex, but you fall faster than anyone.” “I’m working. Making a decent living,” I said in shaky voice. “There’s no shame with that.” “Oh really?” he sneered. “Does your job include lying around half-naked on the floor? What is this, a new hooker gimmick?” The suits burst out laughing. My furious tears were on the verge of falling. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll fire her right away.” The manager groaned. “Hold up,” Jonathan drawled with a smirk. “This chick got fired from Apex for messing up a seven-figure deal. You might wanna check your inventory. She could be stealing.” “You know that’s a lie. Jace got me fired out of spite! I never made a mistake—” “Oh please,” he cut me off. “Everyone in the industry knows how you fucked up. Jace was so embarrassed that he had to apologize for you.” The manager grabbed my wrist. “Then you’re definitely stealing from this market as well. That’s it you are going to jail. When I figure out what you’ve taken, you must pay back everything!” My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t doubt for a second that the manager would come up with something that I didn’t steal, just like how Jace framed me before. It wasn’t hard for guys like them. But I couldn’t go to jail. My grandma had no one to count on but me. I can’t leave her. The wolf in me surfaced up the next second—I snarled at the manager, yanked my arm free, and ran. “Stop her!” someone shouted behind me. I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I had to escape. I bolted out of the store, desperate and horrified—and slammed right into a solid chest. “Get away from Alpha!” a bodyguard barked. But he pulled me in instead. “Aria?” I was still shaking involuntarily. He unbuttoned the front and wrapped me in, covering my half-naked body. “It’s OK.” his voice was deep with clear hint of rage. I clutched his shirt, gasping for air. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to breathe at all. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Yet I couldn’t make a sound. “She’s having a panic attack,” a woman said nearby. “Alpha, if I may—” I silently prayed him not to hand me over. And he didn’t. “It’s fine, Nova,” he refused. “Aria, you’re safe now. Breathe.” Panicked footsteps echoed behind us. Jonathan’s voice rang out, stunned: “Alpha Grayson! Oh God—w-what’s going on here?!” “Nova,” Grayson said in a cold, dangerous voice, “stay here. Don’t let anyone leave.” “Yes, Alpha.” He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, one arm under my legs, the other around my back. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. Then he carried me through the crowd, into the store, and into a private room. When he set me down in a chair, I was still trembling and sobbing. He finally took off his coat and draped it over my legs, then crouched down in front of me. “You’re safe here,” he said. That’s when I broke down. Crying out loud. Everything—fear, shame, panic—everything spilled out in a messy, helpless flood. I clutched his wrist like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and for once… he didn’t pull away. He said nothing the whole time. Just stayed there with me until the sobs quieted. “Th-thank you…I’m better now.” I sniffled. He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. I trembled at the way he touched my skin. His voice was low, rough, and a little strained. “You’re starting to make me wonder, Miss Collins. If all these run-ins are just your way of getting my attention.”
🔞When My ex-brother-in-law took my virginity...His liquid spurts inslde and my eyes widen, "Wait we forgot a comdom!" …………………… Chapter 1 He Dumped Me Aria's POV I stood in front of the chapel. Pink roses and white lilies decorated every corner I saw—my favorite flowers. The guests were already seated in their designer dresses and pressed suits. And soon, at the end of the red carpet would stand the man I once loved, waiting to marry his bride. Everything was perfect. Except I wasn't the bride. "I really need to see Jace today." I begged the bodyguard blocking the door. A beat-up suitcase and two boxes sat at my feet—everything I owned in the world. "No you don’t. Get out of here," the bodyguard said icily. I saw it in his eyes—disgust. Yeah I get it. No one has sympathy for the crazy ex who shows up at the wedding. But I have my reason. "If you don't let me see him, I'll just stand here and all the guests will see me," I threatened under my breath. Jace wouldn't want that. Especially not today. Today he was marrying Delilah Hart. Sister to Alpha Grayson Hart of Redstone Pack. A 100% high-society darling. All the guys in the world knew that marrying Delilah would make their wealth skyrocket, including Jace. So he made the easy call—marrying the lady who could turn him from a small-town nobody into a golden boy. And dump the girl who stayed by his side for last 4 years when he had nothing. So it’s normal why he didn’t want any guests to see me here. I represented his broke, embarrassing past. He wanted me nowhere near his glossy, glittering new world. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of that. Like a knife was twisting in my chest. “Let me in or I’m starting to yell.” "Wait here." The bodyguard finally made a call. A few minutes later, he waved me in. I wiped my eyes and struggled into the hall with my suitcase and boxes. Instantly, I felt how out of place I was. Everything reeked of wealth here. Expensive perfume. Manicured nails. Not a hair out of place. It was everything you imagined about the upper-class and way more. And me? I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans. My sneakers had holes. "God, a homeless. She stinks." A woman mutter as I walked by. I just showered this morning. My hair still smelled like strawberries and coconut. But poverty had a scent, apparently. "Mr. Carter is inside. Make it quick." The guard took me to a closed door and warned. “Thank you.” The room inside looked like something out of a movie. Marble floors. Floor-length mirrors. A chandelier that probably cost more than my apartment. I hesitated for a second as I dragged my dirty luggage across the white carpet. And there he was. The man I used to love. Adjusting his bowtie in front of a mirror. He was still heartbreakingly handsome. No wonder Delilah fell for him. When he turned and fixed his gorgeous blue eyes upon me, I still felt my heart race. "Hey, Jace," I said quietly. And immediately wanted to punch myself. Hey, Jace? That’s the best I could do? His face was ice cold. "You shouldn't come. Your ratty suitcase, your ripped jeans, your Vans. None of that belongs here." Well if you wanted to be brutal and vicious, that’s how it’s done. "Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? You dumped me over a fucking email!" I snapped. He shrugged. "Look around you. The wealthiest people in the world came for me today. This suit I’m wearing cost more than you can make in your entire life. What more explanation do you want, Aria?" Wow. I always knew he was a cold, calculating bastard. I just didn’t realize how deep it ran. "Maybe chasing Alpha’s sister got you here faster. But you know what? When she finds out how cold and empty you are. You’ll lose it all." Anger flared across his face. "I know how to love. I just won't waste that on a small-town girl like you.” he said freezingly, “Are we done here?" “No.” I took a deep breath and got into the real reason I came. "You're marrying a rich girl. Fine. But why did you have to get me fired?" Yeah. I used to work for this jerk. From intern to full-time at Apex Corp, he was my supervisor. Our relationship was a secret. And just days ago, I found out he was getting married—and I was out of a job. He fired me. "Right, your job.” The jerk shrugged, “You got it because of me. Now that I’m not around, they finally saw how incompetent you are. Problem?" Was he fucking kidding me?! "I graduated top of my class. Made it through 7 rounds of interviews. My performance exceeded every quarterly target. I earned that job!" I cried. “Come on, Aria. You really gonna be so naïve?” He walked closer, smirking. "You passed the interviews because I said so. Your sales? I made those calls. Without me, you'd be nothing but a pretty face." He seized my chin and looked me over with a disgusting look. I slapped his hand away. "Give me my job back,” I hissed, my voice slightly trembling. “My dad’s debt. My grandma’s medical bills…I need the money. You of all people should know what it’s like to be poor. Don’t. Make. Me. Beg." I was throwing my pride at his feet. But he laughed. "Well, how about I offer you a deal?" he said as though he’d been waiting for this moment. He brushed my hair back, fingers trailing down to my collarbone. I shivered in disgust. "You never let me touch you. You were so clinging to that pathetic no-sex-before-marriage rule. Maybe it's time to grow up. Let me fuck you once and I’ll write you a check you can’t refuse. How does that sound?" I widened my eyes in shock. Then I slapped him. HARD. “WHAT THE FUCK! I’m getting married in front of everyone in fucking 10 minutes!” He roared covering his face. "Fuck you, Jace!” I yelled, “You're a spineless freeloading puss! And hey—congrats on the wedding. Hope your junk is soft like a fucking spaghetti tonight!" Then I stormed out dragging my suitcase and boxes, ignoring his angry curses behind me. Hot tears poured down as I dashed across the hallway. God this couldn’t be any worse. I was prepared to drop all my self-esteem and begged with my life because I needed the job and money. But I still let him get to me. Now what do I do? My salary barely covered my rent, my father’s debt and grandma’s bill. Now with my job gone, I already got kicked out by my landlord. I probably had to sleep in a park tonight. So do I go back and let that jerk win? Let him humiliate me...No. I’d rather die than that— "Hey, watch where you're going!" someone yelled. Too late. I slammed right into the man in front of me. He was tall—so tall I felt like I’d just walked into a brick wall. His diamond cufflink was sharp like a blade, and when we collided, it sliced clean through my thin T-shirt with a loud rip. In one second, the front of my shirt was torn open, exposing my white lace bra. “Ah!” I gasped and looked up. The man in front of me was so handsome. Like a statue carved by a master artist. Yet his expression so cold. He looked down at me, and I swear I was about to drown in those stormy gray eyes of his. And then I recognized who he was. This was Jace’s son-to-be brother-in-law. Alpha of Redstone Pack. CEO of Apex Corporation. THE legendary. Grayson Hart. “Aria Collins?” His voice was sexy and velvety. He lowered his head and his eyes dropped to the exposed part of my bra. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the color of his eyes seemed to darken as he stared. Wherever his gaze landed, my skin started burning up. But wait. How did he know my name? Chapter 2 With Ex's Brother-in-law Aria’s POV Of course I recognized him. God, who didn’t? I’d met him at an Apex gala. His face was on every finance magazine cover, and any time you turned on a TV, there he was—linked to the latest scandal with some actress or model. But there was no way he’d know who I was. “I-I… Hello, Alpha Grayson,” I stammered. He turned his eyes away and said to a nearby guard, “Escort Ms. Collins out.” “Yes, Alpha.” The guards stepped in immediately, stretching out their arms like I was some kind of contaminant that might taint Grayson’s perfectly tailored suit. “Wait a minute. You’re not going to say something about my shirt?” He paused—just for a second—then flicked a piece of paper down at my feet. I looked down. A blank check. “I need a shirt I can actually wear out of here. Not your hush money.” I gritted with humiliation. But he didn’t even glance back as he walked away. “God,” I muttered under my breath. Can you believe these rich bastards? They think they can buy everything with money. People nearby were all staring, snickering under their breath. I tried to cover my chest and grab my things to escape, but it was hard to do all that with just two hands. “Oh my god…Aria Collins?” Three girls emerged from the whispering crowd. I took one look at them and sighed internally. Great. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse. “Hello. Layla. Sabrina. Brielle.” I used to work in the same team with these girls back at Apex. We were all under Jace. They adored him—spent more time flirting with at the coffee machine than actually working. Which left me doing their share of the workload. After I got fired—and when news of my secret relationship with Jace got out—they decided I was public enemy number one. “What are you even doing here, Aria? Trying to win back your ex at his wedding? That’s a new low even for you,” Layla snickered. “I’m not here to win anyone back.” I tried to push past them. But they blocked me. “What happened to your shirt?” Brielle snickered. “Did you seriously walk in here with your bra out? Is this like some low-budget fashion statement?” They burst into laughter together. “You could be completely naked and Jace still wouldn’t give a damn,” Sabrina squeaked. “Because he’s marrying Delilah. THE Delilah Hart! Redstone Pack’s sweetheart. And you…well you’re just a poor-ass small-town girl.” I stopped in my track and gave them a cold glare, “Oh yeah? Well at least I’ve actually been with Jace. Do you know how many times I had to listen to him complained about your screechy voices and cheesy perfume? Apparently he rather be with a poor-ass small-town girl than any of you.” Their jaws dropped. “Jace would never say that!” Brielle cried. “Word for word,” I rolled my eyes. “Now move. Or I’m rolling this suitcase over your pretty little skirts.” They looked like ruffled chickens, but they parted. I quickly shoved my dingy luggage ahead like a weapon and stormed out of the church. Rich people were assholes. Grayson, Jace, and their whole damn minions. I struggled to get my suitcase down the steps, and once I hit the street, cold wind slapped me in the face. I had no idea where to go. I could crash in the hospital with my grandma for a night, but she’d ask too many questions. Like why I hadn’t brought Jace around recently, or why I wasn’t staying at my apartment. I didn’t want her knowing how bad things had gotten. I thought about the park. Sleeping on a bench. But in a ripped T-shirt that exposed my whole front? Horrible idea. So I texted my best friend, May, asking to stay at her place for a few days. She was my rock. If the whole world turned against me, at least I still had her. She texted back right away inviting me to come over. Dragging my suitcase across the street toward the bus stop, I told myself it was going to be okay. This horrible day was going to end. Then I heard them. “Hey, nice shirt!” A group of street wolves were loitering near the stop. I hugged myself tighter and curled into the bench, hoping they’d get bored and leave. “C’mon baby, drop your hands. Let us see what you’re working with.” Go away. Go away. Go away. “You rip that shirt yourself? Damn that’s wild. I like that in a girl.” One of them moved closer, reaching for my shoulder. “Get away from me!” I snapped, my voice shaking. But it only fired them up. “Oh, feisty. Shake those tits for me!” They grabbed my wrists, yanked my arms down. My T-shirt gaped open completely, revealing my lace bra. The cold air made my skin pebble. They laughed even louder. I struggled and screamed. My wolf growled in rage. Shifting in the city was illegal—but right now, I didn’t have a second choice— Just then. Blinding headlights. Followed by screeching tires. A black car skidded to a stop inches away. The door flew open. A deep voice thundered, “Get in.” I was too shocked that I didn’t think twice and obeyed. The car peeled away the second I shut the door. “My suitcase!” I cried. “Someone will get it,” he said darkly. “Address.” I told the driver May’s. Then he pressed a button. A privacy screen slid up between the front and back seats, sealing us in the back. That’s when he turned toward me and leaned in. Like a beast ready to pounce. His scent hit me like a punch—sharp pine mixed with cold metal. My head started to get dizzy. “Walking on the street in that shirt was a mistake,” he said sternly. “It got like this because of you,” I mumbled. He snorted. Then the sound of rustling fabric. A heavy jacket landed across my shoulders—it was still warm from his body and carried his scent. I held my breathe. Wearing his coat almost felt like…he was wrapping himself around me. “You—do you know me?” I whispered. My gut told me that he would never do this for a strange girl. But if he knew who I was, he must know that I was his sister’s husband’s ex. That didn’t explain why he would help. “We’ve met,” he said simply. I stared at him, searching those icy gray eyes. He was staring at me too, with that cold, hungry, possessive eyes. I felt like I was completely naked in front of him. “Aria,” he warned, voice thick and husky. But I couldn’t control myself. I was leaning forward. Shit. Why did my body become so weird? My skin was on fire. My panties were wet. All I wanted was more of his scent, more of his heat. The next second his lips were crashed onto mine—Hard. Rough. I gasped and opened my mouth for him. His tongue slipped in and explored every inch of my mouth, making me shiver. His hands pushed into my torn shirt and grabbed my waist. I couldn’t control my moan when he touched my naked skin. This was crazy! He was a stranger, and most importantly, my ex’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. And I was making out with him at the back of his car. The crazy part was I didn’t even want to stop. He lifted me onto his lap like I weighed nothing. I straddled his thighs and yanked at his tie as he bite my collarbone. Then, suddenly, the car stopped. “Alpha, we’ve arrived.” That’s when it all froze. His lips paused at my neck. I was still squirming on his lap, flushed and throbbing. But he shoved me off. “We can’t do this,” he said coldly. Chapter 3 You're Special To Him Aria’s POV “So you’re telling me this guy made out with you in the backseat of his car… and then just shoved you off like nothing happened?” May asked in shock. 20 minutes later, I was sitting at her place, wrapped in one of her oversized hoodies, a steaming mug of tea in my hands. But I was still reeling from everything that had just happened. “Yup,” I muttered. “Who knows what’s wrong with him.” “What an asshole,” she huffed. “But honestly, this really isn’t like you. You dated that jerk Jace for 4 years and didn’t even sleep with him—which, by the way, was a brilliant choice—and now you're suddenly making out with a complete stranger in his car?” I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. Yeah, she had a point. “I—I don’t know. Maybe it was the whole Jace-getting-married thing. Maybe I just snapped and wanted to screw around with someone hotter just to get back at him…Honestly, it was so stupid now that I think of it.” She grinned and wiggled her brows. “So… he was hot huh?” My cheeks flushed and my mind drifted back. Those stormy gray eyes, his perfectly shaped lips on my neck, and those arms that could pick me up like I weighed nothing…Shit I need to stop. “Yeah. VERY,” I whispered, hiding my red face behind the mug. May burst out laughing. “Now we’re talking! That’s exactly what you need right now—a drop-dead gorgeous rebound to get that loser Jace out of your system. Screw your ‘no sex before marriage’ rule. Life is short.” I gave her a weak smile. Honestly, I didn’t need a rebound. I needed a job, money, and a place to live. Grayson Hart was like dessert when you can’t even afford dinner. “So… do you even know who this guy was?” she asked. I hesitated. Right at this moment, the doorbell rang. She jumped up to get it and came back a few minutes later, hauling in my luggage, her face frozen in disbelief. “OMG. You are not gonna believe what just showed up outside.” “Umm… my luggage?” I joked. “Two fucking muscular guys in black suits and guns! And a freaking stretch limo! They called me ‘ma’am’ and said they hope Miss Aria has a wonderful evening. Now, you—” She leapt at me and shook me by the shoulders. “—you tell me right now who the hell you hooked up with!” I squealed and dropped into the couch with her, laughing and giggling breathlessly. “Okay, okay—I’ll tell you. It was… Grayson Hart.” I practically whispered his name. Because honestly, I still couldn’t believe it either. May froze, eyes wide as saucers. “Grayson—THE Grayson Hart?! As in our Alpha? The CEO of Apex?!” “And Jace’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. Now you know how stupid I was earlier?” She let out a full-on scream. Then she grabbed my hand, her face flushed with excitement. “Oh my God! Aria, do you know what this means? Alpha Grayson never even lends his jacket to his model girlfriends. He likes you. You’re special!” “No,” I said firmly. “If I was special, he wouldn’t have thrown me off his lap when I tried to take off his shirt.” “Maybe he had somewhere to be—” “Don’t, May. Let’s be real. Guys like him don’t fall for girls like me.” I took another sip of tea, hiding the ache in my chest. Hell even Jace thought I was beneath him. What chance did I have with Grayson freaking Hart? “Don’t be silly, Aria. You’re gorgeous. And smart and amazing and—WAIT! I just had the best idea ever.” “What?” “That arrogant jerk Jace thinks you’re just some small-town prude who wasn’t good enough for him right? But what if you ended up with Alpha Grayson? It’ll be easy to get him because he’s already obsessed. Oh, it would destroy Jace. That dickhead would never recover.” OKAY. I’d be lying if I said that exact scenario hadn’t crossed my mind when Grayson kissed me back. What girl hasn’t daydreamed about dating the perfect guy and getting revenge in the most dramatic way possible? But right now, I couldn’t afford to daydream. Reality was already breathing down my neck. “Tempting. But right now I need a job and enough cash to keep Grandma in her hospital bed. Dating rich dudes isn’t exactly high on my to-do list.” May looked at me with soft eyes. “So…any plans? I can try to hook you up with a job, but you know I just work at a coffee shop, and with your degree, you deserve so much more.” I hugged her. “Thank you. Really. I’ll figure something out. Apex promised me severance when they fired me, so I’m going to HR tomorrow to get it sorted.” If I could get that money, at least I’d be OK for the next round of Grandma’s medical bills. — The next morning, I showed up at Apex right on time. But the second Brielle walked in with the HR manager, I had a bad feeling. “What’s she doing here?” I asked coldly. “I’ll explain in a minute,” HR replied with a polite, rehearsed smile as she sat across from me. “So Ms. Collins, I understand you’re here to discuss severance?” “Yes. So let’s not waste time. Just give me the check and I’ll be out of here.” “Unfortunately, severance only applies when the company terminates a contract without cause. In your case… it appears you were let go due to misconduct.” Misconduct? What the freaking hell. “Jace made a snap decision and booted me. What misconduct are you talking about?” “But that’s not what Mr. Carter said. He provided evidence that you made a costly error on a sales quote—omitting a few zeroes, to be exact. Cost the company millions. Here’s the email record.” She handed me a printed sheet. I swore I had never sent this email in my life. But there it was—my name in the sender field. No freaking way. Jace forged this. “And Mr. Carter reported that you had a difficult attitude toward your coworkers. Quote: ‘impatient and arrogant.’ Brielle’s here to verify that.” Brielle twirled her hair and smiled smugly. “Yeah. Aria was a horrible team player.” I stood so fast my chair screeched. “The only thing I didn’t ‘teamplayed’ with you was flirt with the boss in the breakroom!” “Liar!” she yelled. “And I asked Jace. He never said my voice was screechy!” Oh my God. I couldn’t believe how stupid she was. “Sit down, Miss Collins,” HR warned. “As of now, not only are you not getting severance, but we’re also considering legal action to recover the losses. If you understand the situation here, sign this acknowledgement—” “Does Alpha Grayson know about this?” I asked. Both of them froze. After a long pause, HR finally found her voice. “What does Alpha Grayson have to do with any of this?” “He owns Apex, doesn’t he? Does he know his team is abusing their power and firing hardworking employees illegally?” HR frowned. Brielle let out a loud snort. “Please. Don’t act like you know Alpha Grayson.” “What if I do? What if I go to him and then it’s you who gets fired?” She laughed in my face. “Oh, you mean you know him on TV?” “Let’s find out.” I shoved my chair back and stormed out, heading straight for the CEO’s private elevator at the end of the hall. HR scrambled after me, shouting my name. I was too furious to care how this ended. All I wanted now was to blow the whole damn place up. Two guards stood by the elevator. “I need to see Alpha Grayson,” I told them. “Appointment?” “No, but I swear he knows me. Just tell him it’s Aria—from yesterday. He’ll remember.” “You aren’t the first girl here saying that,” one of them mocked. “Come on, Miss Collins,” HR snapped, trying to drag me back. “This is getting crazy. Go back, sign the paper. Take responsibility for your own mistake.” “I didn’t send that email. It was Jace—he’s framing me! I will report all of you.” “Alpha Grayson doesn’t have time for your report, or your visit, or any of your little drama!” “I believe no one but me has the right to decide that,” a cold voice said behind us. Chapter 4 Take Me, Please Aria’s POV A large hand grabbed my arm and pulled me away from HR’s grip. I looked up and my heart almost stopped. Even I couldn’t believe he just showed up here. It felt like a dream. “A-Alpha Grayson,” HR stammered, her face frozen with shock and fear. “I don’t need employees who think they can make decisions for their boss,” he said freezingly while wrapping his arm around my waist. “If I see something like this again, you’re fired.” “Y-yes, Alpha. I’m terribly sorry…” HR’s expression was priceless, but I was in no mood to enjoy it. His icy pine scent consumed me again, making my body weak and hot. My wolf let out a soft purr, urging me to lean into him. But before I could even move, he let go. A pang of disappointment hit me in the chest. “Come,” he said shortly, striding toward the private elevator. I shot HR and the stunned security guards a smug look, then hurried after him. He swiped his card and the elevator doors closed. We started going up to the 58th floor. It was dead silent. My heart was beating so wildly that I was afraid he’d hear it. I snuck a glance at him—he just stared straight ahead, emotionless, keeping a distance, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Unease twisted my stomach. “So, um… what brings you here today?” I broke the silence. He sighed softly. “I owe this company.” “Oh, Oh…Right.” I wanted to punch myself in the face. The awkward silence lingered until the elevator dinged open. The 58th floor was a wide-open space with no cubicles or dividers—just massive floor-to-ceiling windows and a sweeping view of the entire city. “Wow,” I whispered under my breath. Grayson was already walking ahead. I jogged to catch up as he led me into an office at the far end of the floor. A stunning female assistant closed the door behind us, and once again, it was just the two of us. My heart rocketed back into my throat. He casually unbuttoned his jacket. It was amazing how he made even that look sexy. “So you insisted on seeing me?” he asked. He didn’t ask me to sit. He didn’t even move closer. That distance stung a little. “I worked here till a week ago when I found out I was let go for no reason…” I quickly told him the story of how I was fired. “This is clearly illegal in so many ways… can you help me get my job back?” “Unfortunately, no,” he replied, barely hesitating. My heart dropped like a stone. “Why not?” “I’ll have the hiring department look into whether your termination followed proper protocol. But this isn’t something a CEO handles directly. Anything else?” The hiring department? That could take weeks—and I didn’t have weeks. “No… you don’t get it,” I stepped forward, my voice trembling. “My grandma’s in the hospital. Her bills are getting insane every month. And I’m already deep in debt… If I can’t make money, I don’t even know— I really, REALLY need this job.” I knew we came from two different worlds, but laying out the most desperate parts of my life in front of him still made me feel horribly exposed. I just hoped—begged—that he’d understand. But he didn’t. His gray eyes stayed emotionless. “I’m sorry, Miss Collins,” he said quietly. Tears rushed into my eyes. I couldn’t even breathe. All I could think about were the bills, the debt, the mountain of shit waiting for me the second I left this building. “If there’s nothing else, my assistant will show you out.” he said, reaching for the intercom. I rushed forward and pressed my hand down on his before he could call anyone in. His whole body stiffened—but he didn’t pull away. He just stared down at me. I stepped in closer, tilting my head up. His gray eyes darkened like a storm brewing in the distance. His pine scent wrapped around me again, thick and intoxicating. As werewolves, our scent only spikes during a fight or sexual arousal. It was damn obvious which case this was. “You clearly feel something for me,” I whispered. He said nothing. I placed my hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat. It was racing as well. His breathing had also turned shallow. “What are you doing, Miss Collins?” he asked tightly. “Trying to seduce your way into a job?” “You can do whatever you want,” I locked eyes with him. “I won’t stop you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. God, I wanted to lick it. And… well, I did. I leaned up and pressed my lips to it. He let out a growl. The next second, I was pinned on his desk. He stood between my spread legs, one hand by my head. I whimpered, clamping my thighs together—the heat between them was almost unbearable. Just like in the backseat of his car. His hand slid from the desk to my throat. It was so big, he could probably snap my neck if he wanted. “You shouldn’t keep tempting me, Miss Collins.” His body was pressed against my thighs—I definitely felt the effect I was having on him. “Why?” I whispered, licking my lips. “Because your self-control isn’t as strong as you thought?” “Because I don’t fuck virgins.” What the actual hell The next second, he had pulled away. I scrambled off the desk, face red, eyes wide. “What did you just say?!” I snapped. “Why—How the hell do you even know—?” “I know who you are. And I know about your relationship with my sister’s husband.” And just like that, everything clicked. It was Jace. That bastard didn’t just dump me—he ran his mouth about my virginity to everyone, including Grayson. Humiliation crashed over me like a wave. “Jace is a fucking asshole,” I snapped shakily. Grayson shrugged. “Obviously. But Brielle likes him. And he’s family now. I’m sorry but I just can’t get involved in this.” I climbed off his desk with my whole body red and shaking. He didn’t want me. And he was taking his sister and Jace’s side. I was so damn stupid to think that one kiss in the car actually meant anything. But this was Grayson Hart for Christ’s sake. He could have anyone he wanted. “I’m sure you’re a very capable employee, Miss Collins. But seducing me won’t help your career. I wish you all the best.” He finally pressed the intercom button. His assistant appeared at the door, waiting for me to leave. “Bye,” I whispered without even look back. I didn’t want him to notice my falling tears. I walked out of that office, numb, and rode the elevator down like a ghost. My mind was a storm of bills, debt, and Grayson’s ice-cold stare. Now I desperately needed a new job. “Miss Collins!” I turned and saw his assistant come rushing out again, holding an envelope. “Alpha Grayson asked me to give you this,” she said, handing it over. “What is it?” Why didn’t he give it to me earlier? “He didn’t say. Maybe you’ll know once you open it.” She gave me a mysterious smile and walked away. I opened the envelope. A blank check slid out first—I held my breath in shock. Then I found a crumpled note. His handwriting, rushed and messy. Haven’t repaid you for the shirt. Hope everything works out for you Aria. Stay strong. —Grayson Chapter 5 Getting My Attention Aria’s POV “That check clearly means something,” May insisted. “Come on. We’re not doing this again,” I sighed. “If he’s not into you, then why did he let his assistant come after you with a check? He probably saw you crying and couldn’t stand it. You should definitely go back and see him again.” “Nope,” I shut it down immediately. “I had one perfect, fairytale encounter with a rich bachelor. That’s enough. I’m not about to go back there and humiliate myself all over again.” “But—” “Hey, you two!” our manager yelled from the other end of the aisle. “Less talking, more working!” We rolled our eyes at each other and got back to inventory. May had helped me land this supermarket job. It was part of a chain under a big corporation, so the pay and benefits weren’t bad. May still thought it was beneath someone with my degree, but honestly, I was just grateful to be employed. Once we finished our section, the manager wandered off to shout at someone else, and May scooted back over to me. “Just imagine it,” she grinned. “You could write a couple million on that blank check and boom! Instant rich girl life.” “I’m not gonna do that.” “Sure you won’t. You’re too nice,” she muttered, half-admiring, half-scolding. “So? What are you gonna write?” I hesitated. At first, I actually considered writing the price of a shirt. 19.99 that was. Because apparently, my dignity still thinks it matters. But let’s be real, if Grayson was just trying to pay me back for a ripped tee, he would’ve handed his assistant a $20 bill, not a blank check. Maybe… he felt bad I lost my job too. “I’m going to write the amount I should’ve gotten in severance,” I admitted eventually. May's eyes bulged. “That’s it?!” “I know it’s not much, but it’s what I actually deserve. And it’ll help me cover two months of bills.” She sighed like I was letting go of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But my mind was made up. This was my chance to walk away from the mess. I still wanted to rip Jace’s smug face off, but the best revenge right now was surviving. 6 hours later, we finished our shift exhausted and aching. Everyone else got to clock out, but not me—I’d volunteered for night shift and closing duties. The staffs left one by one, yawning, including May. Finally I was alone in this big market. Now here’s the big secret— I actually lived here now. Nobody knew this, not even May. She thought I’d found a new apartment and moved out, but I just couldn’t keep bothering her anymore—her roommates were getting irritated with me hogging the living room and utilities. And renting my own place seemed way out of budget now. So I stayed in this supermarket instead. I closed up the store at night and opened it early in the morning. For the 5 or 6 hours in between, I made a bed out of my coat and slept on the floor near the refrigerated section. Now don’t ask me why I can’t sleep in the staff’s break room. That room was too hot without AC. At least it was cool by the freezer. Tonight I was extra exhausted. The manager made us girls haul too many heavy crates around. I passed out in seconds. But it felt like I’d only been asleep for five minutes—my alarm hadn’t even gone off yet—when I was jolted awake by someone screaming. “OH MY GOD—what the hell are you doing?!” I shot upright, completely disoriented. And froze. In front of me stood an entire group of people—including the manager and several guys in suits, all staring at me wide eyes. And I was only in a tank top and shorts. Half naked. OH GOD. What the hell—Is it morning already?! Why didn’t I hear my alarm? I scrambled to pull my clothes over my body, my hands shaking. The stares didn’t stop. They got more invasive. “Aria Collins! What the fuck are you doing?!” the manager stormed over and roared. “Napping half-naked in my fucking store?! Are you a fucking sex perv?!” My face went beet red, “No! I—I was just staying here temporarily—” “Temporarily?!” he yelled, eyes bulging. “I hired an employee, not a fucking squatter! How much water and electricity have you used free?! Are you stealing food too?!” “No I swear. I shut everything off when I’m done, I don’t use the water unless I have to. And I paid for everything I’ve eaten.” Tears blurred my vision as I tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening. His spit actually hit my cheek as he snarled. “Of all days—you had to pick the day corporate shows up to camp out in my perfect store. You filthy, disgusting little—” “Aria Collins?” A new voice called my name. It came from one of the suited men. I looked up—and my heart dropped. It was Jonathan. A former coworker from Apex. “Holy shit, it is you,” he grinned, raising his brows. “Almost didn’t recognize you at first.” “You… what are you doing here?” I stammered. “Apex owns this supermarket chain. We’re doing site inspections today,” he said with a smirk, his eyes trailing down to my bare legs. “Man! Most people hit rock bottom after getting fired from Apex, but you fall faster than anyone.” “I’m working. Making a decent living,” I said in shaky voice. “There’s no shame with that.” “Oh really?” he sneered. “Does your job include lying around half-naked on the floor? What is this, a new hooker gimmick?” The suits burst out laughing. My furious tears were on the verge of falling. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll fire her right away.” The manager groaned. “Hold up,” Jonathan drawled with a smirk. “This chick got fired from Apex for messing up a seven-figure deal. You might wanna check your inventory. She could be stealing.” “You know that’s a lie. Jace got me fired out of spite! I never made a mistake—” “Oh please,” he cut me off. “Everyone in the industry knows how you fucked up. Jace was so embarrassed that he had to apologize for you.” The manager grabbed my wrist. “Then you’re definitely stealing from this market as well. That’s it you are going to jail. When I figure out what you’ve taken, you must pay back everything!” My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t doubt for a second that the manager would come up with something that I didn’t steal, just like how Jace framed me before. It wasn’t hard for guys like them. But I couldn’t go to jail. My grandma had no one to count on but me. I can’t leave her. The wolf in me surfaced up the next second—I snarled at the manager, yanked my arm free, and ran. “Stop her!” someone shouted behind me. I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I had to escape. I bolted out of the store, desperate and horrified—and slammed right into a solid chest. “Get away from Alpha!” a bodyguard barked. But he pulled me in instead. “Aria?” I was still shaking involuntarily. He unbuttoned the front and wrapped me in, covering my half-naked body. “It’s OK.” his voice was deep with clear hint of rage. I clutched his shirt, gasping for air. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to breathe at all. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Yet I couldn’t make a sound. “She’s having a panic attack,” a woman said nearby. “Alpha, if I may—” I silently prayed him not to hand me over. And he didn’t. “It’s fine, Nova,” he refused. “Aria, you’re safe now. Breathe.” Panicked footsteps echoed behind us. Jonathan’s voice rang out, stunned: “Alpha Grayson! Oh God—w-what’s going on here?!” “Nova,” Grayson said in a cold, dangerous voice, “stay here. Don’t let anyone leave.” “Yes, Alpha.” He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, one arm under my legs, the other around my back. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. Then he carried me through the crowd, into the store, and into a private room. When he set me down in a chair, I was still trembling and sobbing. He finally took off his coat and draped it over my legs, then crouched down in front of me. “You’re safe here,” he said. That’s when I broke down. Crying out loud. Everything—fear, shame, panic—everything spilled out in a messy, helpless flood. I clutched his wrist like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and for once… he didn’t pull away. He said nothing the whole time. Just stayed there with me until the sobs quieted. “Th-thank you…I’m better now.” I sniffled. He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. I trembled at the way he touched my skin. His voice was low, rough, and a little strained. “You’re starting to make me wonder, Miss Collins. If all these run-ins are just your way of getting my attention.”
🔞When My ex-brother-in-law took my virginity...His liquid spurts inslde and my eyes widen, "Wait we forgot a comdom!" …………………… Chapter 1 He Dumped Me Aria's POV I stood in front of the chapel. Pink roses and white lilies decorated every corner I saw—my favorite flowers. The guests were already seated in their designer dresses and pressed suits. And soon, at the end of the red carpet would stand the man I once loved, waiting to marry his bride. Everything was perfect. Except I wasn't the bride. "I really need to see Jace today." I begged the bodyguard blocking the door. A beat-up suitcase and two boxes sat at my feet—everything I owned in the world. "No you don’t. Get out of here," the bodyguard said icily. I saw it in his eyes—disgust. Yeah I get it. No one has sympathy for the crazy ex who shows up at the wedding. But I have my reason. "If you don't let me see him, I'll just stand here and all the guests will see me," I threatened under my breath. Jace wouldn't want that. Especially not today. Today he was marrying Delilah Hart. Sister to Alpha Grayson Hart of Redstone Pack. A 100% high-society darling. All the guys in the world knew that marrying Delilah would make their wealth skyrocket, including Jace. So he made the easy call—marrying the lady who could turn him from a small-town nobody into a golden boy. And dump the girl who stayed by his side for last 4 years when he had nothing. So it’s normal why he didn’t want any guests to see me here. I represented his broke, embarrassing past. He wanted me nowhere near his glossy, glittering new world. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of that. Like a knife was twisting in my chest. “Let me in or I’m starting to yell.” "Wait here." The bodyguard finally made a call. A few minutes later, he waved me in. I wiped my eyes and struggled into the hall with my suitcase and boxes. Instantly, I felt how out of place I was. Everything reeked of wealth here. Expensive perfume. Manicured nails. Not a hair out of place. It was everything you imagined about the upper-class and way more. And me? I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans. My sneakers had holes. "God, a homeless. She stinks." A woman mutter as I walked by. I just showered this morning. My hair still smelled like strawberries and coconut. But poverty had a scent, apparently. "Mr. Carter is inside. Make it quick." The guard took me to a closed door and warned. “Thank you.” The room inside looked like something out of a movie. Marble floors. Floor-length mirrors. A chandelier that probably cost more than my apartment. I hesitated for a second as I dragged my dirty luggage across the white carpet. And there he was. The man I used to love. Adjusting his bowtie in front of a mirror. He was still heartbreakingly handsome. No wonder Delilah fell for him. When he turned and fixed his gorgeous blue eyes upon me, I still felt my heart race. "Hey, Jace," I said quietly. And immediately wanted to punch myself. Hey, Jace? That’s the best I could do? His face was ice cold. "You shouldn't come. Your ratty suitcase, your ripped jeans, your Vans. None of that belongs here." Well if you wanted to be brutal and vicious, that’s how it’s done. "Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? You dumped me over a fucking email!" I snapped. He shrugged. "Look around you. The wealthiest people in the world came for me today. This suit I’m wearing cost more than you can make in your entire life. What more explanation do you want, Aria?" Wow. I always knew he was a cold, calculating bastard. I just didn’t realize how deep it ran. "Maybe chasing Alpha’s sister got you here faster. But you know what? When she finds out how cold and empty you are. You’ll lose it all." Anger flared across his face. "I know how to love. I just won't waste that on a small-town girl like you.” he said freezingly, “Are we done here?" “No.” I took a deep breath and got into the real reason I came. "You're marrying a rich girl. Fine. But why did you have to get me fired?" Yeah. I used to work for this jerk. From intern to full-time at Apex Corp, he was my supervisor. Our relationship was a secret. And just days ago, I found out he was getting married—and I was out of a job. He fired me. "Right, your job.” The jerk shrugged, “You got it because of me. Now that I’m not around, they finally saw how incompetent you are. Problem?" Was he fucking kidding me?! "I graduated top of my class. Made it through 7 rounds of interviews. My performance exceeded every quarterly target. I earned that job!" I cried. “Come on, Aria. You really gonna be so naïve?” He walked closer, smirking. "You passed the interviews because I said so. Your sales? I made those calls. Without me, you'd be nothing but a pretty face." He seized my chin and looked me over with a disgusting look. I slapped his hand away. "Give me my job back,” I hissed, my voice slightly trembling. “My dad’s debt. My grandma’s medical bills…I need the money. You of all people should know what it’s like to be poor. Don’t. Make. Me. Beg." I was throwing my pride at his feet. But he laughed. "Well, how about I offer you a deal?" he said as though he’d been waiting for this moment. He brushed my hair back, fingers trailing down to my collarbone. I shivered in disgust. "You never let me touch you. You were so clinging to that pathetic no-sex-before-marriage rule. Maybe it's time to grow up. Let me fuck you once and I’ll write you a check you can’t refuse. How does that sound?" I widened my eyes in shock. Then I slapped him. HARD. “WHAT THE FUCK! I’m getting married in front of everyone in fucking 10 minutes!” He roared covering his face. "Fuck you, Jace!” I yelled, “You're a spineless freeloading puss! And hey—congrats on the wedding. Hope your junk is soft like a fucking spaghetti tonight!" Then I stormed out dragging my suitcase and boxes, ignoring his angry curses behind me. Hot tears poured down as I dashed across the hallway. God this couldn’t be any worse. I was prepared to drop all my self-esteem and begged with my life because I needed the job and money. But I still let him get to me. Now what do I do? My salary barely covered my rent, my father’s debt and grandma’s bill. Now with my job gone, I already got kicked out by my landlord. I probably had to sleep in a park tonight. So do I go back and let that jerk win? Let him humiliate me...No. I’d rather die than that— "Hey, watch where you're going!" someone yelled. Too late. I slammed right into the man in front of me. He was tall—so tall I felt like I’d just walked into a brick wall. His diamond cufflink was sharp like a blade, and when we collided, it sliced clean through my thin T-shirt with a loud rip. In one second, the front of my shirt was torn open, exposing my white lace bra. “Ah!” I gasped and looked up. The man in front of me was so handsome. Like a statue carved by a master artist. Yet his expression so cold. He looked down at me, and I swear I was about to drown in those stormy gray eyes of his. And then I recognized who he was. This was Jace’s son-to-be brother-in-law. Alpha of Redstone Pack. CEO of Apex Corporation. THE legendary. Grayson Hart. “Aria Collins?” His voice was sexy and velvety. He lowered his head and his eyes dropped to the exposed part of my bra. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the color of his eyes seemed to darken as he stared. Wherever his gaze landed, my skin started burning up. But wait. How did he know my name? Chapter 2 With Ex's Brother-in-law Aria’s POV Of course I recognized him. God, who didn’t? I’d met him at an Apex gala. His face was on every finance magazine cover, and any time you turned on a TV, there he was—linked to the latest scandal with some actress or model. But there was no way he’d know who I was. “I-I… Hello, Alpha Grayson,” I stammered. He turned his eyes away and said to a nearby guard, “Escort Ms. Collins out.” “Yes, Alpha.” The guards stepped in immediately, stretching out their arms like I was some kind of contaminant that might taint Grayson’s perfectly tailored suit. “Wait a minute. You’re not going to say something about my shirt?” He paused—just for a second—then flicked a piece of paper down at my feet. I looked down. A blank check. “I need a shirt I can actually wear out of here. Not your hush money.” I gritted with humiliation. But he didn’t even glance back as he walked away. “God,” I muttered under my breath. Can you believe these rich bastards? They think they can buy everything with money. People nearby were all staring, snickering under their breath. I tried to cover my chest and grab my things to escape, but it was hard to do all that with just two hands. “Oh my god…Aria Collins?” Three girls emerged from the whispering crowd. I took one look at them and sighed internally. Great. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse. “Hello. Layla. Sabrina. Brielle.” I used to work in the same team with these girls back at Apex. We were all under Jace. They adored him—spent more time flirting with at the coffee machine than actually working. Which left me doing their share of the workload. After I got fired—and when news of my secret relationship with Jace got out—they decided I was public enemy number one. “What are you even doing here, Aria? Trying to win back your ex at his wedding? That’s a new low even for you,” Layla snickered. “I’m not here to win anyone back.” I tried to push past them. But they blocked me. “What happened to your shirt?” Brielle snickered. “Did you seriously walk in here with your bra out? Is this like some low-budget fashion statement?” They burst into laughter together. “You could be completely naked and Jace still wouldn’t give a damn,” Sabrina squeaked. “Because he’s marrying Delilah. THE Delilah Hart! Redstone Pack’s sweetheart. And you…well you’re just a poor-ass small-town girl.” I stopped in my track and gave them a cold glare, “Oh yeah? Well at least I’ve actually been with Jace. Do you know how many times I had to listen to him complained about your screechy voices and cheesy perfume? Apparently he rather be with a poor-ass small-town girl than any of you.” Their jaws dropped. “Jace would never say that!” Brielle cried. “Word for word,” I rolled my eyes. “Now move. Or I’m rolling this suitcase over your pretty little skirts.” They looked like ruffled chickens, but they parted. I quickly shoved my dingy luggage ahead like a weapon and stormed out of the church. Rich people were assholes. Grayson, Jace, and their whole damn minions. I struggled to get my suitcase down the steps, and once I hit the street, cold wind slapped me in the face. I had no idea where to go. I could crash in the hospital with my grandma for a night, but she’d ask too many questions. Like why I hadn’t brought Jace around recently, or why I wasn’t staying at my apartment. I didn’t want her knowing how bad things had gotten. I thought about the park. Sleeping on a bench. But in a ripped T-shirt that exposed my whole front? Horrible idea. So I texted my best friend, May, asking to stay at her place for a few days. She was my rock. If the whole world turned against me, at least I still had her. She texted back right away inviting me to come over. Dragging my suitcase across the street toward the bus stop, I told myself it was going to be okay. This horrible day was going to end. Then I heard them. “Hey, nice shirt!” A group of street wolves were loitering near the stop. I hugged myself tighter and curled into the bench, hoping they’d get bored and leave. “C’mon baby, drop your hands. Let us see what you’re working with.” Go away. Go away. Go away. “You rip that shirt yourself? Damn that’s wild. I like that in a girl.” One of them moved closer, reaching for my shoulder. “Get away from me!” I snapped, my voice shaking. But it only fired them up. “Oh, feisty. Shake those tits for me!” They grabbed my wrists, yanked my arms down. My T-shirt gaped open completely, revealing my lace bra. The cold air made my skin pebble. They laughed even louder. I struggled and screamed. My wolf growled in rage. Shifting in the city was illegal—but right now, I didn’t have a second choice— Just then. Blinding headlights. Followed by screeching tires. A black car skidded to a stop inches away. The door flew open. A deep voice thundered, “Get in.” I was too shocked that I didn’t think twice and obeyed. The car peeled away the second I shut the door. “My suitcase!” I cried. “Someone will get it,” he said darkly. “Address.” I told the driver May’s. Then he pressed a button. A privacy screen slid up between the front and back seats, sealing us in the back. That’s when he turned toward me and leaned in. Like a beast ready to pounce. His scent hit me like a punch—sharp pine mixed with cold metal. My head started to get dizzy. “Walking on the street in that shirt was a mistake,” he said sternly. “It got like this because of you,” I mumbled. He snorted. Then the sound of rustling fabric. A heavy jacket landed across my shoulders—it was still warm from his body and carried his scent. I held my breathe. Wearing his coat almost felt like…he was wrapping himself around me. “You—do you know me?” I whispered. My gut told me that he would never do this for a strange girl. But if he knew who I was, he must know that I was his sister’s husband’s ex. That didn’t explain why he would help. “We’ve met,” he said simply. I stared at him, searching those icy gray eyes. He was staring at me too, with that cold, hungry, possessive eyes. I felt like I was completely naked in front of him. “Aria,” he warned, voice thick and husky. But I couldn’t control myself. I was leaning forward. Shit. Why did my body become so weird? My skin was on fire. My panties were wet. All I wanted was more of his scent, more of his heat. The next second his lips were crashed onto mine—Hard. Rough. I gasped and opened my mouth for him. His tongue slipped in and explored every inch of my mouth, making me shiver. His hands pushed into my torn shirt and grabbed my waist. I couldn’t control my moan when he touched my naked skin. This was crazy! He was a stranger, and most importantly, my ex’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. And I was making out with him at the back of his car. The crazy part was I didn’t even want to stop. He lifted me onto his lap like I weighed nothing. I straddled his thighs and yanked at his tie as he bite my collarbone. Then, suddenly, the car stopped. “Alpha, we’ve arrived.” That’s when it all froze. His lips paused at my neck. I was still squirming on his lap, flushed and throbbing. But he shoved me off. “We can’t do this,” he said coldly. Chapter 3 You're Special To Him Aria’s POV “So you’re telling me this guy made out with you in the backseat of his car… and then just shoved you off like nothing happened?” May asked in shock. 20 minutes later, I was sitting at her place, wrapped in one of her oversized hoodies, a steaming mug of tea in my hands. But I was still reeling from everything that had just happened. “Yup,” I muttered. “Who knows what’s wrong with him.” “What an asshole,” she huffed. “But honestly, this really isn’t like you. You dated that jerk Jace for 4 years and didn’t even sleep with him—which, by the way, was a brilliant choice—and now you're suddenly making out with a complete stranger in his car?” I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. Yeah, she had a point. “I—I don’t know. Maybe it was the whole Jace-getting-married thing. Maybe I just snapped and wanted to screw around with someone hotter just to get back at him…Honestly, it was so stupid now that I think of it.” She grinned and wiggled her brows. “So… he was hot huh?” My cheeks flushed and my mind drifted back. Those stormy gray eyes, his perfectly shaped lips on my neck, and those arms that could pick me up like I weighed nothing…Shit I need to stop. “Yeah. VERY,” I whispered, hiding my red face behind the mug. May burst out laughing. “Now we’re talking! That’s exactly what you need right now—a drop-dead gorgeous rebound to get that loser Jace out of your system. Screw your ‘no sex before marriage’ rule. Life is short.” I gave her a weak smile. Honestly, I didn’t need a rebound. I needed a job, money, and a place to live. Grayson Hart was like dessert when you can’t even afford dinner. “So… do you even know who this guy was?” she asked. I hesitated. Right at this moment, the doorbell rang. She jumped up to get it and came back a few minutes later, hauling in my luggage, her face frozen in disbelief. “OMG. You are not gonna believe what just showed up outside.” “Umm… my luggage?” I joked. “Two fucking muscular guys in black suits and guns! And a freaking stretch limo! They called me ‘ma’am’ and said they hope Miss Aria has a wonderful evening. Now, you—” She leapt at me and shook me by the shoulders. “—you tell me right now who the hell you hooked up with!” I squealed and dropped into the couch with her, laughing and giggling breathlessly. “Okay, okay—I’ll tell you. It was… Grayson Hart.” I practically whispered his name. Because honestly, I still couldn’t believe it either. May froze, eyes wide as saucers. “Grayson—THE Grayson Hart?! As in our Alpha? The CEO of Apex?!” “And Jace’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. Now you know how stupid I was earlier?” She let out a full-on scream. Then she grabbed my hand, her face flushed with excitement. “Oh my God! Aria, do you know what this means? Alpha Grayson never even lends his jacket to his model girlfriends. He likes you. You’re special!” “No,” I said firmly. “If I was special, he wouldn’t have thrown me off his lap when I tried to take off his shirt.” “Maybe he had somewhere to be—” “Don’t, May. Let’s be real. Guys like him don’t fall for girls like me.” I took another sip of tea, hiding the ache in my chest. Hell even Jace thought I was beneath him. What chance did I have with Grayson freaking Hart? “Don’t be silly, Aria. You’re gorgeous. And smart and amazing and—WAIT! I just had the best idea ever.” “What?” “That arrogant jerk Jace thinks you’re just some small-town prude who wasn’t good enough for him right? But what if you ended up with Alpha Grayson? It’ll be easy to get him because he’s already obsessed. Oh, it would destroy Jace. That dickhead would never recover.” OKAY. I’d be lying if I said that exact scenario hadn’t crossed my mind when Grayson kissed me back. What girl hasn’t daydreamed about dating the perfect guy and getting revenge in the most dramatic way possible? But right now, I couldn’t afford to daydream. Reality was already breathing down my neck. “Tempting. But right now I need a job and enough cash to keep Grandma in her hospital bed. Dating rich dudes isn’t exactly high on my to-do list.” May looked at me with soft eyes. “So…any plans? I can try to hook you up with a job, but you know I just work at a coffee shop, and with your degree, you deserve so much more.” I hugged her. “Thank you. Really. I’ll figure something out. Apex promised me severance when they fired me, so I’m going to HR tomorrow to get it sorted.” If I could get that money, at least I’d be OK for the next round of Grandma’s medical bills. — The next morning, I showed up at Apex right on time. But the second Brielle walked in with the HR manager, I had a bad feeling. “What’s she doing here?” I asked coldly. “I’ll explain in a minute,” HR replied with a polite, rehearsed smile as she sat across from me. “So Ms. Collins, I understand you’re here to discuss severance?” “Yes. So let’s not waste time. Just give me the check and I’ll be out of here.” “Unfortunately, severance only applies when the company terminates a contract without cause. In your case… it appears you were let go due to misconduct.” Misconduct? What the freaking hell. “Jace made a snap decision and booted me. What misconduct are you talking about?” “But that’s not what Mr. Carter said. He provided evidence that you made a costly error on a sales quote—omitting a few zeroes, to be exact. Cost the company millions. Here’s the email record.” She handed me a printed sheet. I swore I had never sent this email in my life. But there it was—my name in the sender field. No freaking way. Jace forged this. “And Mr. Carter reported that you had a difficult attitude toward your coworkers. Quote: ‘impatient and arrogant.’ Brielle’s here to verify that.” Brielle twirled her hair and smiled smugly. “Yeah. Aria was a horrible team player.” I stood so fast my chair screeched. “The only thing I didn’t ‘teamplayed’ with you was flirt with the boss in the breakroom!” “Liar!” she yelled. “And I asked Jace. He never said my voice was screechy!” Oh my God. I couldn’t believe how stupid she was. “Sit down, Miss Collins,” HR warned. “As of now, not only are you not getting severance, but we’re also considering legal action to recover the losses. If you understand the situation here, sign this acknowledgement—” “Does Alpha Grayson know about this?” I asked. Both of them froze. After a long pause, HR finally found her voice. “What does Alpha Grayson have to do with any of this?” “He owns Apex, doesn’t he? Does he know his team is abusing their power and firing hardworking employees illegally?” HR frowned. Brielle let out a loud snort. “Please. Don’t act like you know Alpha Grayson.” “What if I do? What if I go to him and then it’s you who gets fired?” She laughed in my face. “Oh, you mean you know him on TV?” “Let’s find out.” I shoved my chair back and stormed out, heading straight for the CEO’s private elevator at the end of the hall. HR scrambled after me, shouting my name. I was too furious to care how this ended. All I wanted now was to blow the whole damn place up. Two guards stood by the elevator. “I need to see Alpha Grayson,” I told them. “Appointment?” “No, but I swear he knows me. Just tell him it’s Aria—from yesterday. He’ll remember.” “You aren’t the first girl here saying that,” one of them mocked. “Come on, Miss Collins,” HR snapped, trying to drag me back. “This is getting crazy. Go back, sign the paper. Take responsibility for your own mistake.” “I didn’t send that email. It was Jace—he’s framing me! I will report all of you.” “Alpha Grayson doesn’t have time for your report, or your visit, or any of your little drama!” “I believe no one but me has the right to decide that,” a cold voice said behind us. Chapter 4 Take Me, Please Aria’s POV A large hand grabbed my arm and pulled me away from HR’s grip. I looked up and my heart almost stopped. Even I couldn’t believe he just showed up here. It felt like a dream. “A-Alpha Grayson,” HR stammered, her face frozen with shock and fear. “I don’t need employees who think they can make decisions for their boss,” he said freezingly while wrapping his arm around my waist. “If I see something like this again, you’re fired.” “Y-yes, Alpha. I’m terribly sorry…” HR’s expression was priceless, but I was in no mood to enjoy it. His icy pine scent consumed me again, making my body weak and hot. My wolf let out a soft purr, urging me to lean into him. But before I could even move, he let go. A pang of disappointment hit me in the chest. “Come,” he said shortly, striding toward the private elevator. I shot HR and the stunned security guards a smug look, then hurried after him. He swiped his card and the elevator doors closed. We started going up to the 58th floor. It was dead silent. My heart was beating so wildly that I was afraid he’d hear it. I snuck a glance at him—he just stared straight ahead, emotionless, keeping a distance, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Unease twisted my stomach. “So, um… what brings you here today?” I broke the silence. He sighed softly. “I owe this company.” “Oh, Oh…Right.” I wanted to punch myself in the face. The awkward silence lingered until the elevator dinged open. The 58th floor was a wide-open space with no cubicles or dividers—just massive floor-to-ceiling windows and a sweeping view of the entire city. “Wow,” I whispered under my breath. Grayson was already walking ahead. I jogged to catch up as he led me into an office at the far end of the floor. A stunning female assistant closed the door behind us, and once again, it was just the two of us. My heart rocketed back into my throat. He casually unbuttoned his jacket. It was amazing how he made even that look sexy. “So you insisted on seeing me?” he asked. He didn’t ask me to sit. He didn’t even move closer. That distance stung a little. “I worked here till a week ago when I found out I was let go for no reason…” I quickly told him the story of how I was fired. “This is clearly illegal in so many ways… can you help me get my job back?” “Unfortunately, no,” he replied, barely hesitating. My heart dropped like a stone. “Why not?” “I’ll have the hiring department look into whether your termination followed proper protocol. But this isn’t something a CEO handles directly. Anything else?” The hiring department? That could take weeks—and I didn’t have weeks. “No… you don’t get it,” I stepped forward, my voice trembling. “My grandma’s in the hospital. Her bills are getting insane every month. And I’m already deep in debt… If I can’t make money, I don’t even know— I really, REALLY need this job.” I knew we came from two different worlds, but laying out the most desperate parts of my life in front of him still made me feel horribly exposed. I just hoped—begged—that he’d understand. But he didn’t. His gray eyes stayed emotionless. “I’m sorry, Miss Collins,” he said quietly. Tears rushed into my eyes. I couldn’t even breathe. All I could think about were the bills, the debt, the mountain of shit waiting for me the second I left this building. “If there’s nothing else, my assistant will show you out.” he said, reaching for the intercom. I rushed forward and pressed my hand down on his before he could call anyone in. His whole body stiffened—but he didn’t pull away. He just stared down at me. I stepped in closer, tilting my head up. His gray eyes darkened like a storm brewing in the distance. His pine scent wrapped around me again, thick and intoxicating. As werewolves, our scent only spikes during a fight or sexual arousal. It was damn obvious which case this was. “You clearly feel something for me,” I whispered. He said nothing. I placed my hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat. It was racing as well. His breathing had also turned shallow. “What are you doing, Miss Collins?” he asked tightly. “Trying to seduce your way into a job?” “You can do whatever you want,” I locked eyes with him. “I won’t stop you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. God, I wanted to lick it. And… well, I did. I leaned up and pressed my lips to it. He let out a growl. The next second, I was pinned on his desk. He stood between my spread legs, one hand by my head. I whimpered, clamping my thighs together—the heat between them was almost unbearable. Just like in the backseat of his car. His hand slid from the desk to my throat. It was so big, he could probably snap my neck if he wanted. “You shouldn’t keep tempting me, Miss Collins.” His body was pressed against my thighs—I definitely felt the effect I was having on him. “Why?” I whispered, licking my lips. “Because your self-control isn’t as strong as you thought?” “Because I don’t fuck virgins.” What the actual hell The next second, he had pulled away. I scrambled off the desk, face red, eyes wide. “What did you just say?!” I snapped. “Why—How the hell do you even know—?” “I know who you are. And I know about your relationship with my sister’s husband.” And just like that, everything clicked. It was Jace. That bastard didn’t just dump me—he ran his mouth about my virginity to everyone, including Grayson. Humiliation crashed over me like a wave. “Jace is a fucking asshole,” I snapped shakily. Grayson shrugged. “Obviously. But Brielle likes him. And he’s family now. I’m sorry but I just can’t get involved in this.” I climbed off his desk with my whole body red and shaking. He didn’t want me. And he was taking his sister and Jace’s side. I was so damn stupid to think that one kiss in the car actually meant anything. But this was Grayson Hart for Christ’s sake. He could have anyone he wanted. “I’m sure you’re a very capable employee, Miss Collins. But seducing me won’t help your career. I wish you all the best.” He finally pressed the intercom button. His assistant appeared at the door, waiting for me to leave. “Bye,” I whispered without even look back. I didn’t want him to notice my falling tears. I walked out of that office, numb, and rode the elevator down like a ghost. My mind was a storm of bills, debt, and Grayson’s ice-cold stare. Now I desperately needed a new job. “Miss Collins!” I turned and saw his assistant come rushing out again, holding an envelope. “Alpha Grayson asked me to give you this,” she said, handing it over. “What is it?” Why didn’t he give it to me earlier? “He didn’t say. Maybe you’ll know once you open it.” She gave me a mysterious smile and walked away. I opened the envelope. A blank check slid out first—I held my breath in shock. Then I found a crumpled note. His handwriting, rushed and messy. Haven’t repaid you for the shirt. Hope everything works out for you Aria. Stay strong. —Grayson Chapter 5 Getting My Attention Aria’s POV “That check clearly means something,” May insisted. “Come on. We’re not doing this again,” I sighed. “If he’s not into you, then why did he let his assistant come after you with a check? He probably saw you crying and couldn’t stand it. You should definitely go back and see him again.” “Nope,” I shut it down immediately. “I had one perfect, fairytale encounter with a rich bachelor. That’s enough. I’m not about to go back there and humiliate myself all over again.” “But—” “Hey, you two!” our manager yelled from the other end of the aisle. “Less talking, more working!” We rolled our eyes at each other and got back to inventory. May had helped me land this supermarket job. It was part of a chain under a big corporation, so the pay and benefits weren’t bad. May still thought it was beneath someone with my degree, but honestly, I was just grateful to be employed. Once we finished our section, the manager wandered off to shout at someone else, and May scooted back over to me. “Just imagine it,” she grinned. “You could write a couple million on that blank check and boom! Instant rich girl life.” “I’m not gonna do that.” “Sure you won’t. You’re too nice,” she muttered, half-admiring, half-scolding. “So? What are you gonna write?” I hesitated. At first, I actually considered writing the price of a shirt. 19.99 that was. Because apparently, my dignity still thinks it matters. But let’s be real, if Grayson was just trying to pay me back for a ripped tee, he would’ve handed his assistant a $20 bill, not a blank check. Maybe… he felt bad I lost my job too. “I’m going to write the amount I should’ve gotten in severance,” I admitted eventually. May's eyes bulged. “That’s it?!” “I know it’s not much, but it’s what I actually deserve. And it’ll help me cover two months of bills.” She sighed like I was letting go of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But my mind was made up. This was my chance to walk away from the mess. I still wanted to rip Jace’s smug face off, but the best revenge right now was surviving. 6 hours later, we finished our shift exhausted and aching. Everyone else got to clock out, but not me—I’d volunteered for night shift and closing duties. The staffs left one by one, yawning, including May. Finally I was alone in this big market. Now here’s the big secret— I actually lived here now. Nobody knew this, not even May. She thought I’d found a new apartment and moved out, but I just couldn’t keep bothering her anymore—her roommates were getting irritated with me hogging the living room and utilities. And renting my own place seemed way out of budget now. So I stayed in this supermarket instead. I closed up the store at night and opened it early in the morning. For the 5 or 6 hours in between, I made a bed out of my coat and slept on the floor near the refrigerated section. Now don’t ask me why I can’t sleep in the staff’s break room. That room was too hot without AC. At least it was cool by the freezer. Tonight I was extra exhausted. The manager made us girls haul too many heavy crates around. I passed out in seconds. But it felt like I’d only been asleep for five minutes—my alarm hadn’t even gone off yet—when I was jolted awake by someone screaming. “OH MY GOD—what the hell are you doing?!” I shot upright, completely disoriented. And froze. In front of me stood an entire group of people—including the manager and several guys in suits, all staring at me wide eyes. And I was only in a tank top and shorts. Half naked. OH GOD. What the hell—Is it morning already?! Why didn’t I hear my alarm? I scrambled to pull my clothes over my body, my hands shaking. The stares didn’t stop. They got more invasive. “Aria Collins! What the fuck are you doing?!” the manager stormed over and roared. “Napping half-naked in my fucking store?! Are you a fucking sex perv?!” My face went beet red, “No! I—I was just staying here temporarily—” “Temporarily?!” he yelled, eyes bulging. “I hired an employee, not a fucking squatter! How much water and electricity have you used free?! Are you stealing food too?!” “No I swear. I shut everything off when I’m done, I don’t use the water unless I have to. And I paid for everything I’ve eaten.” Tears blurred my vision as I tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening. His spit actually hit my cheek as he snarled. “Of all days—you had to pick the day corporate shows up to camp out in my perfect store. You filthy, disgusting little—” “Aria Collins?” A new voice called my name. It came from one of the suited men. I looked up—and my heart dropped. It was Jonathan. A former coworker from Apex. “Holy shit, it is you,” he grinned, raising his brows. “Almost didn’t recognize you at first.” “You… what are you doing here?” I stammered. “Apex owns this supermarket chain. We’re doing site inspections today,” he said with a smirk, his eyes trailing down to my bare legs. “Man! Most people hit rock bottom after getting fired from Apex, but you fall faster than anyone.” “I’m working. Making a decent living,” I said in shaky voice. “There’s no shame with that.” “Oh really?” he sneered. “Does your job include lying around half-naked on the floor? What is this, a new hooker gimmick?” The suits burst out laughing. My furious tears were on the verge of falling. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll fire her right away.” The manager groaned. “Hold up,” Jonathan drawled with a smirk. “This chick got fired from Apex for messing up a seven-figure deal. You might wanna check your inventory. She could be stealing.” “You know that’s a lie. Jace got me fired out of spite! I never made a mistake—” “Oh please,” he cut me off. “Everyone in the industry knows how you fucked up. Jace was so embarrassed that he had to apologize for you.” The manager grabbed my wrist. “Then you’re definitely stealing from this market as well. That’s it you are going to jail. When I figure out what you’ve taken, you must pay back everything!” My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t doubt for a second that the manager would come up with something that I didn’t steal, just like how Jace framed me before. It wasn’t hard for guys like them. But I couldn’t go to jail. My grandma had no one to count on but me. I can’t leave her. The wolf in me surfaced up the next second—I snarled at the manager, yanked my arm free, and ran. “Stop her!” someone shouted behind me. I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I had to escape. I bolted out of the store, desperate and horrified—and slammed right into a solid chest. “Get away from Alpha!” a bodyguard barked. But he pulled me in instead. “Aria?” I was still shaking involuntarily. He unbuttoned the front and wrapped me in, covering my half-naked body. “It’s OK.” his voice was deep with clear hint of rage. I clutched his shirt, gasping for air. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to breathe at all. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Yet I couldn’t make a sound. “She’s having a panic attack,” a woman said nearby. “Alpha, if I may—” I silently prayed him not to hand me over. And he didn’t. “It’s fine, Nova,” he refused. “Aria, you’re safe now. Breathe.” Panicked footsteps echoed behind us. Jonathan’s voice rang out, stunned: “Alpha Grayson! Oh God—w-what’s going on here?!” “Nova,” Grayson said in a cold, dangerous voice, “stay here. Don’t let anyone leave.” “Yes, Alpha.” He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, one arm under my legs, the other around my back. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. Then he carried me through the crowd, into the store, and into a private room. When he set me down in a chair, I was still trembling and sobbing. He finally took off his coat and draped it over my legs, then crouched down in front of me. “You’re safe here,” he said. That’s when I broke down. Crying out loud. Everything—fear, shame, panic—everything spilled out in a messy, helpless flood. I clutched his wrist like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and for once… he didn’t pull away. He said nothing the whole time. Just stayed there with me until the sobs quieted. “Th-thank you…I’m better now.” I sniffled. He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. I trembled at the way he touched my skin. His voice was low, rough, and a little strained. “You’re starting to make me wonder, Miss Collins. If all these run-ins are just your way of getting my attention.”
🔞When My ex-brother-in-law took my virginity...His liquid spurts inslde and my eyes widen, "Wait we forgot a comdom!" …………………… Chapter 1 He Dumped Me Aria's POV I stood in front of the chapel. Pink roses and white lilies decorated every corner I saw—my favorite flowers. The guests were already seated in their designer dresses and pressed suits. And soon, at the end of the red carpet would stand the man I once loved, waiting to marry his bride. Everything was perfect. Except I wasn't the bride. "I really need to see Jace today." I begged the bodyguard blocking the door. A beat-up suitcase and two boxes sat at my feet—everything I owned in the world. "No you don’t. Get out of here," the bodyguard said icily. I saw it in his eyes—disgust. Yeah I get it. No one has sympathy for the crazy ex who shows up at the wedding. But I have my reason. "If you don't let me see him, I'll just stand here and all the guests will see me," I threatened under my breath. Jace wouldn't want that. Especially not today. Today he was marrying Delilah Hart. Sister to Alpha Grayson Hart of Redstone Pack. A 100% high-society darling. All the guys in the world knew that marrying Delilah would make their wealth skyrocket, including Jace. So he made the easy call—marrying the lady who could turn him from a small-town nobody into a golden boy. And dump the girl who stayed by his side for last 4 years when he had nothing. So it’s normal why he didn’t want any guests to see me here. I represented his broke, embarrassing past. He wanted me nowhere near his glossy, glittering new world. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of that. Like a knife was twisting in my chest. “Let me in or I’m starting to yell.” "Wait here." The bodyguard finally made a call. A few minutes later, he waved me in. I wiped my eyes and struggled into the hall with my suitcase and boxes. Instantly, I felt how out of place I was. Everything reeked of wealth here. Expensive perfume. Manicured nails. Not a hair out of place. It was everything you imagined about the upper-class and way more. And me? I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans. My sneakers had holes. "God, a homeless. She stinks." A woman mutter as I walked by. I just showered this morning. My hair still smelled like strawberries and coconut. But poverty had a scent, apparently. "Mr. Carter is inside. Make it quick." The guard took me to a closed door and warned. “Thank you.” The room inside looked like something out of a movie. Marble floors. Floor-length mirrors. A chandelier that probably cost more than my apartment. I hesitated for a second as I dragged my dirty luggage across the white carpet. And there he was. The man I used to love. Adjusting his bowtie in front of a mirror. He was still heartbreakingly handsome. No wonder Delilah fell for him. When he turned and fixed his gorgeous blue eyes upon me, I still felt my heart race. "Hey, Jace," I said quietly. And immediately wanted to punch myself. Hey, Jace? That’s the best I could do? His face was ice cold. "You shouldn't come. Your ratty suitcase, your ripped jeans, your Vans. None of that belongs here." Well if you wanted to be brutal and vicious, that’s how it’s done. "Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? You dumped me over a fucking email!" I snapped. He shrugged. "Look around you. The wealthiest people in the world came for me today. This suit I’m wearing cost more than you can make in your entire life. What more explanation do you want, Aria?" Wow. I always knew he was a cold, calculating bastard. I just didn’t realize how deep it ran. "Maybe chasing Alpha’s sister got you here faster. But you know what? When she finds out how cold and empty you are. You’ll lose it all." Anger flared across his face. "I know how to love. I just won't waste that on a small-town girl like you.” he said freezingly, “Are we done here?" “No.” I took a deep breath and got into the real reason I came. "You're marrying a rich girl. Fine. But why did you have to get me fired?" Yeah. I used to work for this jerk. From intern to full-time at Apex Corp, he was my supervisor. Our relationship was a secret. And just days ago, I found out he was getting married—and I was out of a job. He fired me. "Right, your job.” The jerk shrugged, “You got it because of me. Now that I’m not around, they finally saw how incompetent you are. Problem?" Was he fucking kidding me?! "I graduated top of my class. Made it through 7 rounds of interviews. My performance exceeded every quarterly target. I earned that job!" I cried. “Come on, Aria. You really gonna be so naïve?” He walked closer, smirking. "You passed the interviews because I said so. Your sales? I made those calls. Without me, you'd be nothing but a pretty face." He seized my chin and looked me over with a disgusting look. I slapped his hand away. "Give me my job back,” I hissed, my voice slightly trembling. “My dad’s debt. My grandma’s medical bills…I need the money. You of all people should know what it’s like to be poor. Don’t. Make. Me. Beg." I was throwing my pride at his feet. But he laughed. "Well, how about I offer you a deal?" he said as though he’d been waiting for this moment. He brushed my hair back, fingers trailing down to my collarbone. I shivered in disgust. "You never let me touch you. You were so clinging to that pathetic no-sex-before-marriage rule. Maybe it's time to grow up. Let me fuck you once and I’ll write you a check you can’t refuse. How does that sound?" I widened my eyes in shock. Then I slapped him. HARD. “WHAT THE FUCK! I’m getting married in front of everyone in fucking 10 minutes!” He roared covering his face. "Fuck you, Jace!” I yelled, “You're a spineless freeloading puss! And hey—congrats on the wedding. Hope your junk is soft like a fucking spaghetti tonight!" Then I stormed out dragging my suitcase and boxes, ignoring his angry curses behind me. Hot tears poured down as I dashed across the hallway. God this couldn’t be any worse. I was prepared to drop all my self-esteem and begged with my life because I needed the job and money. But I still let him get to me. Now what do I do? My salary barely covered my rent, my father’s debt and grandma’s bill. Now with my job gone, I already got kicked out by my landlord. I probably had to sleep in a park tonight. So do I go back and let that jerk win? Let him humiliate me...No. I’d rather die than that— "Hey, watch where you're going!" someone yelled. Too late. I slammed right into the man in front of me. He was tall—so tall I felt like I’d just walked into a brick wall. His diamond cufflink was sharp like a blade, and when we collided, it sliced clean through my thin T-shirt with a loud rip. In one second, the front of my shirt was torn open, exposing my white lace bra. “Ah!” I gasped and looked up. The man in front of me was so handsome. Like a statue carved by a master artist. Yet his expression so cold. He looked down at me, and I swear I was about to drown in those stormy gray eyes of his. And then I recognized who he was. This was Jace’s son-to-be brother-in-law. Alpha of Redstone Pack. CEO of Apex Corporation. THE legendary. Grayson Hart. “Aria Collins?” His voice was sexy and velvety. He lowered his head and his eyes dropped to the exposed part of my bra. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the color of his eyes seemed to darken as he stared. Wherever his gaze landed, my skin started burning up. But wait. How did he know my name? Chapter 2 With Ex's Brother-in-law Aria’s POV Of course I recognized him. God, who didn’t? I’d met him at an Apex gala. His face was on every finance magazine cover, and any time you turned on a TV, there he was—linked to the latest scandal with some actress or model. But there was no way he’d know who I was. “I-I… Hello, Alpha Grayson,” I stammered. He turned his eyes away and said to a nearby guard, “Escort Ms. Collins out.” “Yes, Alpha.” The guards stepped in immediately, stretching out their arms like I was some kind of contaminant that might taint Grayson’s perfectly tailored suit. “Wait a minute. You’re not going to say something about my shirt?” He paused—just for a second—then flicked a piece of paper down at my feet. I looked down. A blank check. “I need a shirt I can actually wear out of here. Not your hush money.” I gritted with humiliation. But he didn’t even glance back as he walked away. “God,” I muttered under my breath. Can you believe these rich bastards? They think they can buy everything with money. People nearby were all staring, snickering under their breath. I tried to cover my chest and grab my things to escape, but it was hard to do all that with just two hands. “Oh my god…Aria Collins?” Three girls emerged from the whispering crowd. I took one look at them and sighed internally. Great. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse. “Hello. Layla. Sabrina. Brielle.” I used to work in the same team with these girls back at Apex. We were all under Jace. They adored him—spent more time flirting with at the coffee machine than actually working. Which left me doing their share of the workload. After I got fired—and when news of my secret relationship with Jace got out—they decided I was public enemy number one. “What are you even doing here, Aria? Trying to win back your ex at his wedding? That’s a new low even for you,” Layla snickered. “I’m not here to win anyone back.” I tried to push past them. But they blocked me. “What happened to your shirt?” Brielle snickered. “Did you seriously walk in here with your bra out? Is this like some low-budget fashion statement?” They burst into laughter together. “You could be completely naked and Jace still wouldn’t give a damn,” Sabrina squeaked. “Because he’s marrying Delilah. THE Delilah Hart! Redstone Pack’s sweetheart. And you…well you’re just a poor-ass small-town girl.” I stopped in my track and gave them a cold glare, “Oh yeah? Well at least I’ve actually been with Jace. Do you know how many times I had to listen to him complained about your screechy voices and cheesy perfume? Apparently he rather be with a poor-ass small-town girl than any of you.” Their jaws dropped. “Jace would never say that!” Brielle cried. “Word for word,” I rolled my eyes. “Now move. Or I’m rolling this suitcase over your pretty little skirts.” They looked like ruffled chickens, but they parted. I quickly shoved my dingy luggage ahead like a weapon and stormed out of the church. Rich people were assholes. Grayson, Jace, and their whole damn minions. I struggled to get my suitcase down the steps, and once I hit the street, cold wind slapped me in the face. I had no idea where to go. I could crash in the hospital with my grandma for a night, but she’d ask too many questions. Like why I hadn’t brought Jace around recently, or why I wasn’t staying at my apartment. I didn’t want her knowing how bad things had gotten. I thought about the park. Sleeping on a bench. But in a ripped T-shirt that exposed my whole front? Horrible idea. So I texted my best friend, May, asking to stay at her place for a few days. She was my rock. If the whole world turned against me, at least I still had her. She texted back right away inviting me to come over. Dragging my suitcase across the street toward the bus stop, I told myself it was going to be okay. This horrible day was going to end. Then I heard them. “Hey, nice shirt!” A group of street wolves were loitering near the stop. I hugged myself tighter and curled into the bench, hoping they’d get bored and leave. “C’mon baby, drop your hands. Let us see what you’re working with.” Go away. Go away. Go away. “You rip that shirt yourself? Damn that’s wild. I like that in a girl.” One of them moved closer, reaching for my shoulder. “Get away from me!” I snapped, my voice shaking. But it only fired them up. “Oh, feisty. Shake those tits for me!” They grabbed my wrists, yanked my arms down. My T-shirt gaped open completely, revealing my lace bra. The cold air made my skin pebble. They laughed even louder. I struggled and screamed. My wolf growled in rage. Shifting in the city was illegal—but right now, I didn’t have a second choice— Just then. Blinding headlights. Followed by screeching tires. A black car skidded to a stop inches away. The door flew open. A deep voice thundered, “Get in.” I was too shocked that I didn’t think twice and obeyed. The car peeled away the second I shut the door. “My suitcase!” I cried. “Someone will get it,” he said darkly. “Address.” I told the driver May’s. Then he pressed a button. A privacy screen slid up between the front and back seats, sealing us in the back. That’s when he turned toward me and leaned in. Like a beast ready to pounce. His scent hit me like a punch—sharp pine mixed with cold metal. My head started to get dizzy. “Walking on the street in that shirt was a mistake,” he said sternly. “It got like this because of you,” I mumbled. He snorted. Then the sound of rustling fabric. A heavy jacket landed across my shoulders—it was still warm from his body and carried his scent. I held my breathe. Wearing his coat almost felt like…he was wrapping himself around me. “You—do you know me?” I whispered. My gut told me that he would never do this for a strange girl. But if he knew who I was, he must know that I was his sister’s husband’s ex. That didn’t explain why he would help. “We’ve met,” he said simply. I stared at him, searching those icy gray eyes. He was staring at me too, with that cold, hungry, possessive eyes. I felt like I was completely naked in front of him. “Aria,” he warned, voice thick and husky. But I couldn’t control myself. I was leaning forward. Shit. Why did my body become so weird? My skin was on fire. My panties were wet. All I wanted was more of his scent, more of his heat. The next second his lips were crashed onto mine—Hard. Rough. I gasped and opened my mouth for him. His tongue slipped in and explored every inch of my mouth, making me shiver. His hands pushed into my torn shirt and grabbed my waist. I couldn’t control my moan when he touched my naked skin. This was crazy! He was a stranger, and most importantly, my ex’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. And I was making out with him at the back of his car. The crazy part was I didn’t even want to stop. He lifted me onto his lap like I weighed nothing. I straddled his thighs and yanked at his tie as he bite my collarbone. Then, suddenly, the car stopped. “Alpha, we’ve arrived.” That’s when it all froze. His lips paused at my neck. I was still squirming on his lap, flushed and throbbing. But he shoved me off. “We can’t do this,” he said coldly. Chapter 3 You're Special To Him Aria’s POV “So you’re telling me this guy made out with you in the backseat of his car… and then just shoved you off like nothing happened?” May asked in shock. 20 minutes later, I was sitting at her place, wrapped in one of her oversized hoodies, a steaming mug of tea in my hands. But I was still reeling from everything that had just happened. “Yup,” I muttered. “Who knows what’s wrong with him.” “What an asshole,” she huffed. “But honestly, this really isn’t like you. You dated that jerk Jace for 4 years and didn’t even sleep with him—which, by the way, was a brilliant choice—and now you're suddenly making out with a complete stranger in his car?” I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. Yeah, she had a point. “I—I don’t know. Maybe it was the whole Jace-getting-married thing. Maybe I just snapped and wanted to screw around with someone hotter just to get back at him…Honestly, it was so stupid now that I think of it.” She grinned and wiggled her brows. “So… he was hot huh?” My cheeks flushed and my mind drifted back. Those stormy gray eyes, his perfectly shaped lips on my neck, and those arms that could pick me up like I weighed nothing…Shit I need to stop. “Yeah. VERY,” I whispered, hiding my red face behind the mug. May burst out laughing. “Now we’re talking! That’s exactly what you need right now—a drop-dead gorgeous rebound to get that loser Jace out of your system. Screw your ‘no sex before marriage’ rule. Life is short.” I gave her a weak smile. Honestly, I didn’t need a rebound. I needed a job, money, and a place to live. Grayson Hart was like dessert when you can’t even afford dinner. “So… do you even know who this guy was?” she asked. I hesitated. Right at this moment, the doorbell rang. She jumped up to get it and came back a few minutes later, hauling in my luggage, her face frozen in disbelief. “OMG. You are not gonna believe what just showed up outside.” “Umm… my luggage?” I joked. “Two fucking muscular guys in black suits and guns! And a freaking stretch limo! They called me ‘ma’am’ and said they hope Miss Aria has a wonderful evening. Now, you—” She leapt at me and shook me by the shoulders. “—you tell me right now who the hell you hooked up with!” I squealed and dropped into the couch with her, laughing and giggling breathlessly. “Okay, okay—I’ll tell you. It was… Grayson Hart.” I practically whispered his name. Because honestly, I still couldn’t believe it either. May froze, eyes wide as saucers. “Grayson—THE Grayson Hart?! As in our Alpha? The CEO of Apex?!” “And Jace’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. Now you know how stupid I was earlier?” She let out a full-on scream. Then she grabbed my hand, her face flushed with excitement. “Oh my God! Aria, do you know what this means? Alpha Grayson never even lends his jacket to his model girlfriends. He likes you. You’re special!” “No,” I said firmly. “If I was special, he wouldn’t have thrown me off his lap when I tried to take off his shirt.” “Maybe he had somewhere to be—” “Don’t, May. Let’s be real. Guys like him don’t fall for girls like me.” I took another sip of tea, hiding the ache in my chest. Hell even Jace thought I was beneath him. What chance did I have with Grayson freaking Hart? “Don’t be silly, Aria. You’re gorgeous. And smart and amazing and—WAIT! I just had the best idea ever.” “What?” “That arrogant jerk Jace thinks you’re just some small-town prude who wasn’t good enough for him right? But what if you ended up with Alpha Grayson? It’ll be easy to get him because he’s already obsessed. Oh, it would destroy Jace. That dickhead would never recover.” OKAY. I’d be lying if I said that exact scenario hadn’t crossed my mind when Grayson kissed me back. What girl hasn’t daydreamed about dating the perfect guy and getting revenge in the most dramatic way possible? But right now, I couldn’t afford to daydream. Reality was already breathing down my neck. “Tempting. But right now I need a job and enough cash to keep Grandma in her hospital bed. Dating rich dudes isn’t exactly high on my to-do list.” May looked at me with soft eyes. “So…any plans? I can try to hook you up with a job, but you know I just work at a coffee shop, and with your degree, you deserve so much more.” I hugged her. “Thank you. Really. I’ll figure something out. Apex promised me severance when they fired me, so I’m going to HR tomorrow to get it sorted.” If I could get that money, at least I’d be OK for the next round of Grandma’s medical bills. — The next morning, I showed up at Apex right on time. But the second Brielle walked in with the HR manager, I had a bad feeling. “What’s she doing here?” I asked coldly. “I’ll explain in a minute,” HR replied with a polite, rehearsed smile as she sat across from me. “So Ms. Collins, I understand you’re here to discuss severance?” “Yes. So let’s not waste time. Just give me the check and I’ll be out of here.” “Unfortunately, severance only applies when the company terminates a contract without cause. In your case… it appears you were let go due to misconduct.” Misconduct? What the freaking hell. “Jace made a snap decision and booted me. What misconduct are you talking about?” “But that’s not what Mr. Carter said. He provided evidence that you made a costly error on a sales quote—omitting a few zeroes, to be exact. Cost the company millions. Here’s the email record.” She handed me a printed sheet. I swore I had never sent this email in my life. But there it was—my name in the sender field. No freaking way. Jace forged this. “And Mr. Carter reported that you had a difficult attitude toward your coworkers. Quote: ‘impatient and arrogant.’ Brielle’s here to verify that.” Brielle twirled her hair and smiled smugly. “Yeah. Aria was a horrible team player.” I stood so fast my chair screeched. “The only thing I didn’t ‘teamplayed’ with you was flirt with the boss in the breakroom!” “Liar!” she yelled. “And I asked Jace. He never said my voice was screechy!” Oh my God. I couldn’t believe how stupid she was. “Sit down, Miss Collins,” HR warned. “As of now, not only are you not getting severance, but we’re also considering legal action to recover the losses. If you understand the situation here, sign this acknowledgement—” “Does Alpha Grayson know about this?” I asked. Both of them froze. After a long pause, HR finally found her voice. “What does Alpha Grayson have to do with any of this?” “He owns Apex, doesn’t he? Does he know his team is abusing their power and firing hardworking employees illegally?” HR frowned. Brielle let out a loud snort. “Please. Don’t act like you know Alpha Grayson.” “What if I do? What if I go to him and then it’s you who gets fired?” She laughed in my face. “Oh, you mean you know him on TV?” “Let’s find out.” I shoved my chair back and stormed out, heading straight for the CEO’s private elevator at the end of the hall. HR scrambled after me, shouting my name. I was too furious to care how this ended. All I wanted now was to blow the whole damn place up. Two guards stood by the elevator. “I need to see Alpha Grayson,” I told them. “Appointment?” “No, but I swear he knows me. Just tell him it’s Aria—from yesterday. He’ll remember.” “You aren’t the first girl here saying that,” one of them mocked. “Come on, Miss Collins,” HR snapped, trying to drag me back. “This is getting crazy. Go back, sign the paper. Take responsibility for your own mistake.” “I didn’t send that email. It was Jace—he’s framing me! I will report all of you.” “Alpha Grayson doesn’t have time for your report, or your visit, or any of your little drama!” “I believe no one but me has the right to decide that,” a cold voice said behind us. Chapter 4 Take Me, Please Aria’s POV A large hand grabbed my arm and pulled me away from HR’s grip. I looked up and my heart almost stopped. Even I couldn’t believe he just showed up here. It felt like a dream. “A-Alpha Grayson,” HR stammered, her face frozen with shock and fear. “I don’t need employees who think they can make decisions for their boss,” he said freezingly while wrapping his arm around my waist. “If I see something like this again, you’re fired.” “Y-yes, Alpha. I’m terribly sorry…” HR’s expression was priceless, but I was in no mood to enjoy it. His icy pine scent consumed me again, making my body weak and hot. My wolf let out a soft purr, urging me to lean into him. But before I could even move, he let go. A pang of disappointment hit me in the chest. “Come,” he said shortly, striding toward the private elevator. I shot HR and the stunned security guards a smug look, then hurried after him. He swiped his card and the elevator doors closed. We started going up to the 58th floor. It was dead silent. My heart was beating so wildly that I was afraid he’d hear it. I snuck a glance at him—he just stared straight ahead, emotionless, keeping a distance, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Unease twisted my stomach. “So, um… what brings you here today?” I broke the silence. He sighed softly. “I owe this company.” “Oh, Oh…Right.” I wanted to punch myself in the face. The awkward silence lingered until the elevator dinged open. The 58th floor was a wide-open space with no cubicles or dividers—just massive floor-to-ceiling windows and a sweeping view of the entire city. “Wow,” I whispered under my breath. Grayson was already walking ahead. I jogged to catch up as he led me into an office at the far end of the floor. A stunning female assistant closed the door behind us, and once again, it was just the two of us. My heart rocketed back into my throat. He casually unbuttoned his jacket. It was amazing how he made even that look sexy. “So you insisted on seeing me?” he asked. He didn’t ask me to sit. He didn’t even move closer. That distance stung a little. “I worked here till a week ago when I found out I was let go for no reason…” I quickly told him the story of how I was fired. “This is clearly illegal in so many ways… can you help me get my job back?” “Unfortunately, no,” he replied, barely hesitating. My heart dropped like a stone. “Why not?” “I’ll have the hiring department look into whether your termination followed proper protocol. But this isn’t something a CEO handles directly. Anything else?” The hiring department? That could take weeks—and I didn’t have weeks. “No… you don’t get it,” I stepped forward, my voice trembling. “My grandma’s in the hospital. Her bills are getting insane every month. And I’m already deep in debt… If I can’t make money, I don’t even know— I really, REALLY need this job.” I knew we came from two different worlds, but laying out the most desperate parts of my life in front of him still made me feel horribly exposed. I just hoped—begged—that he’d understand. But he didn’t. His gray eyes stayed emotionless. “I’m sorry, Miss Collins,” he said quietly. Tears rushed into my eyes. I couldn’t even breathe. All I could think about were the bills, the debt, the mountain of shit waiting for me the second I left this building. “If there’s nothing else, my assistant will show you out.” he said, reaching for the intercom. I rushed forward and pressed my hand down on his before he could call anyone in. His whole body stiffened—but he didn’t pull away. He just stared down at me. I stepped in closer, tilting my head up. His gray eyes darkened like a storm brewing in the distance. His pine scent wrapped around me again, thick and intoxicating. As werewolves, our scent only spikes during a fight or sexual arousal. It was damn obvious which case this was. “You clearly feel something for me,” I whispered. He said nothing. I placed my hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat. It was racing as well. His breathing had also turned shallow. “What are you doing, Miss Collins?” he asked tightly. “Trying to seduce your way into a job?” “You can do whatever you want,” I locked eyes with him. “I won’t stop you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. God, I wanted to lick it. And… well, I did. I leaned up and pressed my lips to it. He let out a growl. The next second, I was pinned on his desk. He stood between my spread legs, one hand by my head. I whimpered, clamping my thighs together—the heat between them was almost unbearable. Just like in the backseat of his car. His hand slid from the desk to my throat. It was so big, he could probably snap my neck if he wanted. “You shouldn’t keep tempting me, Miss Collins.” His body was pressed against my thighs—I definitely felt the effect I was having on him. “Why?” I whispered, licking my lips. “Because your self-control isn’t as strong as you thought?” “Because I don’t fuck virgins.” What the actual hell The next second, he had pulled away. I scrambled off the desk, face red, eyes wide. “What did you just say?!” I snapped. “Why—How the hell do you even know—?” “I know who you are. And I know about your relationship with my sister’s husband.” And just like that, everything clicked. It was Jace. That bastard didn’t just dump me—he ran his mouth about my virginity to everyone, including Grayson. Humiliation crashed over me like a wave. “Jace is a fucking asshole,” I snapped shakily. Grayson shrugged. “Obviously. But Brielle likes him. And he’s family now. I’m sorry but I just can’t get involved in this.” I climbed off his desk with my whole body red and shaking. He didn’t want me. And he was taking his sister and Jace’s side. I was so damn stupid to think that one kiss in the car actually meant anything. But this was Grayson Hart for Christ’s sake. He could have anyone he wanted. “I’m sure you’re a very capable employee, Miss Collins. But seducing me won’t help your career. I wish you all the best.” He finally pressed the intercom button. His assistant appeared at the door, waiting for me to leave. “Bye,” I whispered without even look back. I didn’t want him to notice my falling tears. I walked out of that office, numb, and rode the elevator down like a ghost. My mind was a storm of bills, debt, and Grayson’s ice-cold stare. Now I desperately needed a new job. “Miss Collins!” I turned and saw his assistant come rushing out again, holding an envelope. “Alpha Grayson asked me to give you this,” she said, handing it over. “What is it?” Why didn’t he give it to me earlier? “He didn’t say. Maybe you’ll know once you open it.” She gave me a mysterious smile and walked away. I opened the envelope. A blank check slid out first—I held my breath in shock. Then I found a crumpled note. His handwriting, rushed and messy. Haven’t repaid you for the shirt. Hope everything works out for you Aria. Stay strong. —Grayson Chapter 5 Getting My Attention Aria’s POV “That check clearly means something,” May insisted. “Come on. We’re not doing this again,” I sighed. “If he’s not into you, then why did he let his assistant come after you with a check? He probably saw you crying and couldn’t stand it. You should definitely go back and see him again.” “Nope,” I shut it down immediately. “I had one perfect, fairytale encounter with a rich bachelor. That’s enough. I’m not about to go back there and humiliate myself all over again.” “But—” “Hey, you two!” our manager yelled from the other end of the aisle. “Less talking, more working!” We rolled our eyes at each other and got back to inventory. May had helped me land this supermarket job. It was part of a chain under a big corporation, so the pay and benefits weren’t bad. May still thought it was beneath someone with my degree, but honestly, I was just grateful to be employed. Once we finished our section, the manager wandered off to shout at someone else, and May scooted back over to me. “Just imagine it,” she grinned. “You could write a couple million on that blank check and boom! Instant rich girl life.” “I’m not gonna do that.” “Sure you won’t. You’re too nice,” she muttered, half-admiring, half-scolding. “So? What are you gonna write?” I hesitated. At first, I actually considered writing the price of a shirt. 19.99 that was. Because apparently, my dignity still thinks it matters. But let’s be real, if Grayson was just trying to pay me back for a ripped tee, he would’ve handed his assistant a $20 bill, not a blank check. Maybe… he felt bad I lost my job too. “I’m going to write the amount I should’ve gotten in severance,” I admitted eventually. May's eyes bulged. “That’s it?!” “I know it’s not much, but it’s what I actually deserve. And it’ll help me cover two months of bills.” She sighed like I was letting go of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But my mind was made up. This was my chance to walk away from the mess. I still wanted to rip Jace’s smug face off, but the best revenge right now was surviving. 6 hours later, we finished our shift exhausted and aching. Everyone else got to clock out, but not me—I’d volunteered for night shift and closing duties. The staffs left one by one, yawning, including May. Finally I was alone in this big market. Now here’s the big secret— I actually lived here now. Nobody knew this, not even May. She thought I’d found a new apartment and moved out, but I just couldn’t keep bothering her anymore—her roommates were getting irritated with me hogging the living room and utilities. And renting my own place seemed way out of budget now. So I stayed in this supermarket instead. I closed up the store at night and opened it early in the morning. For the 5 or 6 hours in between, I made a bed out of my coat and slept on the floor near the refrigerated section. Now don’t ask me why I can’t sleep in the staff’s break room. That room was too hot without AC. At least it was cool by the freezer. Tonight I was extra exhausted. The manager made us girls haul too many heavy crates around. I passed out in seconds. But it felt like I’d only been asleep for five minutes—my alarm hadn’t even gone off yet—when I was jolted awake by someone screaming. “OH MY GOD—what the hell are you doing?!” I shot upright, completely disoriented. And froze. In front of me stood an entire group of people—including the manager and several guys in suits, all staring at me wide eyes. And I was only in a tank top and shorts. Half naked. OH GOD. What the hell—Is it morning already?! Why didn’t I hear my alarm? I scrambled to pull my clothes over my body, my hands shaking. The stares didn’t stop. They got more invasive. “Aria Collins! What the fuck are you doing?!” the manager stormed over and roared. “Napping half-naked in my fucking store?! Are you a fucking sex perv?!” My face went beet red, “No! I—I was just staying here temporarily—” “Temporarily?!” he yelled, eyes bulging. “I hired an employee, not a fucking squatter! How much water and electricity have you used free?! Are you stealing food too?!” “No I swear. I shut everything off when I’m done, I don’t use the water unless I have to. And I paid for everything I’ve eaten.” Tears blurred my vision as I tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening. His spit actually hit my cheek as he snarled. “Of all days—you had to pick the day corporate shows up to camp out in my perfect store. You filthy, disgusting little—” “Aria Collins?” A new voice called my name. It came from one of the suited men. I looked up—and my heart dropped. It was Jonathan. A former coworker from Apex. “Holy shit, it is you,” he grinned, raising his brows. “Almost didn’t recognize you at first.” “You… what are you doing here?” I stammered. “Apex owns this supermarket chain. We’re doing site inspections today,” he said with a smirk, his eyes trailing down to my bare legs. “Man! Most people hit rock bottom after getting fired from Apex, but you fall faster than anyone.” “I’m working. Making a decent living,” I said in shaky voice. “There’s no shame with that.” “Oh really?” he sneered. “Does your job include lying around half-naked on the floor? What is this, a new hooker gimmick?” The suits burst out laughing. My furious tears were on the verge of falling. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll fire her right away.” The manager groaned. “Hold up,” Jonathan drawled with a smirk. “This chick got fired from Apex for messing up a seven-figure deal. You might wanna check your inventory. She could be stealing.” “You know that’s a lie. Jace got me fired out of spite! I never made a mistake—” “Oh please,” he cut me off. “Everyone in the industry knows how you fucked up. Jace was so embarrassed that he had to apologize for you.” The manager grabbed my wrist. “Then you’re definitely stealing from this market as well. That’s it you are going to jail. When I figure out what you’ve taken, you must pay back everything!” My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t doubt for a second that the manager would come up with something that I didn’t steal, just like how Jace framed me before. It wasn’t hard for guys like them. But I couldn’t go to jail. My grandma had no one to count on but me. I can’t leave her. The wolf in me surfaced up the next second—I snarled at the manager, yanked my arm free, and ran. “Stop her!” someone shouted behind me. I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I had to escape. I bolted out of the store, desperate and horrified—and slammed right into a solid chest. “Get away from Alpha!” a bodyguard barked. But he pulled me in instead. “Aria?” I was still shaking involuntarily. He unbuttoned the front and wrapped me in, covering my half-naked body. “It’s OK.” his voice was deep with clear hint of rage. I clutched his shirt, gasping for air. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to breathe at all. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Yet I couldn’t make a sound. “She’s having a panic attack,” a woman said nearby. “Alpha, if I may—” I silently prayed him not to hand me over. And he didn’t. “It’s fine, Nova,” he refused. “Aria, you’re safe now. Breathe.” Panicked footsteps echoed behind us. Jonathan’s voice rang out, stunned: “Alpha Grayson! Oh God—w-what’s going on here?!” “Nova,” Grayson said in a cold, dangerous voice, “stay here. Don’t let anyone leave.” “Yes, Alpha.” He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, one arm under my legs, the other around my back. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. Then he carried me through the crowd, into the store, and into a private room. When he set me down in a chair, I was still trembling and sobbing. He finally took off his coat and draped it over my legs, then crouched down in front of me. “You’re safe here,” he said. That’s when I broke down. Crying out loud. Everything—fear, shame, panic—everything spilled out in a messy, helpless flood. I clutched his wrist like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and for once… he didn’t pull away. He said nothing the whole time. Just stayed there with me until the sobs quieted. “Th-thank you…I’m better now.” I sniffled. He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. I trembled at the way he touched my skin. His voice was low, rough, and a little strained. “You’re starting to make me wonder, Miss Collins. If all these run-ins are just your way of getting my attention.”
🔞When My ex-brother-in-law took my virginity...His liquid spurts inslde and my eyes widen, "Wait we forgot a comdom!" …………………… Chapter 1 He Dumped Me Aria's POV I stood in front of the chapel. Pink roses and white lilies decorated every corner I saw—my favorite flowers. The guests were already seated in their designer dresses and pressed suits. And soon, at the end of the red carpet would stand the man I once loved, waiting to marry his bride. Everything was perfect. Except I wasn't the bride. "I really need to see Jace today." I begged the bodyguard blocking the door. A beat-up suitcase and two boxes sat at my feet—everything I owned in the world. "No you don’t. Get out of here," the bodyguard said icily. I saw it in his eyes—disgust. Yeah I get it. No one has sympathy for the crazy ex who shows up at the wedding. But I have my reason. "If you don't let me see him, I'll just stand here and all the guests will see me," I threatened under my breath. Jace wouldn't want that. Especially not today. Today he was marrying Delilah Hart. Sister to Alpha Grayson Hart of Redstone Pack. A 100% high-society darling. All the guys in the world knew that marrying Delilah would make their wealth skyrocket, including Jace. So he made the easy call—marrying the lady who could turn him from a small-town nobody into a golden boy. And dump the girl who stayed by his side for last 4 years when he had nothing. So it’s normal why he didn’t want any guests to see me here. I represented his broke, embarrassing past. He wanted me nowhere near his glossy, glittering new world. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of that. Like a knife was twisting in my chest. “Let me in or I’m starting to yell.” "Wait here." The bodyguard finally made a call. A few minutes later, he waved me in. I wiped my eyes and struggled into the hall with my suitcase and boxes. Instantly, I felt how out of place I was. Everything reeked of wealth here. Expensive perfume. Manicured nails. Not a hair out of place. It was everything you imagined about the upper-class and way more. And me? I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans. My sneakers had holes. "God, a homeless. She stinks." A woman mutter as I walked by. I just showered this morning. My hair still smelled like strawberries and coconut. But poverty had a scent, apparently. "Mr. Carter is inside. Make it quick." The guard took me to a closed door and warned. “Thank you.” The room inside looked like something out of a movie. Marble floors. Floor-length mirrors. A chandelier that probably cost more than my apartment. I hesitated for a second as I dragged my dirty luggage across the white carpet. And there he was. The man I used to love. Adjusting his bowtie in front of a mirror. He was still heartbreakingly handsome. No wonder Delilah fell for him. When he turned and fixed his gorgeous blue eyes upon me, I still felt my heart race. "Hey, Jace," I said quietly. And immediately wanted to punch myself. Hey, Jace? That’s the best I could do? His face was ice cold. "You shouldn't come. Your ratty suitcase, your ripped jeans, your Vans. None of that belongs here." Well if you wanted to be brutal and vicious, that’s how it’s done. "Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? You dumped me over a fucking email!" I snapped. He shrugged. "Look around you. The wealthiest people in the world came for me today. This suit I’m wearing cost more than you can make in your entire life. What more explanation do you want, Aria?" Wow. I always knew he was a cold, calculating bastard. I just didn’t realize how deep it ran. "Maybe chasing Alpha’s sister got you here faster. But you know what? When she finds out how cold and empty you are. You’ll lose it all." Anger flared across his face. "I know how to love. I just won't waste that on a small-town girl like you.” he said freezingly, “Are we done here?" “No.” I took a deep breath and got into the real reason I came. "You're marrying a rich girl. Fine. But why did you have to get me fired?" Yeah. I used to work for this jerk. From intern to full-time at Apex Corp, he was my supervisor. Our relationship was a secret. And just days ago, I found out he was getting married—and I was out of a job. He fired me. "Right, your job.” The jerk shrugged, “You got it because of me. Now that I’m not around, they finally saw how incompetent you are. Problem?" Was he fucking kidding me?! "I graduated top of my class. Made it through 7 rounds of interviews. My performance exceeded every quarterly target. I earned that job!" I cried. “Come on, Aria. You really gonna be so naïve?” He walked closer, smirking. "You passed the interviews because I said so. Your sales? I made those calls. Without me, you'd be nothing but a pretty face." He seized my chin and looked me over with a disgusting look. I slapped his hand away. "Give me my job back,” I hissed, my voice slightly trembling. “My dad’s debt. My grandma’s medical bills…I need the money. You of all people should know what it’s like to be poor. Don’t. Make. Me. Beg." I was throwing my pride at his feet. But he laughed. "Well, how about I offer you a deal?" he said as though he’d been waiting for this moment. He brushed my hair back, fingers trailing down to my collarbone. I shivered in disgust. "You never let me touch you. You were so clinging to that pathetic no-sex-before-marriage rule. Maybe it's time to grow up. Let me fuck you once and I’ll write you a check you can’t refuse. How does that sound?" I widened my eyes in shock. Then I slapped him. HARD. “WHAT THE FUCK! I’m getting married in front of everyone in fucking 10 minutes!” He roared covering his face. "Fuck you, Jace!” I yelled, “You're a spineless freeloading puss! And hey—congrats on the wedding. Hope your junk is soft like a fucking spaghetti tonight!" Then I stormed out dragging my suitcase and boxes, ignoring his angry curses behind me. Hot tears poured down as I dashed across the hallway. God this couldn’t be any worse. I was prepared to drop all my self-esteem and begged with my life because I needed the job and money. But I still let him get to me. Now what do I do? My salary barely covered my rent, my father’s debt and grandma’s bill. Now with my job gone, I already got kicked out by my landlord. I probably had to sleep in a park tonight. So do I go back and let that jerk win? Let him humiliate me...No. I’d rather die than that— "Hey, watch where you're going!" someone yelled. Too late. I slammed right into the man in front of me. He was tall—so tall I felt like I’d just walked into a brick wall. His diamond cufflink was sharp like a blade, and when we collided, it sliced clean through my thin T-shirt with a loud rip. In one second, the front of my shirt was torn open, exposing my white lace bra. “Ah!” I gasped and looked up. The man in front of me was so handsome. Like a statue carved by a master artist. Yet his expression so cold. He looked down at me, and I swear I was about to drown in those stormy gray eyes of his. And then I recognized who he was. This was Jace’s son-to-be brother-in-law. Alpha of Redstone Pack. CEO of Apex Corporation. THE legendary. Grayson Hart. “Aria Collins?” His voice was sexy and velvety. He lowered his head and his eyes dropped to the exposed part of my bra. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the color of his eyes seemed to darken as he stared. Wherever his gaze landed, my skin started burning up. But wait. How did he know my name? Chapter 2 With Ex's Brother-in-law Aria’s POV Of course I recognized him. God, who didn’t? I’d met him at an Apex gala. His face was on every finance magazine cover, and any time you turned on a TV, there he was—linked to the latest scandal with some actress or model. But there was no way he’d know who I was. “I-I… Hello, Alpha Grayson,” I stammered. He turned his eyes away and said to a nearby guard, “Escort Ms. Collins out.” “Yes, Alpha.” The guards stepped in immediately, stretching out their arms like I was some kind of contaminant that might taint Grayson’s perfectly tailored suit. “Wait a minute. You’re not going to say something about my shirt?” He paused—just for a second—then flicked a piece of paper down at my feet. I looked down. A blank check. “I need a shirt I can actually wear out of here. Not your hush money.” I gritted with humiliation. But he didn’t even glance back as he walked away. “God,” I muttered under my breath. Can you believe these rich bastards? They think they can buy everything with money. People nearby were all staring, snickering under their breath. I tried to cover my chest and grab my things to escape, but it was hard to do all that with just two hands. “Oh my god…Aria Collins?” Three girls emerged from the whispering crowd. I took one look at them and sighed internally. Great. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse. “Hello. Layla. Sabrina. Brielle.” I used to work in the same team with these girls back at Apex. We were all under Jace. They adored him—spent more time flirting with at the coffee machine than actually working. Which left me doing their share of the workload. After I got fired—and when news of my secret relationship with Jace got out—they decided I was public enemy number one. “What are you even doing here, Aria? Trying to win back your ex at his wedding? That’s a new low even for you,” Layla snickered. “I’m not here to win anyone back.” I tried to push past them. But they blocked me. “What happened to your shirt?” Brielle snickered. “Did you seriously walk in here with your bra out? Is this like some low-budget fashion statement?” They burst into laughter together. “You could be completely naked and Jace still wouldn’t give a damn,” Sabrina squeaked. “Because he’s marrying Delilah. THE Delilah Hart! Redstone Pack’s sweetheart. And you…well you’re just a poor-ass small-town girl.” I stopped in my track and gave them a cold glare, “Oh yeah? Well at least I’ve actually been with Jace. Do you know how many times I had to listen to him complained about your screechy voices and cheesy perfume? Apparently he rather be with a poor-ass small-town girl than any of you.” Their jaws dropped. “Jace would never say that!” Brielle cried. “Word for word,” I rolled my eyes. “Now move. Or I’m rolling this suitcase over your pretty little skirts.” They looked like ruffled chickens, but they parted. I quickly shoved my dingy luggage ahead like a weapon and stormed out of the church. Rich people were assholes. Grayson, Jace, and their whole damn minions. I struggled to get my suitcase down the steps, and once I hit the street, cold wind slapped me in the face. I had no idea where to go. I could crash in the hospital with my grandma for a night, but she’d ask too many questions. Like why I hadn’t brought Jace around recently, or why I wasn’t staying at my apartment. I didn’t want her knowing how bad things had gotten. I thought about the park. Sleeping on a bench. But in a ripped T-shirt that exposed my whole front? Horrible idea. So I texted my best friend, May, asking to stay at her place for a few days. She was my rock. If the whole world turned against me, at least I still had her. She texted back right away inviting me to come over. Dragging my suitcase across the street toward the bus stop, I told myself it was going to be okay. This horrible day was going to end. Then I heard them. “Hey, nice shirt!” A group of street wolves were loitering near the stop. I hugged myself tighter and curled into the bench, hoping they’d get bored and leave. “C’mon baby, drop your hands. Let us see what you’re working with.” Go away. Go away. Go away. “You rip that shirt yourself? Damn that’s wild. I like that in a girl.” One of them moved closer, reaching for my shoulder. “Get away from me!” I snapped, my voice shaking. But it only fired them up. “Oh, feisty. Shake those tits for me!” They grabbed my wrists, yanked my arms down. My T-shirt gaped open completely, revealing my lace bra. The cold air made my skin pebble. They laughed even louder. I struggled and screamed. My wolf growled in rage. Shifting in the city was illegal—but right now, I didn’t have a second choice— Just then. Blinding headlights. Followed by screeching tires. A black car skidded to a stop inches away. The door flew open. A deep voice thundered, “Get in.” I was too shocked that I didn’t think twice and obeyed. The car peeled away the second I shut the door. “My suitcase!” I cried. “Someone will get it,” he said darkly. “Address.” I told the driver May’s. Then he pressed a button. A privacy screen slid up between the front and back seats, sealing us in the back. That’s when he turned toward me and leaned in. Like a beast ready to pounce. His scent hit me like a punch—sharp pine mixed with cold metal. My head started to get dizzy. “Walking on the street in that shirt was a mistake,” he said sternly. “It got like this because of you,” I mumbled. He snorted. Then the sound of rustling fabric. A heavy jacket landed across my shoulders—it was still warm from his body and carried his scent. I held my breathe. Wearing his coat almost felt like…he was wrapping himself around me. “You—do you know me?” I whispered. My gut told me that he would never do this for a strange girl. But if he knew who I was, he must know that I was his sister’s husband’s ex. That didn’t explain why he would help. “We’ve met,” he said simply. I stared at him, searching those icy gray eyes. He was staring at me too, with that cold, hungry, possessive eyes. I felt like I was completely naked in front of him. “Aria,” he warned, voice thick and husky. But I couldn’t control myself. I was leaning forward. Shit. Why did my body become so weird? My skin was on fire. My panties were wet. All I wanted was more of his scent, more of his heat. The next second his lips were crashed onto mine—Hard. Rough. I gasped and opened my mouth for him. His tongue slipped in and explored every inch of my mouth, making me shiver. His hands pushed into my torn shirt and grabbed my waist. I couldn’t control my moan when he touched my naked skin. This was crazy! He was a stranger, and most importantly, my ex’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. And I was making out with him at the back of his car. The crazy part was I didn’t even want to stop. He lifted me onto his lap like I weighed nothing. I straddled his thighs and yanked at his tie as he bite my collarbone. Then, suddenly, the car stopped. “Alpha, we’ve arrived.” That’s when it all froze. His lips paused at my neck. I was still squirming on his lap, flushed and throbbing. But he shoved me off. “We can’t do this,” he said coldly. Chapter 3 You're Special To Him Aria’s POV “So you’re telling me this guy made out with you in the backseat of his car… and then just shoved you off like nothing happened?” May asked in shock. 20 minutes later, I was sitting at her place, wrapped in one of her oversized hoodies, a steaming mug of tea in my hands. But I was still reeling from everything that had just happened. “Yup,” I muttered. “Who knows what’s wrong with him.” “What an asshole,” she huffed. “But honestly, this really isn’t like you. You dated that jerk Jace for 4 years and didn’t even sleep with him—which, by the way, was a brilliant choice—and now you're suddenly making out with a complete stranger in his car?” I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. Yeah, she had a point. “I—I don’t know. Maybe it was the whole Jace-getting-married thing. Maybe I just snapped and wanted to screw around with someone hotter just to get back at him…Honestly, it was so stupid now that I think of it.” She grinned and wiggled her brows. “So… he was hot huh?” My cheeks flushed and my mind drifted back. Those stormy gray eyes, his perfectly shaped lips on my neck, and those arms that could pick me up like I weighed nothing…Shit I need to stop. “Yeah. VERY,” I whispered, hiding my red face behind the mug. May burst out laughing. “Now we’re talking! That’s exactly what you need right now—a drop-dead gorgeous rebound to get that loser Jace out of your system. Screw your ‘no sex before marriage’ rule. Life is short.” I gave her a weak smile. Honestly, I didn’t need a rebound. I needed a job, money, and a place to live. Grayson Hart was like dessert when you can’t even afford dinner. “So… do you even know who this guy was?” she asked. I hesitated. Right at this moment, the doorbell rang. She jumped up to get it and came back a few minutes later, hauling in my luggage, her face frozen in disbelief. “OMG. You are not gonna believe what just showed up outside.” “Umm… my luggage?” I joked. “Two fucking muscular guys in black suits and guns! And a freaking stretch limo! They called me ‘ma’am’ and said they hope Miss Aria has a wonderful evening. Now, you—” She leapt at me and shook me by the shoulders. “—you tell me right now who the hell you hooked up with!” I squealed and dropped into the couch with her, laughing and giggling breathlessly. “Okay, okay—I’ll tell you. It was… Grayson Hart.” I practically whispered his name. Because honestly, I still couldn’t believe it either. May froze, eyes wide as saucers. “Grayson—THE Grayson Hart?! As in our Alpha? The CEO of Apex?!” “And Jace’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. Now you know how stupid I was earlier?” She let out a full-on scream. Then she grabbed my hand, her face flushed with excitement. “Oh my God! Aria, do you know what this means? Alpha Grayson never even lends his jacket to his model girlfriends. He likes you. You’re special!” “No,” I said firmly. “If I was special, he wouldn’t have thrown me off his lap when I tried to take off his shirt.” “Maybe he had somewhere to be—” “Don’t, May. Let’s be real. Guys like him don’t fall for girls like me.” I took another sip of tea, hiding the ache in my chest. Hell even Jace thought I was beneath him. What chance did I have with Grayson freaking Hart? “Don’t be silly, Aria. You’re gorgeous. And smart and amazing and—WAIT! I just had the best idea ever.” “What?” “That arrogant jerk Jace thinks you’re just some small-town prude who wasn’t good enough for him right? But what if you ended up with Alpha Grayson? It’ll be easy to get him because he’s already obsessed. Oh, it would destroy Jace. That dickhead would never recover.” OKAY. I’d be lying if I said that exact scenario hadn’t crossed my mind when Grayson kissed me back. What girl hasn’t daydreamed about dating the perfect guy and getting revenge in the most dramatic way possible? But right now, I couldn’t afford to daydream. Reality was already breathing down my neck. “Tempting. But right now I need a job and enough cash to keep Grandma in her hospital bed. Dating rich dudes isn’t exactly high on my to-do list.” May looked at me with soft eyes. “So…any plans? I can try to hook you up with a job, but you know I just work at a coffee shop, and with your degree, you deserve so much more.” I hugged her. “Thank you. Really. I’ll figure something out. Apex promised me severance when they fired me, so I’m going to HR tomorrow to get it sorted.” If I could get that money, at least I’d be OK for the next round of Grandma’s medical bills. — The next morning, I showed up at Apex right on time. But the second Brielle walked in with the HR manager, I had a bad feeling. “What’s she doing here?” I asked coldly. “I’ll explain in a minute,” HR replied with a polite, rehearsed smile as she sat across from me. “So Ms. Collins, I understand you’re here to discuss severance?” “Yes. So let’s not waste time. Just give me the check and I’ll be out of here.” “Unfortunately, severance only applies when the company terminates a contract without cause. In your case… it appears you were let go due to misconduct.” Misconduct? What the freaking hell. “Jace made a snap decision and booted me. What misconduct are you talking about?” “But that’s not what Mr. Carter said. He provided evidence that you made a costly error on a sales quote—omitting a few zeroes, to be exact. Cost the company millions. Here’s the email record.” She handed me a printed sheet. I swore I had never sent this email in my life. But there it was—my name in the sender field. No freaking way. Jace forged this. “And Mr. Carter reported that you had a difficult attitude toward your coworkers. Quote: ‘impatient and arrogant.’ Brielle’s here to verify that.” Brielle twirled her hair and smiled smugly. “Yeah. Aria was a horrible team player.” I stood so fast my chair screeched. “The only thing I didn’t ‘teamplayed’ with you was flirt with the boss in the breakroom!” “Liar!” she yelled. “And I asked Jace. He never said my voice was screechy!” Oh my God. I couldn’t believe how stupid she was. “Sit down, Miss Collins,” HR warned. “As of now, not only are you not getting severance, but we’re also considering legal action to recover the losses. If you understand the situation here, sign this acknowledgement—” “Does Alpha Grayson know about this?” I asked. Both of them froze. After a long pause, HR finally found her voice. “What does Alpha Grayson have to do with any of this?” “He owns Apex, doesn’t he? Does he know his team is abusing their power and firing hardworking employees illegally?” HR frowned. Brielle let out a loud snort. “Please. Don’t act like you know Alpha Grayson.” “What if I do? What if I go to him and then it’s you who gets fired?” She laughed in my face. “Oh, you mean you know him on TV?” “Let’s find out.” I shoved my chair back and stormed out, heading straight for the CEO’s private elevator at the end of the hall. HR scrambled after me, shouting my name. I was too furious to care how this ended. All I wanted now was to blow the whole damn place up. Two guards stood by the elevator. “I need to see Alpha Grayson,” I told them. “Appointment?” “No, but I swear he knows me. Just tell him it’s Aria—from yesterday. He’ll remember.” “You aren’t the first girl here saying that,” one of them mocked. “Come on, Miss Collins,” HR snapped, trying to drag me back. “This is getting crazy. Go back, sign the paper. Take responsibility for your own mistake.” “I didn’t send that email. It was Jace—he’s framing me! I will report all of you.” “Alpha Grayson doesn’t have time for your report, or your visit, or any of your little drama!” “I believe no one but me has the right to decide that,” a cold voice said behind us. Chapter 4 Take Me, Please Aria’s POV A large hand grabbed my arm and pulled me away from HR’s grip. I looked up and my heart almost stopped. Even I couldn’t believe he just showed up here. It felt like a dream. “A-Alpha Grayson,” HR stammered, her face frozen with shock and fear. “I don’t need employees who think they can make decisions for their boss,” he said freezingly while wrapping his arm around my waist. “If I see something like this again, you’re fired.” “Y-yes, Alpha. I’m terribly sorry…” HR’s expression was priceless, but I was in no mood to enjoy it. His icy pine scent consumed me again, making my body weak and hot. My wolf let out a soft purr, urging me to lean into him. But before I could even move, he let go. A pang of disappointment hit me in the chest. “Come,” he said shortly, striding toward the private elevator. I shot HR and the stunned security guards a smug look, then hurried after him. He swiped his card and the elevator doors closed. We started going up to the 58th floor. It was dead silent. My heart was beating so wildly that I was afraid he’d hear it. I snuck a glance at him—he just stared straight ahead, emotionless, keeping a distance, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Unease twisted my stomach. “So, um… what brings you here today?” I broke the silence. He sighed softly. “I owe this company.” “Oh, Oh…Right.” I wanted to punch myself in the face. The awkward silence lingered until the elevator dinged open. The 58th floor was a wide-open space with no cubicles or dividers—just massive floor-to-ceiling windows and a sweeping view of the entire city. “Wow,” I whispered under my breath. Grayson was already walking ahead. I jogged to catch up as he led me into an office at the far end of the floor. A stunning female assistant closed the door behind us, and once again, it was just the two of us. My heart rocketed back into my throat. He casually unbuttoned his jacket. It was amazing how he made even that look sexy. “So you insisted on seeing me?” he asked. He didn’t ask me to sit. He didn’t even move closer. That distance stung a little. “I worked here till a week ago when I found out I was let go for no reason…” I quickly told him the story of how I was fired. “This is clearly illegal in so many ways… can you help me get my job back?” “Unfortunately, no,” he replied, barely hesitating. My heart dropped like a stone. “Why not?” “I’ll have the hiring department look into whether your termination followed proper protocol. But this isn’t something a CEO handles directly. Anything else?” The hiring department? That could take weeks—and I didn’t have weeks. “No… you don’t get it,” I stepped forward, my voice trembling. “My grandma’s in the hospital. Her bills are getting insane every month. And I’m already deep in debt… If I can’t make money, I don’t even know— I really, REALLY need this job.” I knew we came from two different worlds, but laying out the most desperate parts of my life in front of him still made me feel horribly exposed. I just hoped—begged—that he’d understand. But he didn’t. His gray eyes stayed emotionless. “I’m sorry, Miss Collins,” he said quietly. Tears rushed into my eyes. I couldn’t even breathe. All I could think about were the bills, the debt, the mountain of shit waiting for me the second I left this building. “If there’s nothing else, my assistant will show you out.” he said, reaching for the intercom. I rushed forward and pressed my hand down on his before he could call anyone in. His whole body stiffened—but he didn’t pull away. He just stared down at me. I stepped in closer, tilting my head up. His gray eyes darkened like a storm brewing in the distance. His pine scent wrapped around me again, thick and intoxicating. As werewolves, our scent only spikes during a fight or sexual arousal. It was damn obvious which case this was. “You clearly feel something for me,” I whispered. He said nothing. I placed my hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat. It was racing as well. His breathing had also turned shallow. “What are you doing, Miss Collins?” he asked tightly. “Trying to seduce your way into a job?” “You can do whatever you want,” I locked eyes with him. “I won’t stop you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. God, I wanted to lick it. And… well, I did. I leaned up and pressed my lips to it. He let out a growl. The next second, I was pinned on his desk. He stood between my spread legs, one hand by my head. I whimpered, clamping my thighs together—the heat between them was almost unbearable. Just like in the backseat of his car. His hand slid from the desk to my throat. It was so big, he could probably snap my neck if he wanted. “You shouldn’t keep tempting me, Miss Collins.” His body was pressed against my thighs—I definitely felt the effect I was having on him. “Why?” I whispered, licking my lips. “Because your self-control isn’t as strong as you thought?” “Because I don’t fuck virgins.” What the actual hell The next second, he had pulled away. I scrambled off the desk, face red, eyes wide. “What did you just say?!” I snapped. “Why—How the hell do you even know—?” “I know who you are. And I know about your relationship with my sister’s husband.” And just like that, everything clicked. It was Jace. That bastard didn’t just dump me—he ran his mouth about my virginity to everyone, including Grayson. Humiliation crashed over me like a wave. “Jace is a fucking asshole,” I snapped shakily. Grayson shrugged. “Obviously. But Brielle likes him. And he’s family now. I’m sorry but I just can’t get involved in this.” I climbed off his desk with my whole body red and shaking. He didn’t want me. And he was taking his sister and Jace’s side. I was so damn stupid to think that one kiss in the car actually meant anything. But this was Grayson Hart for Christ’s sake. He could have anyone he wanted. “I’m sure you’re a very capable employee, Miss Collins. But seducing me won’t help your career. I wish you all the best.” He finally pressed the intercom button. His assistant appeared at the door, waiting for me to leave. “Bye,” I whispered without even look back. I didn’t want him to notice my falling tears. I walked out of that office, numb, and rode the elevator down like a ghost. My mind was a storm of bills, debt, and Grayson’s ice-cold stare. Now I desperately needed a new job. “Miss Collins!” I turned and saw his assistant come rushing out again, holding an envelope. “Alpha Grayson asked me to give you this,” she said, handing it over. “What is it?” Why didn’t he give it to me earlier? “He didn’t say. Maybe you’ll know once you open it.” She gave me a mysterious smile and walked away. I opened the envelope. A blank check slid out first—I held my breath in shock. Then I found a crumpled note. His handwriting, rushed and messy. Haven’t repaid you for the shirt. Hope everything works out for you Aria. Stay strong. —Grayson Chapter 5 Getting My Attention Aria’s POV “That check clearly means something,” May insisted. “Come on. We’re not doing this again,” I sighed. “If he’s not into you, then why did he let his assistant come after you with a check? He probably saw you crying and couldn’t stand it. You should definitely go back and see him again.” “Nope,” I shut it down immediately. “I had one perfect, fairytale encounter with a rich bachelor. That’s enough. I’m not about to go back there and humiliate myself all over again.” “But—” “Hey, you two!” our manager yelled from the other end of the aisle. “Less talking, more working!” We rolled our eyes at each other and got back to inventory. May had helped me land this supermarket job. It was part of a chain under a big corporation, so the pay and benefits weren’t bad. May still thought it was beneath someone with my degree, but honestly, I was just grateful to be employed. Once we finished our section, the manager wandered off to shout at someone else, and May scooted back over to me. “Just imagine it,” she grinned. “You could write a couple million on that blank check and boom! Instant rich girl life.” “I’m not gonna do that.” “Sure you won’t. You’re too nice,” she muttered, half-admiring, half-scolding. “So? What are you gonna write?” I hesitated. At first, I actually considered writing the price of a shirt. 19.99 that was. Because apparently, my dignity still thinks it matters. But let’s be real, if Grayson was just trying to pay me back for a ripped tee, he would’ve handed his assistant a $20 bill, not a blank check. Maybe… he felt bad I lost my job too. “I’m going to write the amount I should’ve gotten in severance,” I admitted eventually. May's eyes bulged. “That’s it?!” “I know it’s not much, but it’s what I actually deserve. And it’ll help me cover two months of bills.” She sighed like I was letting go of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But my mind was made up. This was my chance to walk away from the mess. I still wanted to rip Jace’s smug face off, but the best revenge right now was surviving. 6 hours later, we finished our shift exhausted and aching. Everyone else got to clock out, but not me—I’d volunteered for night shift and closing duties. The staffs left one by one, yawning, including May. Finally I was alone in this big market. Now here’s the big secret— I actually lived here now. Nobody knew this, not even May. She thought I’d found a new apartment and moved out, but I just couldn’t keep bothering her anymore—her roommates were getting irritated with me hogging the living room and utilities. And renting my own place seemed way out of budget now. So I stayed in this supermarket instead. I closed up the store at night and opened it early in the morning. For the 5 or 6 hours in between, I made a bed out of my coat and slept on the floor near the refrigerated section. Now don’t ask me why I can’t sleep in the staff’s break room. That room was too hot without AC. At least it was cool by the freezer. Tonight I was extra exhausted. The manager made us girls haul too many heavy crates around. I passed out in seconds. But it felt like I’d only been asleep for five minutes—my alarm hadn’t even gone off yet—when I was jolted awake by someone screaming. “OH MY GOD—what the hell are you doing?!” I shot upright, completely disoriented. And froze. In front of me stood an entire group of people—including the manager and several guys in suits, all staring at me wide eyes. And I was only in a tank top and shorts. Half naked. OH GOD. What the hell—Is it morning already?! Why didn’t I hear my alarm? I scrambled to pull my clothes over my body, my hands shaking. The stares didn’t stop. They got more invasive. “Aria Collins! What the fuck are you doing?!” the manager stormed over and roared. “Napping half-naked in my fucking store?! Are you a fucking sex perv?!” My face went beet red, “No! I—I was just staying here temporarily—” “Temporarily?!” he yelled, eyes bulging. “I hired an employee, not a fucking squatter! How much water and electricity have you used free?! Are you stealing food too?!” “No I swear. I shut everything off when I’m done, I don’t use the water unless I have to. And I paid for everything I’ve eaten.” Tears blurred my vision as I tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening. His spit actually hit my cheek as he snarled. “Of all days—you had to pick the day corporate shows up to camp out in my perfect store. You filthy, disgusting little—” “Aria Collins?” A new voice called my name. It came from one of the suited men. I looked up—and my heart dropped. It was Jonathan. A former coworker from Apex. “Holy shit, it is you,” he grinned, raising his brows. “Almost didn’t recognize you at first.” “You… what are you doing here?” I stammered. “Apex owns this supermarket chain. We’re doing site inspections today,” he said with a smirk, his eyes trailing down to my bare legs. “Man! Most people hit rock bottom after getting fired from Apex, but you fall faster than anyone.” “I’m working. Making a decent living,” I said in shaky voice. “There’s no shame with that.” “Oh really?” he sneered. “Does your job include lying around half-naked on the floor? What is this, a new hooker gimmick?” The suits burst out laughing. My furious tears were on the verge of falling. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll fire her right away.” The manager groaned. “Hold up,” Jonathan drawled with a smirk. “This chick got fired from Apex for messing up a seven-figure deal. You might wanna check your inventory. She could be stealing.” “You know that’s a lie. Jace got me fired out of spite! I never made a mistake—” “Oh please,” he cut me off. “Everyone in the industry knows how you fucked up. Jace was so embarrassed that he had to apologize for you.” The manager grabbed my wrist. “Then you’re definitely stealing from this market as well. That’s it you are going to jail. When I figure out what you’ve taken, you must pay back everything!” My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t doubt for a second that the manager would come up with something that I didn’t steal, just like how Jace framed me before. It wasn’t hard for guys like them. But I couldn’t go to jail. My grandma had no one to count on but me. I can’t leave her. The wolf in me surfaced up the next second—I snarled at the manager, yanked my arm free, and ran. “Stop her!” someone shouted behind me. I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I had to escape. I bolted out of the store, desperate and horrified—and slammed right into a solid chest. “Get away from Alpha!” a bodyguard barked. But he pulled me in instead. “Aria?” I was still shaking involuntarily. He unbuttoned the front and wrapped me in, covering my half-naked body. “It’s OK.” his voice was deep with clear hint of rage. I clutched his shirt, gasping for air. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to breathe at all. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Yet I couldn’t make a sound. “She’s having a panic attack,” a woman said nearby. “Alpha, if I may—” I silently prayed him not to hand me over. And he didn’t. “It’s fine, Nova,” he refused. “Aria, you’re safe now. Breathe.” Panicked footsteps echoed behind us. Jonathan’s voice rang out, stunned: “Alpha Grayson! Oh God—w-what’s going on here?!” “Nova,” Grayson said in a cold, dangerous voice, “stay here. Don’t let anyone leave.” “Yes, Alpha.” He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, one arm under my legs, the other around my back. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. Then he carried me through the crowd, into the store, and into a private room. When he set me down in a chair, I was still trembling and sobbing. He finally took off his coat and draped it over my legs, then crouched down in front of me. “You’re safe here,” he said. That’s when I broke down. Crying out loud. Everything—fear, shame, panic—everything spilled out in a messy, helpless flood. I clutched his wrist like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and for once… he didn’t pull away. He said nothing the whole time. Just stayed there with me until the sobs quieted. “Th-thank you…I’m better now.” I sniffled. He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. I trembled at the way he touched my skin. His voice was low, rough, and a little strained. “You’re starting to make me wonder, Miss Collins. If all these run-ins are just your way of getting my attention.”
🔞When My ex-brother-in-law took my virginity...His liquid spurts inslde and my eyes widen, "Wait we forgot a comdom!" …………………… Chapter 1 He Dumped Me Aria's POV I stood in front of the chapel. Pink roses and white lilies decorated every corner I saw—my favorite flowers. The guests were already seated in their designer dresses and pressed suits. And soon, at the end of the red carpet would stand the man I once loved, waiting to marry his bride. Everything was perfect. Except I wasn't the bride. "I really need to see Jace today." I begged the bodyguard blocking the door. A beat-up suitcase and two boxes sat at my feet—everything I owned in the world. "No you don’t. Get out of here," the bodyguard said icily. I saw it in his eyes—disgust. Yeah I get it. No one has sympathy for the crazy ex who shows up at the wedding. But I have my reason. "If you don't let me see him, I'll just stand here and all the guests will see me," I threatened under my breath. Jace wouldn't want that. Especially not today. Today he was marrying Delilah Hart. Sister to Alpha Grayson Hart of Redstone Pack. A 100% high-society darling. All the guys in the world knew that marrying Delilah would make their wealth skyrocket, including Jace. So he made the easy call—marrying the lady who could turn him from a small-town nobody into a golden boy. And dump the girl who stayed by his side for last 4 years when he had nothing. So it’s normal why he didn’t want any guests to see me here. I represented his broke, embarrassing past. He wanted me nowhere near his glossy, glittering new world. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of that. Like a knife was twisting in my chest. “Let me in or I’m starting to yell.” "Wait here." The bodyguard finally made a call. A few minutes later, he waved me in. I wiped my eyes and struggled into the hall with my suitcase and boxes. Instantly, I felt how out of place I was. Everything reeked of wealth here. Expensive perfume. Manicured nails. Not a hair out of place. It was everything you imagined about the upper-class and way more. And me? I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans. My sneakers had holes. "God, a homeless. She stinks." A woman mutter as I walked by. I just showered this morning. My hair still smelled like strawberries and coconut. But poverty had a scent, apparently. "Mr. Carter is inside. Make it quick." The guard took me to a closed door and warned. “Thank you.” The room inside looked like something out of a movie. Marble floors. Floor-length mirrors. A chandelier that probably cost more than my apartment. I hesitated for a second as I dragged my dirty luggage across the white carpet. And there he was. The man I used to love. Adjusting his bowtie in front of a mirror. He was still heartbreakingly handsome. No wonder Delilah fell for him. When he turned and fixed his gorgeous blue eyes upon me, I still felt my heart race. "Hey, Jace," I said quietly. And immediately wanted to punch myself. Hey, Jace? That’s the best I could do? His face was ice cold. "You shouldn't come. Your ratty suitcase, your ripped jeans, your Vans. None of that belongs here." Well if you wanted to be brutal and vicious, that’s how it’s done. "Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? You dumped me over a fucking email!" I snapped. He shrugged. "Look around you. The wealthiest people in the world came for me today. This suit I’m wearing cost more than you can make in your entire life. What more explanation do you want, Aria?" Wow. I always knew he was a cold, calculating bastard. I just didn’t realize how deep it ran. "Maybe chasing Alpha’s sister got you here faster. But you know what? When she finds out how cold and empty you are. You’ll lose it all." Anger flared across his face. "I know how to love. I just won't waste that on a small-town girl like you.” he said freezingly, “Are we done here?" “No.” I took a deep breath and got into the real reason I came. "You're marrying a rich girl. Fine. But why did you have to get me fired?" Yeah. I used to work for this jerk. From intern to full-time at Apex Corp, he was my supervisor. Our relationship was a secret. And just days ago, I found out he was getting married—and I was out of a job. He fired me. "Right, your job.” The jerk shrugged, “You got it because of me. Now that I’m not around, they finally saw how incompetent you are. Problem?" Was he fucking kidding me?! "I graduated top of my class. Made it through 7 rounds of interviews. My performance exceeded every quarterly target. I earned that job!" I cried. “Come on, Aria. You really gonna be so naïve?” He walked closer, smirking. "You passed the interviews because I said so. Your sales? I made those calls. Without me, you'd be nothing but a pretty face." He seized my chin and looked me over with a disgusting look. I slapped his hand away. "Give me my job back,” I hissed, my voice slightly trembling. “My dad’s debt. My grandma’s medical bills…I need the money. You of all people should know what it’s like to be poor. Don’t. Make. Me. Beg." I was throwing my pride at his feet. But he laughed. "Well, how about I offer you a deal?" he said as though he’d been waiting for this moment. He brushed my hair back, fingers trailing down to my collarbone. I shivered in disgust. "You never let me touch you. You were so clinging to that pathetic no-sex-before-marriage rule. Maybe it's time to grow up. Let me fuck you once and I’ll write you a check you can’t refuse. How does that sound?" I widened my eyes in shock. Then I slapped him. HARD. “WHAT THE FUCK! I’m getting married in front of everyone in fucking 10 minutes!” He roared covering his face. "Fuck you, Jace!” I yelled, “You're a spineless freeloading puss! And hey—congrats on the wedding. Hope your junk is soft like a fucking spaghetti tonight!" Then I stormed out dragging my suitcase and boxes, ignoring his angry curses behind me. Hot tears poured down as I dashed across the hallway. God this couldn’t be any worse. I was prepared to drop all my self-esteem and begged with my life because I needed the job and money. But I still let him get to me. Now what do I do? My salary barely covered my rent, my father’s debt and grandma’s bill. Now with my job gone, I already got kicked out by my landlord. I probably had to sleep in a park tonight. So do I go back and let that jerk win? Let him humiliate me...No. I’d rather die than that— "Hey, watch where you're going!" someone yelled. Too late. I slammed right into the man in front of me. He was tall—so tall I felt like I’d just walked into a brick wall. His diamond cufflink was sharp like a blade, and when we collided, it sliced clean through my thin T-shirt with a loud rip. In one second, the front of my shirt was torn open, exposing my white lace bra. “Ah!” I gasped and looked up. The man in front of me was so handsome. Like a statue carved by a master artist. Yet his expression so cold. He looked down at me, and I swear I was about to drown in those stormy gray eyes of his. And then I recognized who he was. This was Jace’s son-to-be brother-in-law. Alpha of Redstone Pack. CEO of Apex Corporation. THE legendary. Grayson Hart. “Aria Collins?” His voice was sexy and velvety. He lowered his head and his eyes dropped to the exposed part of my bra. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the color of his eyes seemed to darken as he stared. Wherever his gaze landed, my skin started burning up. But wait. How did he know my name? Chapter 2 With Ex's Brother-in-law Aria’s POV Of course I recognized him. God, who didn’t? I’d met him at an Apex gala. His face was on every finance magazine cover, and any time you turned on a TV, there he was—linked to the latest scandal with some actress or model. But there was no way he’d know who I was. “I-I… Hello, Alpha Grayson,” I stammered. He turned his eyes away and said to a nearby guard, “Escort Ms. Collins out.” “Yes, Alpha.” The guards stepped in immediately, stretching out their arms like I was some kind of contaminant that might taint Grayson’s perfectly tailored suit. “Wait a minute. You’re not going to say something about my shirt?” He paused—just for a second—then flicked a piece of paper down at my feet. I looked down. A blank check. “I need a shirt I can actually wear out of here. Not your hush money.” I gritted with humiliation. But he didn’t even glance back as he walked away. “God,” I muttered under my breath. Can you believe these rich bastards? They think they can buy everything with money. People nearby were all staring, snickering under their breath. I tried to cover my chest and grab my things to escape, but it was hard to do all that with just two hands. “Oh my god…Aria Collins?” Three girls emerged from the whispering crowd. I took one look at them and sighed internally. Great. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse. “Hello. Layla. Sabrina. Brielle.” I used to work in the same team with these girls back at Apex. We were all under Jace. They adored him—spent more time flirting with at the coffee machine than actually working. Which left me doing their share of the workload. After I got fired—and when news of my secret relationship with Jace got out—they decided I was public enemy number one. “What are you even doing here, Aria? Trying to win back your ex at his wedding? That’s a new low even for you,” Layla snickered. “I’m not here to win anyone back.” I tried to push past them. But they blocked me. “What happened to your shirt?” Brielle snickered. “Did you seriously walk in here with your bra out? Is this like some low-budget fashion statement?” They burst into laughter together. “You could be completely naked and Jace still wouldn’t give a damn,” Sabrina squeaked. “Because he’s marrying Delilah. THE Delilah Hart! Redstone Pack’s sweetheart. And you…well you’re just a poor-ass small-town girl.” I stopped in my track and gave them a cold glare, “Oh yeah? Well at least I’ve actually been with Jace. Do you know how many times I had to listen to him complained about your screechy voices and cheesy perfume? Apparently he rather be with a poor-ass small-town girl than any of you.” Their jaws dropped. “Jace would never say that!” Brielle cried. “Word for word,” I rolled my eyes. “Now move. Or I’m rolling this suitcase over your pretty little skirts.” They looked like ruffled chickens, but they parted. I quickly shoved my dingy luggage ahead like a weapon and stormed out of the church. Rich people were assholes. Grayson, Jace, and their whole damn minions. I struggled to get my suitcase down the steps, and once I hit the street, cold wind slapped me in the face. I had no idea where to go. I could crash in the hospital with my grandma for a night, but she’d ask too many questions. Like why I hadn’t brought Jace around recently, or why I wasn’t staying at my apartment. I didn’t want her knowing how bad things had gotten. I thought about the park. Sleeping on a bench. But in a ripped T-shirt that exposed my whole front? Horrible idea. So I texted my best friend, May, asking to stay at her place for a few days. She was my rock. If the whole world turned against me, at least I still had her. She texted back right away inviting me to come over. Dragging my suitcase across the street toward the bus stop, I told myself it was going to be okay. This horrible day was going to end. Then I heard them. “Hey, nice shirt!” A group of street wolves were loitering near the stop. I hugged myself tighter and curled into the bench, hoping they’d get bored and leave. “C’mon baby, drop your hands. Let us see what you’re working with.” Go away. Go away. Go away. “You rip that shirt yourself? Damn that’s wild. I like that in a girl.” One of them moved closer, reaching for my shoulder. “Get away from me!” I snapped, my voice shaking. But it only fired them up. “Oh, feisty. Shake those tits for me!” They grabbed my wrists, yanked my arms down. My T-shirt gaped open completely, revealing my lace bra. The cold air made my skin pebble. They laughed even louder. I struggled and screamed. My wolf growled in rage. Shifting in the city was illegal—but right now, I didn’t have a second choice— Just then. Blinding headlights. Followed by screeching tires. A black car skidded to a stop inches away. The door flew open. A deep voice thundered, “Get in.” I was too shocked that I didn’t think twice and obeyed. The car peeled away the second I shut the door. “My suitcase!” I cried. “Someone will get it,” he said darkly. “Address.” I told the driver May’s. Then he pressed a button. A privacy screen slid up between the front and back seats, sealing us in the back. That’s when he turned toward me and leaned in. Like a beast ready to pounce. His scent hit me like a punch—sharp pine mixed with cold metal. My head started to get dizzy. “Walking on the street in that shirt was a mistake,” he said sternly. “It got like this because of you,” I mumbled. He snorted. Then the sound of rustling fabric. A heavy jacket landed across my shoulders—it was still warm from his body and carried his scent. I held my breathe. Wearing his coat almost felt like…he was wrapping himself around me. “You—do you know me?” I whispered. My gut told me that he would never do this for a strange girl. But if he knew who I was, he must know that I was his sister’s husband’s ex. That didn’t explain why he would help. “We’ve met,” he said simply. I stared at him, searching those icy gray eyes. He was staring at me too, with that cold, hungry, possessive eyes. I felt like I was completely naked in front of him. “Aria,” he warned, voice thick and husky. But I couldn’t control myself. I was leaning forward. Shit. Why did my body become so weird? My skin was on fire. My panties were wet. All I wanted was more of his scent, more of his heat. The next second his lips were crashed onto mine—Hard. Rough. I gasped and opened my mouth for him. His tongue slipped in and explored every inch of my mouth, making me shiver. His hands pushed into my torn shirt and grabbed my waist. I couldn’t control my moan when he touched my naked skin. This was crazy! He was a stranger, and most importantly, my ex’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. And I was making out with him at the back of his car. The crazy part was I didn’t even want to stop. He lifted me onto his lap like I weighed nothing. I straddled his thighs and yanked at his tie as he bite my collarbone. Then, suddenly, the car stopped. “Alpha, we’ve arrived.” That’s when it all froze. His lips paused at my neck. I was still squirming on his lap, flushed and throbbing. But he shoved me off. “We can’t do this,” he said coldly. Chapter 3 You're Special To Him Aria’s POV “So you’re telling me this guy made out with you in the backseat of his car… and then just shoved you off like nothing happened?” May asked in shock. 20 minutes later, I was sitting at her place, wrapped in one of her oversized hoodies, a steaming mug of tea in my hands. But I was still reeling from everything that had just happened. “Yup,” I muttered. “Who knows what’s wrong with him.” “What an asshole,” she huffed. “But honestly, this really isn’t like you. You dated that jerk Jace for 4 years and didn’t even sleep with him—which, by the way, was a brilliant choice—and now you're suddenly making out with a complete stranger in his car?” I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. Yeah, she had a point. “I—I don’t know. Maybe it was the whole Jace-getting-married thing. Maybe I just snapped and wanted to screw around with someone hotter just to get back at him…Honestly, it was so stupid now that I think of it.” She grinned and wiggled her brows. “So… he was hot huh?” My cheeks flushed and my mind drifted back. Those stormy gray eyes, his perfectly shaped lips on my neck, and those arms that could pick me up like I weighed nothing…Shit I need to stop. “Yeah. VERY,” I whispered, hiding my red face behind the mug. May burst out laughing. “Now we’re talking! That’s exactly what you need right now—a drop-dead gorgeous rebound to get that loser Jace out of your system. Screw your ‘no sex before marriage’ rule. Life is short.” I gave her a weak smile. Honestly, I didn’t need a rebound. I needed a job, money, and a place to live. Grayson Hart was like dessert when you can’t even afford dinner. “So… do you even know who this guy was?” she asked. I hesitated. Right at this moment, the doorbell rang. She jumped up to get it and came back a few minutes later, hauling in my luggage, her face frozen in disbelief. “OMG. You are not gonna believe what just showed up outside.” “Umm… my luggage?” I joked. “Two fucking muscular guys in black suits and guns! And a freaking stretch limo! They called me ‘ma’am’ and said they hope Miss Aria has a wonderful evening. Now, you—” She leapt at me and shook me by the shoulders. “—you tell me right now who the hell you hooked up with!” I squealed and dropped into the couch with her, laughing and giggling breathlessly. “Okay, okay—I’ll tell you. It was… Grayson Hart.” I practically whispered his name. Because honestly, I still couldn’t believe it either. May froze, eyes wide as saucers. “Grayson—THE Grayson Hart?! As in our Alpha? The CEO of Apex?!” “And Jace’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. Now you know how stupid I was earlier?” She let out a full-on scream. Then she grabbed my hand, her face flushed with excitement. “Oh my God! Aria, do you know what this means? Alpha Grayson never even lends his jacket to his model girlfriends. He likes you. You’re special!” “No,” I said firmly. “If I was special, he wouldn’t have thrown me off his lap when I tried to take off his shirt.” “Maybe he had somewhere to be—” “Don’t, May. Let’s be real. Guys like him don’t fall for girls like me.” I took another sip of tea, hiding the ache in my chest. Hell even Jace thought I was beneath him. What chance did I have with Grayson freaking Hart? “Don’t be silly, Aria. You’re gorgeous. And smart and amazing and—WAIT! I just had the best idea ever.” “What?” “That arrogant jerk Jace thinks you’re just some small-town prude who wasn’t good enough for him right? But what if you ended up with Alpha Grayson? It’ll be easy to get him because he’s already obsessed. Oh, it would destroy Jace. That dickhead would never recover.” OKAY. I’d be lying if I said that exact scenario hadn’t crossed my mind when Grayson kissed me back. What girl hasn’t daydreamed about dating the perfect guy and getting revenge in the most dramatic way possible? But right now, I couldn’t afford to daydream. Reality was already breathing down my neck. “Tempting. But right now I need a job and enough cash to keep Grandma in her hospital bed. Dating rich dudes isn’t exactly high on my to-do list.” May looked at me with soft eyes. “So…any plans? I can try to hook you up with a job, but you know I just work at a coffee shop, and with your degree, you deserve so much more.” I hugged her. “Thank you. Really. I’ll figure something out. Apex promised me severance when they fired me, so I’m going to HR tomorrow to get it sorted.” If I could get that money, at least I’d be OK for the next round of Grandma’s medical bills. — The next morning, I showed up at Apex right on time. But the second Brielle walked in with the HR manager, I had a bad feeling. “What’s she doing here?” I asked coldly. “I’ll explain in a minute,” HR replied with a polite, rehearsed smile as she sat across from me. “So Ms. Collins, I understand you’re here to discuss severance?” “Yes. So let’s not waste time. Just give me the check and I’ll be out of here.” “Unfortunately, severance only applies when the company terminates a contract without cause. In your case… it appears you were let go due to misconduct.” Misconduct? What the freaking hell. “Jace made a snap decision and booted me. What misconduct are you talking about?” “But that’s not what Mr. Carter said. He provided evidence that you made a costly error on a sales quote—omitting a few zeroes, to be exact. Cost the company millions. Here’s the email record.” She handed me a printed sheet. I swore I had never sent this email in my life. But there it was—my name in the sender field. No freaking way. Jace forged this. “And Mr. Carter reported that you had a difficult attitude toward your coworkers. Quote: ‘impatient and arrogant.’ Brielle’s here to verify that.” Brielle twirled her hair and smiled smugly. “Yeah. Aria was a horrible team player.” I stood so fast my chair screeched. “The only thing I didn’t ‘teamplayed’ with you was flirt with the boss in the breakroom!” “Liar!” she yelled. “And I asked Jace. He never said my voice was screechy!” Oh my God. I couldn’t believe how stupid she was. “Sit down, Miss Collins,” HR warned. “As of now, not only are you not getting severance, but we’re also considering legal action to recover the losses. If you understand the situation here, sign this acknowledgement—” “Does Alpha Grayson know about this?” I asked. Both of them froze. After a long pause, HR finally found her voice. “What does Alpha Grayson have to do with any of this?” “He owns Apex, doesn’t he? Does he know his team is abusing their power and firing hardworking employees illegally?” HR frowned. Brielle let out a loud snort. “Please. Don’t act like you know Alpha Grayson.” “What if I do? What if I go to him and then it’s you who gets fired?” She laughed in my face. “Oh, you mean you know him on TV?” “Let’s find out.” I shoved my chair back and stormed out, heading straight for the CEO’s private elevator at the end of the hall. HR scrambled after me, shouting my name. I was too furious to care how this ended. All I wanted now was to blow the whole damn place up. Two guards stood by the elevator. “I need to see Alpha Grayson,” I told them. “Appointment?” “No, but I swear he knows me. Just tell him it’s Aria—from yesterday. He’ll remember.” “You aren’t the first girl here saying that,” one of them mocked. “Come on, Miss Collins,” HR snapped, trying to drag me back. “This is getting crazy. Go back, sign the paper. Take responsibility for your own mistake.” “I didn’t send that email. It was Jace—he’s framing me! I will report all of you.” “Alpha Grayson doesn’t have time for your report, or your visit, or any of your little drama!” “I believe no one but me has the right to decide that,” a cold voice said behind us. Chapter 4 Take Me, Please Aria’s POV A large hand grabbed my arm and pulled me away from HR’s grip. I looked up and my heart almost stopped. Even I couldn’t believe he just showed up here. It felt like a dream. “A-Alpha Grayson,” HR stammered, her face frozen with shock and fear. “I don’t need employees who think they can make decisions for their boss,” he said freezingly while wrapping his arm around my waist. “If I see something like this again, you’re fired.” “Y-yes, Alpha. I’m terribly sorry…” HR’s expression was priceless, but I was in no mood to enjoy it. His icy pine scent consumed me again, making my body weak and hot. My wolf let out a soft purr, urging me to lean into him. But before I could even move, he let go. A pang of disappointment hit me in the chest. “Come,” he said shortly, striding toward the private elevator. I shot HR and the stunned security guards a smug look, then hurried after him. He swiped his card and the elevator doors closed. We started going up to the 58th floor. It was dead silent. My heart was beating so wildly that I was afraid he’d hear it. I snuck a glance at him—he just stared straight ahead, emotionless, keeping a distance, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Unease twisted my stomach. “So, um… what brings you here today?” I broke the silence. He sighed softly. “I owe this company.” “Oh, Oh…Right.” I wanted to punch myself in the face. The awkward silence lingered until the elevator dinged open. The 58th floor was a wide-open space with no cubicles or dividers—just massive floor-to-ceiling windows and a sweeping view of the entire city. “Wow,” I whispered under my breath. Grayson was already walking ahead. I jogged to catch up as he led me into an office at the far end of the floor. A stunning female assistant closed the door behind us, and once again, it was just the two of us. My heart rocketed back into my throat. He casually unbuttoned his jacket. It was amazing how he made even that look sexy. “So you insisted on seeing me?” he asked. He didn’t ask me to sit. He didn’t even move closer. That distance stung a little. “I worked here till a week ago when I found out I was let go for no reason…” I quickly told him the story of how I was fired. “This is clearly illegal in so many ways… can you help me get my job back?” “Unfortunately, no,” he replied, barely hesitating. My heart dropped like a stone. “Why not?” “I’ll have the hiring department look into whether your termination followed proper protocol. But this isn’t something a CEO handles directly. Anything else?” The hiring department? That could take weeks—and I didn’t have weeks. “No… you don’t get it,” I stepped forward, my voice trembling. “My grandma’s in the hospital. Her bills are getting insane every month. And I’m already deep in debt… If I can’t make money, I don’t even know— I really, REALLY need this job.” I knew we came from two different worlds, but laying out the most desperate parts of my life in front of him still made me feel horribly exposed. I just hoped—begged—that he’d understand. But he didn’t. His gray eyes stayed emotionless. “I’m sorry, Miss Collins,” he said quietly. Tears rushed into my eyes. I couldn’t even breathe. All I could think about were the bills, the debt, the mountain of shit waiting for me the second I left this building. “If there’s nothing else, my assistant will show you out.” he said, reaching for the intercom. I rushed forward and pressed my hand down on his before he could call anyone in. His whole body stiffened—but he didn’t pull away. He just stared down at me. I stepped in closer, tilting my head up. His gray eyes darkened like a storm brewing in the distance. His pine scent wrapped around me again, thick and intoxicating. As werewolves, our scent only spikes during a fight or sexual arousal. It was damn obvious which case this was. “You clearly feel something for me,” I whispered. He said nothing. I placed my hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat. It was racing as well. His breathing had also turned shallow. “What are you doing, Miss Collins?” he asked tightly. “Trying to seduce your way into a job?” “You can do whatever you want,” I locked eyes with him. “I won’t stop you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. God, I wanted to lick it. And… well, I did. I leaned up and pressed my lips to it. He let out a growl. The next second, I was pinned on his desk. He stood between my spread legs, one hand by my head. I whimpered, clamping my thighs together—the heat between them was almost unbearable. Just like in the backseat of his car. His hand slid from the desk to my throat. It was so big, he could probably snap my neck if he wanted. “You shouldn’t keep tempting me, Miss Collins.” His body was pressed against my thighs—I definitely felt the effect I was having on him. “Why?” I whispered, licking my lips. “Because your self-control isn’t as strong as you thought?” “Because I don’t fuck virgins.” What the actual hell The next second, he had pulled away. I scrambled off the desk, face red, eyes wide. “What did you just say?!” I snapped. “Why—How the hell do you even know—?” “I know who you are. And I know about your relationship with my sister’s husband.” And just like that, everything clicked. It was Jace. That bastard didn’t just dump me—he ran his mouth about my virginity to everyone, including Grayson. Humiliation crashed over me like a wave. “Jace is a fucking asshole,” I snapped shakily. Grayson shrugged. “Obviously. But Brielle likes him. And he’s family now. I’m sorry but I just can’t get involved in this.” I climbed off his desk with my whole body red and shaking. He didn’t want me. And he was taking his sister and Jace’s side. I was so damn stupid to think that one kiss in the car actually meant anything. But this was Grayson Hart for Christ’s sake. He could have anyone he wanted. “I’m sure you’re a very capable employee, Miss Collins. But seducing me won’t help your career. I wish you all the best.” He finally pressed the intercom button. His assistant appeared at the door, waiting for me to leave. “Bye,” I whispered without even look back. I didn’t want him to notice my falling tears. I walked out of that office, numb, and rode the elevator down like a ghost. My mind was a storm of bills, debt, and Grayson’s ice-cold stare. Now I desperately needed a new job. “Miss Collins!” I turned and saw his assistant come rushing out again, holding an envelope. “Alpha Grayson asked me to give you this,” she said, handing it over. “What is it?” Why didn’t he give it to me earlier? “He didn’t say. Maybe you’ll know once you open it.” She gave me a mysterious smile and walked away. I opened the envelope. A blank check slid out first—I held my breath in shock. Then I found a crumpled note. His handwriting, rushed and messy. Haven’t repaid you for the shirt. Hope everything works out for you Aria. Stay strong. —Grayson Chapter 5 Getting My Attention Aria’s POV “That check clearly means something,” May insisted. “Come on. We’re not doing this again,” I sighed. “If he’s not into you, then why did he let his assistant come after you with a check? He probably saw you crying and couldn’t stand it. You should definitely go back and see him again.” “Nope,” I shut it down immediately. “I had one perfect, fairytale encounter with a rich bachelor. That’s enough. I’m not about to go back there and humiliate myself all over again.” “But—” “Hey, you two!” our manager yelled from the other end of the aisle. “Less talking, more working!” We rolled our eyes at each other and got back to inventory. May had helped me land this supermarket job. It was part of a chain under a big corporation, so the pay and benefits weren’t bad. May still thought it was beneath someone with my degree, but honestly, I was just grateful to be employed. Once we finished our section, the manager wandered off to shout at someone else, and May scooted back over to me. “Just imagine it,” she grinned. “You could write a couple million on that blank check and boom! Instant rich girl life.” “I’m not gonna do that.” “Sure you won’t. You’re too nice,” she muttered, half-admiring, half-scolding. “So? What are you gonna write?” I hesitated. At first, I actually considered writing the price of a shirt. 19.99 that was. Because apparently, my dignity still thinks it matters. But let’s be real, if Grayson was just trying to pay me back for a ripped tee, he would’ve handed his assistant a $20 bill, not a blank check. Maybe… he felt bad I lost my job too. “I’m going to write the amount I should’ve gotten in severance,” I admitted eventually. May's eyes bulged. “That’s it?!” “I know it’s not much, but it’s what I actually deserve. And it’ll help me cover two months of bills.” She sighed like I was letting go of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But my mind was made up. This was my chance to walk away from the mess. I still wanted to rip Jace’s smug face off, but the best revenge right now was surviving. 6 hours later, we finished our shift exhausted and aching. Everyone else got to clock out, but not me—I’d volunteered for night shift and closing duties. The staffs left one by one, yawning, including May. Finally I was alone in this big market. Now here’s the big secret— I actually lived here now. Nobody knew this, not even May. She thought I’d found a new apartment and moved out, but I just couldn’t keep bothering her anymore—her roommates were getting irritated with me hogging the living room and utilities. And renting my own place seemed way out of budget now. So I stayed in this supermarket instead. I closed up the store at night and opened it early in the morning. For the 5 or 6 hours in between, I made a bed out of my coat and slept on the floor near the refrigerated section. Now don’t ask me why I can’t sleep in the staff’s break room. That room was too hot without AC. At least it was cool by the freezer. Tonight I was extra exhausted. The manager made us girls haul too many heavy crates around. I passed out in seconds. But it felt like I’d only been asleep for five minutes—my alarm hadn’t even gone off yet—when I was jolted awake by someone screaming. “OH MY GOD—what the hell are you doing?!” I shot upright, completely disoriented. And froze. In front of me stood an entire group of people—including the manager and several guys in suits, all staring at me wide eyes. And I was only in a tank top and shorts. Half naked. OH GOD. What the hell—Is it morning already?! Why didn’t I hear my alarm? I scrambled to pull my clothes over my body, my hands shaking. The stares didn’t stop. They got more invasive. “Aria Collins! What the fuck are you doing?!” the manager stormed over and roared. “Napping half-naked in my fucking store?! Are you a fucking sex perv?!” My face went beet red, “No! I—I was just staying here temporarily—” “Temporarily?!” he yelled, eyes bulging. “I hired an employee, not a fucking squatter! How much water and electricity have you used free?! Are you stealing food too?!” “No I swear. I shut everything off when I’m done, I don’t use the water unless I have to. And I paid for everything I’ve eaten.” Tears blurred my vision as I tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening. His spit actually hit my cheek as he snarled. “Of all days—you had to pick the day corporate shows up to camp out in my perfect store. You filthy, disgusting little—” “Aria Collins?” A new voice called my name. It came from one of the suited men. I looked up—and my heart dropped. It was Jonathan. A former coworker from Apex. “Holy shit, it is you,” he grinned, raising his brows. “Almost didn’t recognize you at first.” “You… what are you doing here?” I stammered. “Apex owns this supermarket chain. We’re doing site inspections today,” he said with a smirk, his eyes trailing down to my bare legs. “Man! Most people hit rock bottom after getting fired from Apex, but you fall faster than anyone.” “I’m working. Making a decent living,” I said in shaky voice. “There’s no shame with that.” “Oh really?” he sneered. “Does your job include lying around half-naked on the floor? What is this, a new hooker gimmick?” The suits burst out laughing. My furious tears were on the verge of falling. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll fire her right away.” The manager groaned. “Hold up,” Jonathan drawled with a smirk. “This chick got fired from Apex for messing up a seven-figure deal. You might wanna check your inventory. She could be stealing.” “You know that’s a lie. Jace got me fired out of spite! I never made a mistake—” “Oh please,” he cut me off. “Everyone in the industry knows how you fucked up. Jace was so embarrassed that he had to apologize for you.” The manager grabbed my wrist. “Then you’re definitely stealing from this market as well. That’s it you are going to jail. When I figure out what you’ve taken, you must pay back everything!” My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t doubt for a second that the manager would come up with something that I didn’t steal, just like how Jace framed me before. It wasn’t hard for guys like them. But I couldn’t go to jail. My grandma had no one to count on but me. I can’t leave her. The wolf in me surfaced up the next second—I snarled at the manager, yanked my arm free, and ran. “Stop her!” someone shouted behind me. I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I had to escape. I bolted out of the store, desperate and horrified—and slammed right into a solid chest. “Get away from Alpha!” a bodyguard barked. But he pulled me in instead. “Aria?” I was still shaking involuntarily. He unbuttoned the front and wrapped me in, covering my half-naked body. “It’s OK.” his voice was deep with clear hint of rage. I clutched his shirt, gasping for air. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to breathe at all. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Yet I couldn’t make a sound. “She’s having a panic attack,” a woman said nearby. “Alpha, if I may—” I silently prayed him not to hand me over. And he didn’t. “It’s fine, Nova,” he refused. “Aria, you’re safe now. Breathe.” Panicked footsteps echoed behind us. Jonathan’s voice rang out, stunned: “Alpha Grayson! Oh God—w-what’s going on here?!” “Nova,” Grayson said in a cold, dangerous voice, “stay here. Don’t let anyone leave.” “Yes, Alpha.” He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, one arm under my legs, the other around my back. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. Then he carried me through the crowd, into the store, and into a private room. When he set me down in a chair, I was still trembling and sobbing. He finally took off his coat and draped it over my legs, then crouched down in front of me. “You’re safe here,” he said. That’s when I broke down. Crying out loud. Everything—fear, shame, panic—everything spilled out in a messy, helpless flood. I clutched his wrist like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and for once… he didn’t pull away. He said nothing the whole time. Just stayed there with me until the sobs quieted. “Th-thank you…I’m better now.” I sniffled. He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. I trembled at the way he touched my skin. His voice was low, rough, and a little strained. “You’re starting to make me wonder, Miss Collins. If all these run-ins are just your way of getting my attention.”
🔞When My ex-brother-in-law took my virginity...His liquid spurts inslde and my eyes widen, "Wait we forgot a comdom!" …………………… Chapter 1 He Dumped Me Aria's POV I stood in front of the chapel. Pink roses and white lilies decorated every corner I saw—my favorite flowers. The guests were already seated in their designer dresses and pressed suits. And soon, at the end of the red carpet would stand the man I once loved, waiting to marry his bride. Everything was perfect. Except I wasn't the bride. "I really need to see Jace today." I begged the bodyguard blocking the door. A beat-up suitcase and two boxes sat at my feet—everything I owned in the world. "No you don’t. Get out of here," the bodyguard said icily. I saw it in his eyes—disgust. Yeah I get it. No one has sympathy for the crazy ex who shows up at the wedding. But I have my reason. "If you don't let me see him, I'll just stand here and all the guests will see me," I threatened under my breath. Jace wouldn't want that. Especially not today. Today he was marrying Delilah Hart. Sister to Alpha Grayson Hart of Redstone Pack. A 100% high-society darling. All the guys in the world knew that marrying Delilah would make their wealth skyrocket, including Jace. So he made the easy call—marrying the lady who could turn him from a small-town nobody into a golden boy. And dump the girl who stayed by his side for last 4 years when he had nothing. So it’s normal why he didn’t want any guests to see me here. I represented his broke, embarrassing past. He wanted me nowhere near his glossy, glittering new world. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of that. Like a knife was twisting in my chest. “Let me in or I’m starting to yell.” "Wait here." The bodyguard finally made a call. A few minutes later, he waved me in. I wiped my eyes and struggled into the hall with my suitcase and boxes. Instantly, I felt how out of place I was. Everything reeked of wealth here. Expensive perfume. Manicured nails. Not a hair out of place. It was everything you imagined about the upper-class and way more. And me? I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans. My sneakers had holes. "God, a homeless. She stinks." A woman mutter as I walked by. I just showered this morning. My hair still smelled like strawberries and coconut. But poverty had a scent, apparently. "Mr. Carter is inside. Make it quick." The guard took me to a closed door and warned. “Thank you.” The room inside looked like something out of a movie. Marble floors. Floor-length mirrors. A chandelier that probably cost more than my apartment. I hesitated for a second as I dragged my dirty luggage across the white carpet. And there he was. The man I used to love. Adjusting his bowtie in front of a mirror. He was still heartbreakingly handsome. No wonder Delilah fell for him. When he turned and fixed his gorgeous blue eyes upon me, I still felt my heart race. "Hey, Jace," I said quietly. And immediately wanted to punch myself. Hey, Jace? That’s the best I could do? His face was ice cold. "You shouldn't come. Your ratty suitcase, your ripped jeans, your Vans. None of that belongs here." Well if you wanted to be brutal and vicious, that’s how it’s done. "Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? You dumped me over a fucking email!" I snapped. He shrugged. "Look around you. The wealthiest people in the world came for me today. This suit I’m wearing cost more than you can make in your entire life. What more explanation do you want, Aria?" Wow. I always knew he was a cold, calculating bastard. I just didn’t realize how deep it ran. "Maybe chasing Alpha’s sister got you here faster. But you know what? When she finds out how cold and empty you are. You’ll lose it all." Anger flared across his face. "I know how to love. I just won't waste that on a small-town girl like you.” he said freezingly, “Are we done here?" “No.” I took a deep breath and got into the real reason I came. "You're marrying a rich girl. Fine. But why did you have to get me fired?" Yeah. I used to work for this jerk. From intern to full-time at Apex Corp, he was my supervisor. Our relationship was a secret. And just days ago, I found out he was getting married—and I was out of a job. He fired me. "Right, your job.” The jerk shrugged, “You got it because of me. Now that I’m not around, they finally saw how incompetent you are. Problem?" Was he fucking kidding me?! "I graduated top of my class. Made it through 7 rounds of interviews. My performance exceeded every quarterly target. I earned that job!" I cried. “Come on, Aria. You really gonna be so naïve?” He walked closer, smirking. "You passed the interviews because I said so. Your sales? I made those calls. Without me, you'd be nothing but a pretty face." He seized my chin and looked me over with a disgusting look. I slapped his hand away. "Give me my job back,” I hissed, my voice slightly trembling. “My dad’s debt. My grandma’s medical bills…I need the money. You of all people should know what it’s like to be poor. Don’t. Make. Me. Beg." I was throwing my pride at his feet. But he laughed. "Well, how about I offer you a deal?" he said as though he’d been waiting for this moment. He brushed my hair back, fingers trailing down to my collarbone. I shivered in disgust. "You never let me touch you. You were so clinging to that pathetic no-sex-before-marriage rule. Maybe it's time to grow up. Let me fuck you once and I’ll write you a check you can’t refuse. How does that sound?" I widened my eyes in shock. Then I slapped him. HARD. “WHAT THE FUCK! I’m getting married in front of everyone in fucking 10 minutes!” He roared covering his face. "Fuck you, Jace!” I yelled, “You're a spineless freeloading puss! And hey—congrats on the wedding. Hope your junk is soft like a fucking spaghetti tonight!" Then I stormed out dragging my suitcase and boxes, ignoring his angry curses behind me. Hot tears poured down as I dashed across the hallway. God this couldn’t be any worse. I was prepared to drop all my self-esteem and begged with my life because I needed the job and money. But I still let him get to me. Now what do I do? My salary barely covered my rent, my father’s debt and grandma’s bill. Now with my job gone, I already got kicked out by my landlord. I probably had to sleep in a park tonight. So do I go back and let that jerk win? Let him humiliate me...No. I’d rather die than that— "Hey, watch where you're going!" someone yelled. Too late. I slammed right into the man in front of me. He was tall—so tall I felt like I’d just walked into a brick wall. His diamond cufflink was sharp like a blade, and when we collided, it sliced clean through my thin T-shirt with a loud rip. In one second, the front of my shirt was torn open, exposing my white lace bra. “Ah!” I gasped and looked up. The man in front of me was so handsome. Like a statue carved by a master artist. Yet his expression so cold. He looked down at me, and I swear I was about to drown in those stormy gray eyes of his. And then I recognized who he was. This was Jace’s son-to-be brother-in-law. Alpha of Redstone Pack. CEO of Apex Corporation. THE legendary. Grayson Hart. “Aria Collins?” His voice was sexy and velvety. He lowered his head and his eyes dropped to the exposed part of my bra. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the color of his eyes seemed to darken as he stared. Wherever his gaze landed, my skin started burning up. But wait. How did he know my name? Chapter 2 With Ex's Brother-in-law Aria’s POV Of course I recognized him. God, who didn’t? I’d met him at an Apex gala. His face was on every finance magazine cover, and any time you turned on a TV, there he was—linked to the latest scandal with some actress or model. But there was no way he’d know who I was. “I-I… Hello, Alpha Grayson,” I stammered. He turned his eyes away and said to a nearby guard, “Escort Ms. Collins out.” “Yes, Alpha.” The guards stepped in immediately, stretching out their arms like I was some kind of contaminant that might taint Grayson’s perfectly tailored suit. “Wait a minute. You’re not going to say something about my shirt?” He paused—just for a second—then flicked a piece of paper down at my feet. I looked down. A blank check. “I need a shirt I can actually wear out of here. Not your hush money.” I gritted with humiliation. But he didn’t even glance back as he walked away. “God,” I muttered under my breath. Can you believe these rich bastards? They think they can buy everything with money. People nearby were all staring, snickering under their breath. I tried to cover my chest and grab my things to escape, but it was hard to do all that with just two hands. “Oh my god…Aria Collins?” Three girls emerged from the whispering crowd. I took one look at them and sighed internally. Great. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse. “Hello. Layla. Sabrina. Brielle.” I used to work in the same team with these girls back at Apex. We were all under Jace. They adored him—spent more time flirting with at the coffee machine than actually working. Which left me doing their share of the workload. After I got fired—and when news of my secret relationship with Jace got out—they decided I was public enemy number one. “What are you even doing here, Aria? Trying to win back your ex at his wedding? That’s a new low even for you,” Layla snickered. “I’m not here to win anyone back.” I tried to push past them. But they blocked me. “What happened to your shirt?” Brielle snickered. “Did you seriously walk in here with your bra out? Is this like some low-budget fashion statement?” They burst into laughter together. “You could be completely naked and Jace still wouldn’t give a damn,” Sabrina squeaked. “Because he’s marrying Delilah. THE Delilah Hart! Redstone Pack’s sweetheart. And you…well you’re just a poor-ass small-town girl.” I stopped in my track and gave them a cold glare, “Oh yeah? Well at least I’ve actually been with Jace. Do you know how many times I had to listen to him complained about your screechy voices and cheesy perfume? Apparently he rather be with a poor-ass small-town girl than any of you.” Their jaws dropped. “Jace would never say that!” Brielle cried. “Word for word,” I rolled my eyes. “Now move. Or I’m rolling this suitcase over your pretty little skirts.” They looked like ruffled chickens, but they parted. I quickly shoved my dingy luggage ahead like a weapon and stormed out of the church. Rich people were assholes. Grayson, Jace, and their whole damn minions. I struggled to get my suitcase down the steps, and once I hit the street, cold wind slapped me in the face. I had no idea where to go. I could crash in the hospital with my grandma for a night, but she’d ask too many questions. Like why I hadn’t brought Jace around recently, or why I wasn’t staying at my apartment. I didn’t want her knowing how bad things had gotten. I thought about the park. Sleeping on a bench. But in a ripped T-shirt that exposed my whole front? Horrible idea. So I texted my best friend, May, asking to stay at her place for a few days. She was my rock. If the whole world turned against me, at least I still had her. She texted back right away inviting me to come over. Dragging my suitcase across the street toward the bus stop, I told myself it was going to be okay. This horrible day was going to end. Then I heard them. “Hey, nice shirt!” A group of street wolves were loitering near the stop. I hugged myself tighter and curled into the bench, hoping they’d get bored and leave. “C’mon baby, drop your hands. Let us see what you’re working with.” Go away. Go away. Go away. “You rip that shirt yourself? Damn that’s wild. I like that in a girl.” One of them moved closer, reaching for my shoulder. “Get away from me!” I snapped, my voice shaking. But it only fired them up. “Oh, feisty. Shake those tits for me!” They grabbed my wrists, yanked my arms down. My T-shirt gaped open completely, revealing my lace bra. The cold air made my skin pebble. They laughed even louder. I struggled and screamed. My wolf growled in rage. Shifting in the city was illegal—but right now, I didn’t have a second choice— Just then. Blinding headlights. Followed by screeching tires. A black car skidded to a stop inches away. The door flew open. A deep voice thundered, “Get in.” I was too shocked that I didn’t think twice and obeyed. The car peeled away the second I shut the door. “My suitcase!” I cried. “Someone will get it,” he said darkly. “Address.” I told the driver May’s. Then he pressed a button. A privacy screen slid up between the front and back seats, sealing us in the back. That’s when he turned toward me and leaned in. Like a beast ready to pounce. His scent hit me like a punch—sharp pine mixed with cold metal. My head started to get dizzy. “Walking on the street in that shirt was a mistake,” he said sternly. “It got like this because of you,” I mumbled. He snorted. Then the sound of rustling fabric. A heavy jacket landed across my shoulders—it was still warm from his body and carried his scent. I held my breathe. Wearing his coat almost felt like…he was wrapping himself around me. “You—do you know me?” I whispered. My gut told me that he would never do this for a strange girl. But if he knew who I was, he must know that I was his sister’s husband’s ex. That didn’t explain why he would help. “We’ve met,” he said simply. I stared at him, searching those icy gray eyes. He was staring at me too, with that cold, hungry, possessive eyes. I felt like I was completely naked in front of him. “Aria,” he warned, voice thick and husky. But I couldn’t control myself. I was leaning forward. Shit. Why did my body become so weird? My skin was on fire. My panties were wet. All I wanted was more of his scent, more of his heat. The next second his lips were crashed onto mine—Hard. Rough. I gasped and opened my mouth for him. His tongue slipped in and explored every inch of my mouth, making me shiver. His hands pushed into my torn shirt and grabbed my waist. I couldn’t control my moan when he touched my naked skin. This was crazy! He was a stranger, and most importantly, my ex’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. And I was making out with him at the back of his car. The crazy part was I didn’t even want to stop. He lifted me onto his lap like I weighed nothing. I straddled his thighs and yanked at his tie as he bite my collarbone. Then, suddenly, the car stopped. “Alpha, we’ve arrived.” That’s when it all froze. His lips paused at my neck. I was still squirming on his lap, flushed and throbbing. But he shoved me off. “We can’t do this,” he said coldly. Chapter 3 You're Special To Him Aria’s POV “So you’re telling me this guy made out with you in the backseat of his car… and then just shoved you off like nothing happened?” May asked in shock. 20 minutes later, I was sitting at her place, wrapped in one of her oversized hoodies, a steaming mug of tea in my hands. But I was still reeling from everything that had just happened. “Yup,” I muttered. “Who knows what’s wrong with him.” “What an asshole,” she huffed. “But honestly, this really isn’t like you. You dated that jerk Jace for 4 years and didn’t even sleep with him—which, by the way, was a brilliant choice—and now you're suddenly making out with a complete stranger in his car?” I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. Yeah, she had a point. “I—I don’t know. Maybe it was the whole Jace-getting-married thing. Maybe I just snapped and wanted to screw around with someone hotter just to get back at him…Honestly, it was so stupid now that I think of it.” She grinned and wiggled her brows. “So… he was hot huh?” My cheeks flushed and my mind drifted back. Those stormy gray eyes, his perfectly shaped lips on my neck, and those arms that could pick me up like I weighed nothing…Shit I need to stop. “Yeah. VERY,” I whispered, hiding my red face behind the mug. May burst out laughing. “Now we’re talking! That’s exactly what you need right now—a drop-dead gorgeous rebound to get that loser Jace out of your system. Screw your ‘no sex before marriage’ rule. Life is short.” I gave her a weak smile. Honestly, I didn’t need a rebound. I needed a job, money, and a place to live. Grayson Hart was like dessert when you can’t even afford dinner. “So… do you even know who this guy was?” she asked. I hesitated. Right at this moment, the doorbell rang. She jumped up to get it and came back a few minutes later, hauling in my luggage, her face frozen in disbelief. “OMG. You are not gonna believe what just showed up outside.” “Umm… my luggage?” I joked. “Two fucking muscular guys in black suits and guns! And a freaking stretch limo! They called me ‘ma’am’ and said they hope Miss Aria has a wonderful evening. Now, you—” She leapt at me and shook me by the shoulders. “—you tell me right now who the hell you hooked up with!” I squealed and dropped into the couch with her, laughing and giggling breathlessly. “Okay, okay—I’ll tell you. It was… Grayson Hart.” I practically whispered his name. Because honestly, I still couldn’t believe it either. May froze, eyes wide as saucers. “Grayson—THE Grayson Hart?! As in our Alpha? The CEO of Apex?!” “And Jace’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. Now you know how stupid I was earlier?” She let out a full-on scream. Then she grabbed my hand, her face flushed with excitement. “Oh my God! Aria, do you know what this means? Alpha Grayson never even lends his jacket to his model girlfriends. He likes you. You’re special!” “No,” I said firmly. “If I was special, he wouldn’t have thrown me off his lap when I tried to take off his shirt.” “Maybe he had somewhere to be—” “Don’t, May. Let’s be real. Guys like him don’t fall for girls like me.” I took another sip of tea, hiding the ache in my chest. Hell even Jace thought I was beneath him. What chance did I have with Grayson freaking Hart? “Don’t be silly, Aria. You’re gorgeous. And smart and amazing and—WAIT! I just had the best idea ever.” “What?” “That arrogant jerk Jace thinks you’re just some small-town prude who wasn’t good enough for him right? But what if you ended up with Alpha Grayson? It’ll be easy to get him because he’s already obsessed. Oh, it would destroy Jace. That dickhead would never recover.” OKAY. I’d be lying if I said that exact scenario hadn’t crossed my mind when Grayson kissed me back. What girl hasn’t daydreamed about dating the perfect guy and getting revenge in the most dramatic way possible? But right now, I couldn’t afford to daydream. Reality was already breathing down my neck. “Tempting. But right now I need a job and enough cash to keep Grandma in her hospital bed. Dating rich dudes isn’t exactly high on my to-do list.” May looked at me with soft eyes. “So…any plans? I can try to hook you up with a job, but you know I just work at a coffee shop, and with your degree, you deserve so much more.” I hugged her. “Thank you. Really. I’ll figure something out. Apex promised me severance when they fired me, so I’m going to HR tomorrow to get it sorted.” If I could get that money, at least I’d be OK for the next round of Grandma’s medical bills. — The next morning, I showed up at Apex right on time. But the second Brielle walked in with the HR manager, I had a bad feeling. “What’s she doing here?” I asked coldly. “I’ll explain in a minute,” HR replied with a polite, rehearsed smile as she sat across from me. “So Ms. Collins, I understand you’re here to discuss severance?” “Yes. So let’s not waste time. Just give me the check and I’ll be out of here.” “Unfortunately, severance only applies when the company terminates a contract without cause. In your case… it appears you were let go due to misconduct.” Misconduct? What the freaking hell. “Jace made a snap decision and booted me. What misconduct are you talking about?” “But that’s not what Mr. Carter said. He provided evidence that you made a costly error on a sales quote—omitting a few zeroes, to be exact. Cost the company millions. Here’s the email record.” She handed me a printed sheet. I swore I had never sent this email in my life. But there it was—my name in the sender field. No freaking way. Jace forged this. “And Mr. Carter reported that you had a difficult attitude toward your coworkers. Quote: ‘impatient and arrogant.’ Brielle’s here to verify that.” Brielle twirled her hair and smiled smugly. “Yeah. Aria was a horrible team player.” I stood so fast my chair screeched. “The only thing I didn’t ‘teamplayed’ with you was flirt with the boss in the breakroom!” “Liar!” she yelled. “And I asked Jace. He never said my voice was screechy!” Oh my God. I couldn’t believe how stupid she was. “Sit down, Miss Collins,” HR warned. “As of now, not only are you not getting severance, but we’re also considering legal action to recover the losses. If you understand the situation here, sign this acknowledgement—” “Does Alpha Grayson know about this?” I asked. Both of them froze. After a long pause, HR finally found her voice. “What does Alpha Grayson have to do with any of this?” “He owns Apex, doesn’t he? Does he know his team is abusing their power and firing hardworking employees illegally?” HR frowned. Brielle let out a loud snort. “Please. Don’t act like you know Alpha Grayson.” “What if I do? What if I go to him and then it’s you who gets fired?” She laughed in my face. “Oh, you mean you know him on TV?” “Let’s find out.” I shoved my chair back and stormed out, heading straight for the CEO’s private elevator at the end of the hall. HR scrambled after me, shouting my name. I was too furious to care how this ended. All I wanted now was to blow the whole damn place up. Two guards stood by the elevator. “I need to see Alpha Grayson,” I told them. “Appointment?” “No, but I swear he knows me. Just tell him it’s Aria—from yesterday. He’ll remember.” “You aren’t the first girl here saying that,” one of them mocked. “Come on, Miss Collins,” HR snapped, trying to drag me back. “This is getting crazy. Go back, sign the paper. Take responsibility for your own mistake.” “I didn’t send that email. It was Jace—he’s framing me! I will report all of you.” “Alpha Grayson doesn’t have time for your report, or your visit, or any of your little drama!” “I believe no one but me has the right to decide that,” a cold voice said behind us. Chapter 4 Take Me, Please Aria’s POV A large hand grabbed my arm and pulled me away from HR’s grip. I looked up and my heart almost stopped. Even I couldn’t believe he just showed up here. It felt like a dream. “A-Alpha Grayson,” HR stammered, her face frozen with shock and fear. “I don’t need employees who think they can make decisions for their boss,” he said freezingly while wrapping his arm around my waist. “If I see something like this again, you’re fired.” “Y-yes, Alpha. I’m terribly sorry…” HR’s expression was priceless, but I was in no mood to enjoy it. His icy pine scent consumed me again, making my body weak and hot. My wolf let out a soft purr, urging me to lean into him. But before I could even move, he let go. A pang of disappointment hit me in the chest. “Come,” he said shortly, striding toward the private elevator. I shot HR and the stunned security guards a smug look, then hurried after him. He swiped his card and the elevator doors closed. We started going up to the 58th floor. It was dead silent. My heart was beating so wildly that I was afraid he’d hear it. I snuck a glance at him—he just stared straight ahead, emotionless, keeping a distance, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Unease twisted my stomach. “So, um… what brings you here today?” I broke the silence. He sighed softly. “I owe this company.” “Oh, Oh…Right.” I wanted to punch myself in the face. The awkward silence lingered until the elevator dinged open. The 58th floor was a wide-open space with no cubicles or dividers—just massive floor-to-ceiling windows and a sweeping view of the entire city. “Wow,” I whispered under my breath. Grayson was already walking ahead. I jogged to catch up as he led me into an office at the far end of the floor. A stunning female assistant closed the door behind us, and once again, it was just the two of us. My heart rocketed back into my throat. He casually unbuttoned his jacket. It was amazing how he made even that look sexy. “So you insisted on seeing me?” he asked. He didn’t ask me to sit. He didn’t even move closer. That distance stung a little. “I worked here till a week ago when I found out I was let go for no reason…” I quickly told him the story of how I was fired. “This is clearly illegal in so many ways… can you help me get my job back?” “Unfortunately, no,” he replied, barely hesitating. My heart dropped like a stone. “Why not?” “I’ll have the hiring department look into whether your termination followed proper protocol. But this isn’t something a CEO handles directly. Anything else?” The hiring department? That could take weeks—and I didn’t have weeks. “No… you don’t get it,” I stepped forward, my voice trembling. “My grandma’s in the hospital. Her bills are getting insane every month. And I’m already deep in debt… If I can’t make money, I don’t even know— I really, REALLY need this job.” I knew we came from two different worlds, but laying out the most desperate parts of my life in front of him still made me feel horribly exposed. I just hoped—begged—that he’d understand. But he didn’t. His gray eyes stayed emotionless. “I’m sorry, Miss Collins,” he said quietly. Tears rushed into my eyes. I couldn’t even breathe. All I could think about were the bills, the debt, the mountain of shit waiting for me the second I left this building. “If there’s nothing else, my assistant will show you out.” he said, reaching for the intercom. I rushed forward and pressed my hand down on his before he could call anyone in. His whole body stiffened—but he didn’t pull away. He just stared down at me. I stepped in closer, tilting my head up. His gray eyes darkened like a storm brewing in the distance. His pine scent wrapped around me again, thick and intoxicating. As werewolves, our scent only spikes during a fight or sexual arousal. It was damn obvious which case this was. “You clearly feel something for me,” I whispered. He said nothing. I placed my hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat. It was racing as well. His breathing had also turned shallow. “What are you doing, Miss Collins?” he asked tightly. “Trying to seduce your way into a job?” “You can do whatever you want,” I locked eyes with him. “I won’t stop you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. God, I wanted to lick it. And… well, I did. I leaned up and pressed my lips to it. He let out a growl. The next second, I was pinned on his desk. He stood between my spread legs, one hand by my head. I whimpered, clamping my thighs together—the heat between them was almost unbearable. Just like in the backseat of his car. His hand slid from the desk to my throat. It was so big, he could probably snap my neck if he wanted. “You shouldn’t keep tempting me, Miss Collins.” His body was pressed against my thighs—I definitely felt the effect I was having on him. “Why?” I whispered, licking my lips. “Because your self-control isn’t as strong as you thought?” “Because I don’t fuck virgins.” What the actual hell The next second, he had pulled away. I scrambled off the desk, face red, eyes wide. “What did you just say?!” I snapped. “Why—How the hell do you even know—?” “I know who you are. And I know about your relationship with my sister’s husband.” And just like that, everything clicked. It was Jace. That bastard didn’t just dump me—he ran his mouth about my virginity to everyone, including Grayson. Humiliation crashed over me like a wave. “Jace is a fucking asshole,” I snapped shakily. Grayson shrugged. “Obviously. But Brielle likes him. And he’s family now. I’m sorry but I just can’t get involved in this.” I climbed off his desk with my whole body red and shaking. He didn’t want me. And he was taking his sister and Jace’s side. I was so damn stupid to think that one kiss in the car actually meant anything. But this was Grayson Hart for Christ’s sake. He could have anyone he wanted. “I’m sure you’re a very capable employee, Miss Collins. But seducing me won’t help your career. I wish you all the best.” He finally pressed the intercom button. His assistant appeared at the door, waiting for me to leave. “Bye,” I whispered without even look back. I didn’t want him to notice my falling tears. I walked out of that office, numb, and rode the elevator down like a ghost. My mind was a storm of bills, debt, and Grayson’s ice-cold stare. Now I desperately needed a new job. “Miss Collins!” I turned and saw his assistant come rushing out again, holding an envelope. “Alpha Grayson asked me to give you this,” she said, handing it over. “What is it?” Why didn’t he give it to me earlier? “He didn’t say. Maybe you’ll know once you open it.” She gave me a mysterious smile and walked away. I opened the envelope. A blank check slid out first—I held my breath in shock. Then I found a crumpled note. His handwriting, rushed and messy. Haven’t repaid you for the shirt. Hope everything works out for you Aria. Stay strong. —Grayson Chapter 5 Getting My Attention Aria’s POV “That check clearly means something,” May insisted. “Come on. We’re not doing this again,” I sighed. “If he’s not into you, then why did he let his assistant come after you with a check? He probably saw you crying and couldn’t stand it. You should definitely go back and see him again.” “Nope,” I shut it down immediately. “I had one perfect, fairytale encounter with a rich bachelor. That’s enough. I’m not about to go back there and humiliate myself all over again.” “But—” “Hey, you two!” our manager yelled from the other end of the aisle. “Less talking, more working!” We rolled our eyes at each other and got back to inventory. May had helped me land this supermarket job. It was part of a chain under a big corporation, so the pay and benefits weren’t bad. May still thought it was beneath someone with my degree, but honestly, I was just grateful to be employed. Once we finished our section, the manager wandered off to shout at someone else, and May scooted back over to me. “Just imagine it,” she grinned. “You could write a couple million on that blank check and boom! Instant rich girl life.” “I’m not gonna do that.” “Sure you won’t. You’re too nice,” she muttered, half-admiring, half-scolding. “So? What are you gonna write?” I hesitated. At first, I actually considered writing the price of a shirt. 19.99 that was. Because apparently, my dignity still thinks it matters. But let’s be real, if Grayson was just trying to pay me back for a ripped tee, he would’ve handed his assistant a $20 bill, not a blank check. Maybe… he felt bad I lost my job too. “I’m going to write the amount I should’ve gotten in severance,” I admitted eventually. May's eyes bulged. “That’s it?!” “I know it’s not much, but it’s what I actually deserve. And it’ll help me cover two months of bills.” She sighed like I was letting go of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But my mind was made up. This was my chance to walk away from the mess. I still wanted to rip Jace’s smug face off, but the best revenge right now was surviving. 6 hours later, we finished our shift exhausted and aching. Everyone else got to clock out, but not me—I’d volunteered for night shift and closing duties. The staffs left one by one, yawning, including May. Finally I was alone in this big market. Now here’s the big secret— I actually lived here now. Nobody knew this, not even May. She thought I’d found a new apartment and moved out, but I just couldn’t keep bothering her anymore—her roommates were getting irritated with me hogging the living room and utilities. And renting my own place seemed way out of budget now. So I stayed in this supermarket instead. I closed up the store at night and opened it early in the morning. For the 5 or 6 hours in between, I made a bed out of my coat and slept on the floor near the refrigerated section. Now don’t ask me why I can’t sleep in the staff’s break room. That room was too hot without AC. At least it was cool by the freezer. Tonight I was extra exhausted. The manager made us girls haul too many heavy crates around. I passed out in seconds. But it felt like I’d only been asleep for five minutes—my alarm hadn’t even gone off yet—when I was jolted awake by someone screaming. “OH MY GOD—what the hell are you doing?!” I shot upright, completely disoriented. And froze. In front of me stood an entire group of people—including the manager and several guys in suits, all staring at me wide eyes. And I was only in a tank top and shorts. Half naked. OH GOD. What the hell—Is it morning already?! Why didn’t I hear my alarm? I scrambled to pull my clothes over my body, my hands shaking. The stares didn’t stop. They got more invasive. “Aria Collins! What the fuck are you doing?!” the manager stormed over and roared. “Napping half-naked in my fucking store?! Are you a fucking sex perv?!” My face went beet red, “No! I—I was just staying here temporarily—” “Temporarily?!” he yelled, eyes bulging. “I hired an employee, not a fucking squatter! How much water and electricity have you used free?! Are you stealing food too?!” “No I swear. I shut everything off when I’m done, I don’t use the water unless I have to. And I paid for everything I’ve eaten.” Tears blurred my vision as I tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening. His spit actually hit my cheek as he snarled. “Of all days—you had to pick the day corporate shows up to camp out in my perfect store. You filthy, disgusting little—” “Aria Collins?” A new voice called my name. It came from one of the suited men. I looked up—and my heart dropped. It was Jonathan. A former coworker from Apex. “Holy shit, it is you,” he grinned, raising his brows. “Almost didn’t recognize you at first.” “You… what are you doing here?” I stammered. “Apex owns this supermarket chain. We’re doing site inspections today,” he said with a smirk, his eyes trailing down to my bare legs. “Man! Most people hit rock bottom after getting fired from Apex, but you fall faster than anyone.” “I’m working. Making a decent living,” I said in shaky voice. “There’s no shame with that.” “Oh really?” he sneered. “Does your job include lying around half-naked on the floor? What is this, a new hooker gimmick?” The suits burst out laughing. My furious tears were on the verge of falling. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll fire her right away.” The manager groaned. “Hold up,” Jonathan drawled with a smirk. “This chick got fired from Apex for messing up a seven-figure deal. You might wanna check your inventory. She could be stealing.” “You know that’s a lie. Jace got me fired out of spite! I never made a mistake—” “Oh please,” he cut me off. “Everyone in the industry knows how you fucked up. Jace was so embarrassed that he had to apologize for you.” The manager grabbed my wrist. “Then you’re definitely stealing from this market as well. That’s it you are going to jail. When I figure out what you’ve taken, you must pay back everything!” My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t doubt for a second that the manager would come up with something that I didn’t steal, just like how Jace framed me before. It wasn’t hard for guys like them. But I couldn’t go to jail. My grandma had no one to count on but me. I can’t leave her. The wolf in me surfaced up the next second—I snarled at the manager, yanked my arm free, and ran. “Stop her!” someone shouted behind me. I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I had to escape. I bolted out of the store, desperate and horrified—and slammed right into a solid chest. “Get away from Alpha!” a bodyguard barked. But he pulled me in instead. “Aria?” I was still shaking involuntarily. He unbuttoned the front and wrapped me in, covering my half-naked body. “It’s OK.” his voice was deep with clear hint of rage. I clutched his shirt, gasping for air. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to breathe at all. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Yet I couldn’t make a sound. “She’s having a panic attack,” a woman said nearby. “Alpha, if I may—” I silently prayed him not to hand me over. And he didn’t. “It’s fine, Nova,” he refused. “Aria, you’re safe now. Breathe.” Panicked footsteps echoed behind us. Jonathan’s voice rang out, stunned: “Alpha Grayson! Oh God—w-what’s going on here?!” “Nova,” Grayson said in a cold, dangerous voice, “stay here. Don’t let anyone leave.” “Yes, Alpha.” He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, one arm under my legs, the other around my back. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. Then he carried me through the crowd, into the store, and into a private room. When he set me down in a chair, I was still trembling and sobbing. He finally took off his coat and draped it over my legs, then crouched down in front of me. “You’re safe here,” he said. That’s when I broke down. Crying out loud. Everything—fear, shame, panic—everything spilled out in a messy, helpless flood. I clutched his wrist like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and for once… he didn’t pull away. He said nothing the whole time. Just stayed there with me until the sobs quieted. “Th-thank you…I’m better now.” I sniffled. He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. I trembled at the way he touched my skin. His voice was low, rough, and a little strained. “You’re starting to make me wonder, Miss Collins. If all these run-ins are just your way of getting my attention.”
🔞When My ex-brother-in-law took my virginity...His liquid spurts inslde and my eyes widen, "Wait we forgot a comdom!" …………………… Chapter 1 He Dumped Me Aria's POV I stood in front of the chapel. Pink roses and white lilies decorated every corner I saw—my favorite flowers. The guests were already seated in their designer dresses and pressed suits. And soon, at the end of the red carpet would stand the man I once loved, waiting to marry his bride. Everything was perfect. Except I wasn't the bride. "I really need to see Jace today." I begged the bodyguard blocking the door. A beat-up suitcase and two boxes sat at my feet—everything I owned in the world. "No you don’t. Get out of here," the bodyguard said icily. I saw it in his eyes—disgust. Yeah I get it. No one has sympathy for the crazy ex who shows up at the wedding. But I have my reason. "If you don't let me see him, I'll just stand here and all the guests will see me," I threatened under my breath. Jace wouldn't want that. Especially not today. Today he was marrying Delilah Hart. Sister to Alpha Grayson Hart of Redstone Pack. A 100% high-society darling. All the guys in the world knew that marrying Delilah would make their wealth skyrocket, including Jace. So he made the easy call—marrying the lady who could turn him from a small-town nobody into a golden boy. And dump the girl who stayed by his side for last 4 years when he had nothing. So it’s normal why he didn’t want any guests to see me here. I represented his broke, embarrassing past. He wanted me nowhere near his glossy, glittering new world. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of that. Like a knife was twisting in my chest. “Let me in or I’m starting to yell.” "Wait here." The bodyguard finally made a call. A few minutes later, he waved me in. I wiped my eyes and struggled into the hall with my suitcase and boxes. Instantly, I felt how out of place I was. Everything reeked of wealth here. Expensive perfume. Manicured nails. Not a hair out of place. It was everything you imagined about the upper-class and way more. And me? I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans. My sneakers had holes. "God, a homeless. She stinks." A woman mutter as I walked by. I just showered this morning. My hair still smelled like strawberries and coconut. But poverty had a scent, apparently. "Mr. Carter is inside. Make it quick." The guard took me to a closed door and warned. “Thank you.” The room inside looked like something out of a movie. Marble floors. Floor-length mirrors. A chandelier that probably cost more than my apartment. I hesitated for a second as I dragged my dirty luggage across the white carpet. And there he was. The man I used to love. Adjusting his bowtie in front of a mirror. He was still heartbreakingly handsome. No wonder Delilah fell for him. When he turned and fixed his gorgeous blue eyes upon me, I still felt my heart race. "Hey, Jace," I said quietly. And immediately wanted to punch myself. Hey, Jace? That’s the best I could do? His face was ice cold. "You shouldn't come. Your ratty suitcase, your ripped jeans, your Vans. None of that belongs here." Well if you wanted to be brutal and vicious, that’s how it’s done. "Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? You dumped me over a fucking email!" I snapped. He shrugged. "Look around you. The wealthiest people in the world came for me today. This suit I’m wearing cost more than you can make in your entire life. What more explanation do you want, Aria?" Wow. I always knew he was a cold, calculating bastard. I just didn’t realize how deep it ran. "Maybe chasing Alpha’s sister got you here faster. But you know what? When she finds out how cold and empty you are. You’ll lose it all." Anger flared across his face. "I know how to love. I just won't waste that on a small-town girl like you.” he said freezingly, “Are we done here?" “No.” I took a deep breath and got into the real reason I came. "You're marrying a rich girl. Fine. But why did you have to get me fired?" Yeah. I used to work for this jerk. From intern to full-time at Apex Corp, he was my supervisor. Our relationship was a secret. And just days ago, I found out he was getting married—and I was out of a job. He fired me. "Right, your job.” The jerk shrugged, “You got it because of me. Now that I’m not around, they finally saw how incompetent you are. Problem?" Was he fucking kidding me?! "I graduated top of my class. Made it through 7 rounds of interviews. My performance exceeded every quarterly target. I earned that job!" I cried. “Come on, Aria. You really gonna be so naïve?” He walked closer, smirking. "You passed the interviews because I said so. Your sales? I made those calls. Without me, you'd be nothing but a pretty face." He seized my chin and looked me over with a disgusting look. I slapped his hand away. "Give me my job back,” I hissed, my voice slightly trembling. “My dad’s debt. My grandma’s medical bills…I need the money. You of all people should know what it’s like to be poor. Don’t. Make. Me. Beg." I was throwing my pride at his feet. But he laughed. "Well, how about I offer you a deal?" he said as though he’d been waiting for this moment. He brushed my hair back, fingers trailing down to my collarbone. I shivered in disgust. "You never let me touch you. You were so clinging to that pathetic no-sex-before-marriage rule. Maybe it's time to grow up. Let me fuck you once and I’ll write you a check you can’t refuse. How does that sound?" I widened my eyes in shock. Then I slapped him. HARD. “WHAT THE FUCK! I’m getting married in front of everyone in fucking 10 minutes!” He roared covering his face. "Fuck you, Jace!” I yelled, “You're a spineless freeloading puss! And hey—congrats on the wedding. Hope your junk is soft like a fucking spaghetti tonight!" Then I stormed out dragging my suitcase and boxes, ignoring his angry curses behind me. Hot tears poured down as I dashed across the hallway. God this couldn’t be any worse. I was prepared to drop all my self-esteem and begged with my life because I needed the job and money. But I still let him get to me. Now what do I do? My salary barely covered my rent, my father’s debt and grandma’s bill. Now with my job gone, I already got kicked out by my landlord. I probably had to sleep in a park tonight. So do I go back and let that jerk win? Let him humiliate me...No. I’d rather die than that— "Hey, watch where you're going!" someone yelled. Too late. I slammed right into the man in front of me. He was tall—so tall I felt like I’d just walked into a brick wall. His diamond cufflink was sharp like a blade, and when we collided, it sliced clean through my thin T-shirt with a loud rip. In one second, the front of my shirt was torn open, exposing my white lace bra. “Ah!” I gasped and looked up. The man in front of me was so handsome. Like a statue carved by a master artist. Yet his expression so cold. He looked down at me, and I swear I was about to drown in those stormy gray eyes of his. And then I recognized who he was. This was Jace’s son-to-be brother-in-law. Alpha of Redstone Pack. CEO of Apex Corporation. THE legendary. Grayson Hart. “Aria Collins?” His voice was sexy and velvety. He lowered his head and his eyes dropped to the exposed part of my bra. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the color of his eyes seemed to darken as he stared. Wherever his gaze landed, my skin started burning up. But wait. How did he know my name? Chapter 2 With Ex's Brother-in-law Aria’s POV Of course I recognized him. God, who didn’t? I’d met him at an Apex gala. His face was on every finance magazine cover, and any time you turned on a TV, there he was—linked to the latest scandal with some actress or model. But there was no way he’d know who I was. “I-I… Hello, Alpha Grayson,” I stammered. He turned his eyes away and said to a nearby guard, “Escort Ms. Collins out.” “Yes, Alpha.” The guards stepped in immediately, stretching out their arms like I was some kind of contaminant that might taint Grayson’s perfectly tailored suit. “Wait a minute. You’re not going to say something about my shirt?” He paused—just for a second—then flicked a piece of paper down at my feet. I looked down. A blank check. “I need a shirt I can actually wear out of here. Not your hush money.” I gritted with humiliation. But he didn’t even glance back as he walked away. “God,” I muttered under my breath. Can you believe these rich bastards? They think they can buy everything with money. People nearby were all staring, snickering under their breath. I tried to cover my chest and grab my things to escape, but it was hard to do all that with just two hands. “Oh my god…Aria Collins?” Three girls emerged from the whispering crowd. I took one look at them and sighed internally. Great. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse. “Hello. Layla. Sabrina. Brielle.” I used to work in the same team with these girls back at Apex. We were all under Jace. They adored him—spent more time flirting with at the coffee machine than actually working. Which left me doing their share of the workload. After I got fired—and when news of my secret relationship with Jace got out—they decided I was public enemy number one. “What are you even doing here, Aria? Trying to win back your ex at his wedding? That’s a new low even for you,” Layla snickered. “I’m not here to win anyone back.” I tried to push past them. But they blocked me. “What happened to your shirt?” Brielle snickered. “Did you seriously walk in here with your bra out? Is this like some low-budget fashion statement?” They burst into laughter together. “You could be completely naked and Jace still wouldn’t give a damn,” Sabrina squeaked. “Because he’s marrying Delilah. THE Delilah Hart! Redstone Pack’s sweetheart. And you…well you’re just a poor-ass small-town girl.” I stopped in my track and gave them a cold glare, “Oh yeah? Well at least I’ve actually been with Jace. Do you know how many times I had to listen to him complained about your screechy voices and cheesy perfume? Apparently he rather be with a poor-ass small-town girl than any of you.” Their jaws dropped. “Jace would never say that!” Brielle cried. “Word for word,” I rolled my eyes. “Now move. Or I’m rolling this suitcase over your pretty little skirts.” They looked like ruffled chickens, but they parted. I quickly shoved my dingy luggage ahead like a weapon and stormed out of the church. Rich people were assholes. Grayson, Jace, and their whole damn minions. I struggled to get my suitcase down the steps, and once I hit the street, cold wind slapped me in the face. I had no idea where to go. I could crash in the hospital with my grandma for a night, but she’d ask too many questions. Like why I hadn’t brought Jace around recently, or why I wasn’t staying at my apartment. I didn’t want her knowing how bad things had gotten. I thought about the park. Sleeping on a bench. But in a ripped T-shirt that exposed my whole front? Horrible idea. So I texted my best friend, May, asking to stay at her place for a few days. She was my rock. If the whole world turned against me, at least I still had her. She texted back right away inviting me to come over. Dragging my suitcase across the street toward the bus stop, I told myself it was going to be okay. This horrible day was going to end. Then I heard them. “Hey, nice shirt!” A group of street wolves were loitering near the stop. I hugged myself tighter and curled into the bench, hoping they’d get bored and leave. “C’mon baby, drop your hands. Let us see what you’re working with.” Go away. Go away. Go away. “You rip that shirt yourself? Damn that’s wild. I like that in a girl.” One of them moved closer, reaching for my shoulder. “Get away from me!” I snapped, my voice shaking. But it only fired them up. “Oh, feisty. Shake those tits for me!” They grabbed my wrists, yanked my arms down. My T-shirt gaped open completely, revealing my lace bra. The cold air made my skin pebble. They laughed even louder. I struggled and screamed. My wolf growled in rage. Shifting in the city was illegal—but right now, I didn’t have a second choice— Just then. Blinding headlights. Followed by screeching tires. A black car skidded to a stop inches away. The door flew open. A deep voice thundered, “Get in.” I was too shocked that I didn’t think twice and obeyed. The car peeled away the second I shut the door. “My suitcase!” I cried. “Someone will get it,” he said darkly. “Address.” I told the driver May’s. Then he pressed a button. A privacy screen slid up between the front and back seats, sealing us in the back. That’s when he turned toward me and leaned in. Like a beast ready to pounce. His scent hit me like a punch—sharp pine mixed with cold metal. My head started to get dizzy. “Walking on the street in that shirt was a mistake,” he said sternly. “It got like this because of you,” I mumbled. He snorted. Then the sound of rustling fabric. A heavy jacket landed across my shoulders—it was still warm from his body and carried his scent. I held my breathe. Wearing his coat almost felt like…he was wrapping himself around me. “You—do you know me?” I whispered. My gut told me that he would never do this for a strange girl. But if he knew who I was, he must know that I was his sister’s husband’s ex. That didn’t explain why he would help. “We’ve met,” he said simply. I stared at him, searching those icy gray eyes. He was staring at me too, with that cold, hungry, possessive eyes. I felt like I was completely naked in front of him. “Aria,” he warned, voice thick and husky. But I couldn’t control myself. I was leaning forward. Shit. Why did my body become so weird? My skin was on fire. My panties were wet. All I wanted was more of his scent, more of his heat. The next second his lips were crashed onto mine—Hard. Rough. I gasped and opened my mouth for him. His tongue slipped in and explored every inch of my mouth, making me shiver. His hands pushed into my torn shirt and grabbed my waist. I couldn’t control my moan when he touched my naked skin. This was crazy! He was a stranger, and most importantly, my ex’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. And I was making out with him at the back of his car. The crazy part was I didn’t even want to stop. He lifted me onto his lap like I weighed nothing. I straddled his thighs and yanked at his tie as he bite my collarbone. Then, suddenly, the car stopped. “Alpha, we’ve arrived.” That’s when it all froze. His lips paused at my neck. I was still squirming on his lap, flushed and throbbing. But he shoved me off. “We can’t do this,” he said coldly. Chapter 3 You're Special To Him Aria’s POV “So you’re telling me this guy made out with you in the backseat of his car… and then just shoved you off like nothing happened?” May asked in shock. 20 minutes later, I was sitting at her place, wrapped in one of her oversized hoodies, a steaming mug of tea in my hands. But I was still reeling from everything that had just happened. “Yup,” I muttered. “Who knows what’s wrong with him.” “What an asshole,” she huffed. “But honestly, this really isn’t like you. You dated that jerk Jace for 4 years and didn’t even sleep with him—which, by the way, was a brilliant choice—and now you're suddenly making out with a complete stranger in his car?” I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. Yeah, she had a point. “I—I don’t know. Maybe it was the whole Jace-getting-married thing. Maybe I just snapped and wanted to screw around with someone hotter just to get back at him…Honestly, it was so stupid now that I think of it.” She grinned and wiggled her brows. “So… he was hot huh?” My cheeks flushed and my mind drifted back. Those stormy gray eyes, his perfectly shaped lips on my neck, and those arms that could pick me up like I weighed nothing…Shit I need to stop. “Yeah. VERY,” I whispered, hiding my red face behind the mug. May burst out laughing. “Now we’re talking! That’s exactly what you need right now—a drop-dead gorgeous rebound to get that loser Jace out of your system. Screw your ‘no sex before marriage’ rule. Life is short.” I gave her a weak smile. Honestly, I didn’t need a rebound. I needed a job, money, and a place to live. Grayson Hart was like dessert when you can’t even afford dinner. “So… do you even know who this guy was?” she asked. I hesitated. Right at this moment, the doorbell rang. She jumped up to get it and came back a few minutes later, hauling in my luggage, her face frozen in disbelief. “OMG. You are not gonna believe what just showed up outside.” “Umm… my luggage?” I joked. “Two fucking muscular guys in black suits and guns! And a freaking stretch limo! They called me ‘ma’am’ and said they hope Miss Aria has a wonderful evening. Now, you—” She leapt at me and shook me by the shoulders. “—you tell me right now who the hell you hooked up with!” I squealed and dropped into the couch with her, laughing and giggling breathlessly. “Okay, okay—I’ll tell you. It was… Grayson Hart.” I practically whispered his name. Because honestly, I still couldn’t believe it either. May froze, eyes wide as saucers. “Grayson—THE Grayson Hart?! As in our Alpha? The CEO of Apex?!” “And Jace’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. Now you know how stupid I was earlier?” She let out a full-on scream. Then she grabbed my hand, her face flushed with excitement. “Oh my God! Aria, do you know what this means? Alpha Grayson never even lends his jacket to his model girlfriends. He likes you. You’re special!” “No,” I said firmly. “If I was special, he wouldn’t have thrown me off his lap when I tried to take off his shirt.” “Maybe he had somewhere to be—” “Don’t, May. Let’s be real. Guys like him don’t fall for girls like me.” I took another sip of tea, hiding the ache in my chest. Hell even Jace thought I was beneath him. What chance did I have with Grayson freaking Hart? “Don’t be silly, Aria. You’re gorgeous. And smart and amazing and—WAIT! I just had the best idea ever.” “What?” “That arrogant jerk Jace thinks you’re just some small-town prude who wasn’t good enough for him right? But what if you ended up with Alpha Grayson? It’ll be easy to get him because he’s already obsessed. Oh, it would destroy Jace. That dickhead would never recover.” OKAY. I’d be lying if I said that exact scenario hadn’t crossed my mind when Grayson kissed me back. What girl hasn’t daydreamed about dating the perfect guy and getting revenge in the most dramatic way possible? But right now, I couldn’t afford to daydream. Reality was already breathing down my neck. “Tempting. But right now I need a job and enough cash to keep Grandma in her hospital bed. Dating rich dudes isn’t exactly high on my to-do list.” May looked at me with soft eyes. “So…any plans? I can try to hook you up with a job, but you know I just work at a coffee shop, and with your degree, you deserve so much more.” I hugged her. “Thank you. Really. I’ll figure something out. Apex promised me severance when they fired me, so I’m going to HR tomorrow to get it sorted.” If I could get that money, at least I’d be OK for the next round of Grandma’s medical bills. — The next morning, I showed up at Apex right on time. But the second Brielle walked in with the HR manager, I had a bad feeling. “What’s she doing here?” I asked coldly. “I’ll explain in a minute,” HR replied with a polite, rehearsed smile as she sat across from me. “So Ms. Collins, I understand you’re here to discuss severance?” “Yes. So let’s not waste time. Just give me the check and I’ll be out of here.” “Unfortunately, severance only applies when the company terminates a contract without cause. In your case… it appears you were let go due to misconduct.” Misconduct? What the freaking hell. “Jace made a snap decision and booted me. What misconduct are you talking about?” “But that’s not what Mr. Carter said. He provided evidence that you made a costly error on a sales quote—omitting a few zeroes, to be exact. Cost the company millions. Here’s the email record.” She handed me a printed sheet. I swore I had never sent this email in my life. But there it was—my name in the sender field. No freaking way. Jace forged this. “And Mr. Carter reported that you had a difficult attitude toward your coworkers. Quote: ‘impatient and arrogant.’ Brielle’s here to verify that.” Brielle twirled her hair and smiled smugly. “Yeah. Aria was a horrible team player.” I stood so fast my chair screeched. “The only thing I didn’t ‘teamplayed’ with you was flirt with the boss in the breakroom!” “Liar!” she yelled. “And I asked Jace. He never said my voice was screechy!” Oh my God. I couldn’t believe how stupid she was. “Sit down, Miss Collins,” HR warned. “As of now, not only are you not getting severance, but we’re also considering legal action to recover the losses. If you understand the situation here, sign this acknowledgement—” “Does Alpha Grayson know about this?” I asked. Both of them froze. After a long pause, HR finally found her voice. “What does Alpha Grayson have to do with any of this?” “He owns Apex, doesn’t he? Does he know his team is abusing their power and firing hardworking employees illegally?” HR frowned. Brielle let out a loud snort. “Please. Don’t act like you know Alpha Grayson.” “What if I do? What if I go to him and then it’s you who gets fired?” She laughed in my face. “Oh, you mean you know him on TV?” “Let’s find out.” I shoved my chair back and stormed out, heading straight for the CEO’s private elevator at the end of the hall. HR scrambled after me, shouting my name. I was too furious to care how this ended. All I wanted now was to blow the whole damn place up. Two guards stood by the elevator. “I need to see Alpha Grayson,” I told them. “Appointment?” “No, but I swear he knows me. Just tell him it’s Aria—from yesterday. He’ll remember.” “You aren’t the first girl here saying that,” one of them mocked. “Come on, Miss Collins,” HR snapped, trying to drag me back. “This is getting crazy. Go back, sign the paper. Take responsibility for your own mistake.” “I didn’t send that email. It was Jace—he’s framing me! I will report all of you.” “Alpha Grayson doesn’t have time for your report, or your visit, or any of your little drama!” “I believe no one but me has the right to decide that,” a cold voice said behind us. Chapter 4 Take Me, Please Aria’s POV A large hand grabbed my arm and pulled me away from HR’s grip. I looked up and my heart almost stopped. Even I couldn’t believe he just showed up here. It felt like a dream. “A-Alpha Grayson,” HR stammered, her face frozen with shock and fear. “I don’t need employees who think they can make decisions for their boss,” he said freezingly while wrapping his arm around my waist. “If I see something like this again, you’re fired.” “Y-yes, Alpha. I’m terribly sorry…” HR’s expression was priceless, but I was in no mood to enjoy it. His icy pine scent consumed me again, making my body weak and hot. My wolf let out a soft purr, urging me to lean into him. But before I could even move, he let go. A pang of disappointment hit me in the chest. “Come,” he said shortly, striding toward the private elevator. I shot HR and the stunned security guards a smug look, then hurried after him. He swiped his card and the elevator doors closed. We started going up to the 58th floor. It was dead silent. My heart was beating so wildly that I was afraid he’d hear it. I snuck a glance at him—he just stared straight ahead, emotionless, keeping a distance, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Unease twisted my stomach. “So, um… what brings you here today?” I broke the silence. He sighed softly. “I owe this company.” “Oh, Oh…Right.” I wanted to punch myself in the face. The awkward silence lingered until the elevator dinged open. The 58th floor was a wide-open space with no cubicles or dividers—just massive floor-to-ceiling windows and a sweeping view of the entire city. “Wow,” I whispered under my breath. Grayson was already walking ahead. I jogged to catch up as he led me into an office at the far end of the floor. A stunning female assistant closed the door behind us, and once again, it was just the two of us. My heart rocketed back into my throat. He casually unbuttoned his jacket. It was amazing how he made even that look sexy. “So you insisted on seeing me?” he asked. He didn’t ask me to sit. He didn’t even move closer. That distance stung a little. “I worked here till a week ago when I found out I was let go for no reason…” I quickly told him the story of how I was fired. “This is clearly illegal in so many ways… can you help me get my job back?” “Unfortunately, no,” he replied, barely hesitating. My heart dropped like a stone. “Why not?” “I’ll have the hiring department look into whether your termination followed proper protocol. But this isn’t something a CEO handles directly. Anything else?” The hiring department? That could take weeks—and I didn’t have weeks. “No… you don’t get it,” I stepped forward, my voice trembling. “My grandma’s in the hospital. Her bills are getting insane every month. And I’m already deep in debt… If I can’t make money, I don’t even know— I really, REALLY need this job.” I knew we came from two different worlds, but laying out the most desperate parts of my life in front of him still made me feel horribly exposed. I just hoped—begged—that he’d understand. But he didn’t. His gray eyes stayed emotionless. “I’m sorry, Miss Collins,” he said quietly. Tears rushed into my eyes. I couldn’t even breathe. All I could think about were the bills, the debt, the mountain of shit waiting for me the second I left this building. “If there’s nothing else, my assistant will show you out.” he said, reaching for the intercom. I rushed forward and pressed my hand down on his before he could call anyone in. His whole body stiffened—but he didn’t pull away. He just stared down at me. I stepped in closer, tilting my head up. His gray eyes darkened like a storm brewing in the distance. His pine scent wrapped around me again, thick and intoxicating. As werewolves, our scent only spikes during a fight or sexual arousal. It was damn obvious which case this was. “You clearly feel something for me,” I whispered. He said nothing. I placed my hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat. It was racing as well. His breathing had also turned shallow. “What are you doing, Miss Collins?” he asked tightly. “Trying to seduce your way into a job?” “You can do whatever you want,” I locked eyes with him. “I won’t stop you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. God, I wanted to lick it. And… well, I did. I leaned up and pressed my lips to it. He let out a growl. The next second, I was pinned on his desk. He stood between my spread legs, one hand by my head. I whimpered, clamping my thighs together—the heat between them was almost unbearable. Just like in the backseat of his car. His hand slid from the desk to my throat. It was so big, he could probably snap my neck if he wanted. “You shouldn’t keep tempting me, Miss Collins.” His body was pressed against my thighs—I definitely felt the effect I was having on him. “Why?” I whispered, licking my lips. “Because your self-control isn’t as strong as you thought?” “Because I don’t fuck virgins.” What the actual hell The next second, he had pulled away. I scrambled off the desk, face red, eyes wide. “What did you just say?!” I snapped. “Why—How the hell do you even know—?” “I know who you are. And I know about your relationship with my sister’s husband.” And just like that, everything clicked. It was Jace. That bastard didn’t just dump me—he ran his mouth about my virginity to everyone, including Grayson. Humiliation crashed over me like a wave. “Jace is a fucking asshole,” I snapped shakily. Grayson shrugged. “Obviously. But Brielle likes him. And he’s family now. I’m sorry but I just can’t get involved in this.” I climbed off his desk with my whole body red and shaking. He didn’t want me. And he was taking his sister and Jace’s side. I was so damn stupid to think that one kiss in the car actually meant anything. But this was Grayson Hart for Christ’s sake. He could have anyone he wanted. “I’m sure you’re a very capable employee, Miss Collins. But seducing me won’t help your career. I wish you all the best.” He finally pressed the intercom button. His assistant appeared at the door, waiting for me to leave. “Bye,” I whispered without even look back. I didn’t want him to notice my falling tears. I walked out of that office, numb, and rode the elevator down like a ghost. My mind was a storm of bills, debt, and Grayson’s ice-cold stare. Now I desperately needed a new job. “Miss Collins!” I turned and saw his assistant come rushing out again, holding an envelope. “Alpha Grayson asked me to give you this,” she said, handing it over. “What is it?” Why didn’t he give it to me earlier? “He didn’t say. Maybe you’ll know once you open it.” She gave me a mysterious smile and walked away. I opened the envelope. A blank check slid out first—I held my breath in shock. Then I found a crumpled note. His handwriting, rushed and messy. Haven’t repaid you for the shirt. Hope everything works out for you Aria. Stay strong. —Grayson Chapter 5 Getting My Attention Aria’s POV “That check clearly means something,” May insisted. “Come on. We’re not doing this again,” I sighed. “If he’s not into you, then why did he let his assistant come after you with a check? He probably saw you crying and couldn’t stand it. You should definitely go back and see him again.” “Nope,” I shut it down immediately. “I had one perfect, fairytale encounter with a rich bachelor. That’s enough. I’m not about to go back there and humiliate myself all over again.” “But—” “Hey, you two!” our manager yelled from the other end of the aisle. “Less talking, more working!” We rolled our eyes at each other and got back to inventory. May had helped me land this supermarket job. It was part of a chain under a big corporation, so the pay and benefits weren’t bad. May still thought it was beneath someone with my degree, but honestly, I was just grateful to be employed. Once we finished our section, the manager wandered off to shout at someone else, and May scooted back over to me. “Just imagine it,” she grinned. “You could write a couple million on that blank check and boom! Instant rich girl life.” “I’m not gonna do that.” “Sure you won’t. You’re too nice,” she muttered, half-admiring, half-scolding. “So? What are you gonna write?” I hesitated. At first, I actually considered writing the price of a shirt. 19.99 that was. Because apparently, my dignity still thinks it matters. But let’s be real, if Grayson was just trying to pay me back for a ripped tee, he would’ve handed his assistant a $20 bill, not a blank check. Maybe… he felt bad I lost my job too. “I’m going to write the amount I should’ve gotten in severance,” I admitted eventually. May's eyes bulged. “That’s it?!” “I know it’s not much, but it’s what I actually deserve. And it’ll help me cover two months of bills.” She sighed like I was letting go of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But my mind was made up. This was my chance to walk away from the mess. I still wanted to rip Jace’s smug face off, but the best revenge right now was surviving. 6 hours later, we finished our shift exhausted and aching. Everyone else got to clock out, but not me—I’d volunteered for night shift and closing duties. The staffs left one by one, yawning, including May. Finally I was alone in this big market. Now here’s the big secret— I actually lived here now. Nobody knew this, not even May. She thought I’d found a new apartment and moved out, but I just couldn’t keep bothering her anymore—her roommates were getting irritated with me hogging the living room and utilities. And renting my own place seemed way out of budget now. So I stayed in this supermarket instead. I closed up the store at night and opened it early in the morning. For the 5 or 6 hours in between, I made a bed out of my coat and slept on the floor near the refrigerated section. Now don’t ask me why I can’t sleep in the staff’s break room. That room was too hot without AC. At least it was cool by the freezer. Tonight I was extra exhausted. The manager made us girls haul too many heavy crates around. I passed out in seconds. But it felt like I’d only been asleep for five minutes—my alarm hadn’t even gone off yet—when I was jolted awake by someone screaming. “OH MY GOD—what the hell are you doing?!” I shot upright, completely disoriented. And froze. In front of me stood an entire group of people—including the manager and several guys in suits, all staring at me wide eyes. And I was only in a tank top and shorts. Half naked. OH GOD. What the hell—Is it morning already?! Why didn’t I hear my alarm? I scrambled to pull my clothes over my body, my hands shaking. The stares didn’t stop. They got more invasive. “Aria Collins! What the fuck are you doing?!” the manager stormed over and roared. “Napping half-naked in my fucking store?! Are you a fucking sex perv?!” My face went beet red, “No! I—I was just staying here temporarily—” “Temporarily?!” he yelled, eyes bulging. “I hired an employee, not a fucking squatter! How much water and electricity have you used free?! Are you stealing food too?!” “No I swear. I shut everything off when I’m done, I don’t use the water unless I have to. And I paid for everything I’ve eaten.” Tears blurred my vision as I tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening. His spit actually hit my cheek as he snarled. “Of all days—you had to pick the day corporate shows up to camp out in my perfect store. You filthy, disgusting little—” “Aria Collins?” A new voice called my name. It came from one of the suited men. I looked up—and my heart dropped. It was Jonathan. A former coworker from Apex. “Holy shit, it is you,” he grinned, raising his brows. “Almost didn’t recognize you at first.” “You… what are you doing here?” I stammered. “Apex owns this supermarket chain. We’re doing site inspections today,” he said with a smirk, his eyes trailing down to my bare legs. “Man! Most people hit rock bottom after getting fired from Apex, but you fall faster than anyone.” “I’m working. Making a decent living,” I said in shaky voice. “There’s no shame with that.” “Oh really?” he sneered. “Does your job include lying around half-naked on the floor? What is this, a new hooker gimmick?” The suits burst out laughing. My furious tears were on the verge of falling. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll fire her right away.” The manager groaned. “Hold up,” Jonathan drawled with a smirk. “This chick got fired from Apex for messing up a seven-figure deal. You might wanna check your inventory. She could be stealing.” “You know that’s a lie. Jace got me fired out of spite! I never made a mistake—” “Oh please,” he cut me off. “Everyone in the industry knows how you fucked up. Jace was so embarrassed that he had to apologize for you.” The manager grabbed my wrist. “Then you’re definitely stealing from this market as well. That’s it you are going to jail. When I figure out what you’ve taken, you must pay back everything!” My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t doubt for a second that the manager would come up with something that I didn’t steal, just like how Jace framed me before. It wasn’t hard for guys like them. But I couldn’t go to jail. My grandma had no one to count on but me. I can’t leave her. The wolf in me surfaced up the next second—I snarled at the manager, yanked my arm free, and ran. “Stop her!” someone shouted behind me. I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I had to escape. I bolted out of the store, desperate and horrified—and slammed right into a solid chest. “Get away from Alpha!” a bodyguard barked. But he pulled me in instead. “Aria?” I was still shaking involuntarily. He unbuttoned the front and wrapped me in, covering my half-naked body. “It’s OK.” his voice was deep with clear hint of rage. I clutched his shirt, gasping for air. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to breathe at all. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Yet I couldn’t make a sound. “She’s having a panic attack,” a woman said nearby. “Alpha, if I may—” I silently prayed him not to hand me over. And he didn’t. “It’s fine, Nova,” he refused. “Aria, you’re safe now. Breathe.” Panicked footsteps echoed behind us. Jonathan’s voice rang out, stunned: “Alpha Grayson! Oh God—w-what’s going on here?!” “Nova,” Grayson said in a cold, dangerous voice, “stay here. Don’t let anyone leave.” “Yes, Alpha.” He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, one arm under my legs, the other around my back. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. Then he carried me through the crowd, into the store, and into a private room. When he set me down in a chair, I was still trembling and sobbing. He finally took off his coat and draped it over my legs, then crouched down in front of me. “You’re safe here,” he said. That’s when I broke down. Crying out loud. Everything—fear, shame, panic—everything spilled out in a messy, helpless flood. I clutched his wrist like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and for once… he didn’t pull away. He said nothing the whole time. Just stayed there with me until the sobs quieted. “Th-thank you…I’m better now.” I sniffled. He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. I trembled at the way he touched my skin. His voice was low, rough, and a little strained. “You’re starting to make me wonder, Miss Collins. If all these run-ins are just your way of getting my attention.”
🔞When My ex-brother-in-law took my virginity...His liquid spurts inslde and my eyes widen, "Wait we forgot a comdom!" …………………… Chapter 1 He Dumped Me Aria's POV I stood in front of the chapel. Pink roses and white lilies decorated every corner I saw—my favorite flowers. The guests were already seated in their designer dresses and pressed suits. And soon, at the end of the red carpet would stand the man I once loved, waiting to marry his bride. Everything was perfect. Except I wasn't the bride. "I really need to see Jace today." I begged the bodyguard blocking the door. A beat-up suitcase and two boxes sat at my feet—everything I owned in the world. "No you don’t. Get out of here," the bodyguard said icily. I saw it in his eyes—disgust. Yeah I get it. No one has sympathy for the crazy ex who shows up at the wedding. But I have my reason. "If you don't let me see him, I'll just stand here and all the guests will see me," I threatened under my breath. Jace wouldn't want that. Especially not today. Today he was marrying Delilah Hart. Sister to Alpha Grayson Hart of Redstone Pack. A 100% high-society darling. All the guys in the world knew that marrying Delilah would make their wealth skyrocket, including Jace. So he made the easy call—marrying the lady who could turn him from a small-town nobody into a golden boy. And dump the girl who stayed by his side for last 4 years when he had nothing. So it’s normal why he didn’t want any guests to see me here. I represented his broke, embarrassing past. He wanted me nowhere near his glossy, glittering new world. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of that. Like a knife was twisting in my chest. “Let me in or I’m starting to yell.” "Wait here." The bodyguard finally made a call. A few minutes later, he waved me in. I wiped my eyes and struggled into the hall with my suitcase and boxes. Instantly, I felt how out of place I was. Everything reeked of wealth here. Expensive perfume. Manicured nails. Not a hair out of place. It was everything you imagined about the upper-class and way more. And me? I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans. My sneakers had holes. "God, a homeless. She stinks." A woman mutter as I walked by. I just showered this morning. My hair still smelled like strawberries and coconut. But poverty had a scent, apparently. "Mr. Carter is inside. Make it quick." The guard took me to a closed door and warned. “Thank you.” The room inside looked like something out of a movie. Marble floors. Floor-length mirrors. A chandelier that probably cost more than my apartment. I hesitated for a second as I dragged my dirty luggage across the white carpet. And there he was. The man I used to love. Adjusting his bowtie in front of a mirror. He was still heartbreakingly handsome. No wonder Delilah fell for him. When he turned and fixed his gorgeous blue eyes upon me, I still felt my heart race. "Hey, Jace," I said quietly. And immediately wanted to punch myself. Hey, Jace? That’s the best I could do? His face was ice cold. "You shouldn't come. Your ratty suitcase, your ripped jeans, your Vans. None of that belongs here." Well if you wanted to be brutal and vicious, that’s how it’s done. "Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? You dumped me over a fucking email!" I snapped. He shrugged. "Look around you. The wealthiest people in the world came for me today. This suit I’m wearing cost more than you can make in your entire life. What more explanation do you want, Aria?" Wow. I always knew he was a cold, calculating bastard. I just didn’t realize how deep it ran. "Maybe chasing Alpha’s sister got you here faster. But you know what? When she finds out how cold and empty you are. You’ll lose it all." Anger flared across his face. "I know how to love. I just won't waste that on a small-town girl like you.” he said freezingly, “Are we done here?" “No.” I took a deep breath and got into the real reason I came. "You're marrying a rich girl. Fine. But why did you have to get me fired?" Yeah. I used to work for this jerk. From intern to full-time at Apex Corp, he was my supervisor. Our relationship was a secret. And just days ago, I found out he was getting married—and I was out of a job. He fired me. "Right, your job.” The jerk shrugged, “You got it because of me. Now that I’m not around, they finally saw how incompetent you are. Problem?" Was he fucking kidding me?! "I graduated top of my class. Made it through 7 rounds of interviews. My performance exceeded every quarterly target. I earned that job!" I cried. “Come on, Aria. You really gonna be so naïve?” He walked closer, smirking. "You passed the interviews because I said so. Your sales? I made those calls. Without me, you'd be nothing but a pretty face." He seized my chin and looked me over with a disgusting look. I slapped his hand away. "Give me my job back,” I hissed, my voice slightly trembling. “My dad’s debt. My grandma’s medical bills…I need the money. You of all people should know what it’s like to be poor. Don’t. Make. Me. Beg." I was throwing my pride at his feet. But he laughed. "Well, how about I offer you a deal?" he said as though he’d been waiting for this moment. He brushed my hair back, fingers trailing down to my collarbone. I shivered in disgust. "You never let me touch you. You were so clinging to that pathetic no-sex-before-marriage rule. Maybe it's time to grow up. Let me fuck you once and I’ll write you a check you can’t refuse. How does that sound?" I widened my eyes in shock. Then I slapped him. HARD. “WHAT THE FUCK! I’m getting married in front of everyone in fucking 10 minutes!” He roared covering his face. "Fuck you, Jace!” I yelled, “You're a spineless freeloading puss! And hey—congrats on the wedding. Hope your junk is soft like a fucking spaghetti tonight!" Then I stormed out dragging my suitcase and boxes, ignoring his angry curses behind me. Hot tears poured down as I dashed across the hallway. God this couldn’t be any worse. I was prepared to drop all my self-esteem and begged with my life because I needed the job and money. But I still let him get to me. Now what do I do? My salary barely covered my rent, my father’s debt and grandma’s bill. Now with my job gone, I already got kicked out by my landlord. I probably had to sleep in a park tonight. So do I go back and let that jerk win? Let him humiliate me...No. I’d rather die than that— "Hey, watch where you're going!" someone yelled. Too late. I slammed right into the man in front of me. He was tall—so tall I felt like I’d just walked into a brick wall. His diamond cufflink was sharp like a blade, and when we collided, it sliced clean through my thin T-shirt with a loud rip. In one second, the front of my shirt was torn open, exposing my white lace bra. “Ah!” I gasped and looked up. The man in front of me was so handsome. Like a statue carved by a master artist. Yet his expression so cold. He looked down at me, and I swear I was about to drown in those stormy gray eyes of his. And then I recognized who he was. This was Jace’s son-to-be brother-in-law. Alpha of Redstone Pack. CEO of Apex Corporation. THE legendary. Grayson Hart. “Aria Collins?” His voice was sexy and velvety. He lowered his head and his eyes dropped to the exposed part of my bra. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the color of his eyes seemed to darken as he stared. Wherever his gaze landed, my skin started burning up. But wait. How did he know my name? Chapter 2 With Ex's Brother-in-law Aria’s POV Of course I recognized him. God, who didn’t? I’d met him at an Apex gala. His face was on every finance magazine cover, and any time you turned on a TV, there he was—linked to the latest scandal with some actress or model. But there was no way he’d know who I was. “I-I… Hello, Alpha Grayson,” I stammered. He turned his eyes away and said to a nearby guard, “Escort Ms. Collins out.” “Yes, Alpha.” The guards stepped in immediately, stretching out their arms like I was some kind of contaminant that might taint Grayson’s perfectly tailored suit. “Wait a minute. You’re not going to say something about my shirt?” He paused—just for a second—then flicked a piece of paper down at my feet. I looked down. A blank check. “I need a shirt I can actually wear out of here. Not your hush money.” I gritted with humiliation. But he didn’t even glance back as he walked away. “God,” I muttered under my breath. Can you believe these rich bastards? They think they can buy everything with money. People nearby were all staring, snickering under their breath. I tried to cover my chest and grab my things to escape, but it was hard to do all that with just two hands. “Oh my god…Aria Collins?” Three girls emerged from the whispering crowd. I took one look at them and sighed internally. Great. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse. “Hello. Layla. Sabrina. Brielle.” I used to work in the same team with these girls back at Apex. We were all under Jace. They adored him—spent more time flirting with at the coffee machine than actually working. Which left me doing their share of the workload. After I got fired—and when news of my secret relationship with Jace got out—they decided I was public enemy number one. “What are you even doing here, Aria? Trying to win back your ex at his wedding? That’s a new low even for you,” Layla snickered. “I’m not here to win anyone back.” I tried to push past them. But they blocked me. “What happened to your shirt?” Brielle snickered. “Did you seriously walk in here with your bra out? Is this like some low-budget fashion statement?” They burst into laughter together. “You could be completely naked and Jace still wouldn’t give a damn,” Sabrina squeaked. “Because he’s marrying Delilah. THE Delilah Hart! Redstone Pack’s sweetheart. And you…well you’re just a poor-ass small-town girl.” I stopped in my track and gave them a cold glare, “Oh yeah? Well at least I’ve actually been with Jace. Do you know how many times I had to listen to him complained about your screechy voices and cheesy perfume? Apparently he rather be with a poor-ass small-town girl than any of you.” Their jaws dropped. “Jace would never say that!” Brielle cried. “Word for word,” I rolled my eyes. “Now move. Or I’m rolling this suitcase over your pretty little skirts.” They looked like ruffled chickens, but they parted. I quickly shoved my dingy luggage ahead like a weapon and stormed out of the church. Rich people were assholes. Grayson, Jace, and their whole damn minions. I struggled to get my suitcase down the steps, and once I hit the street, cold wind slapped me in the face. I had no idea where to go. I could crash in the hospital with my grandma for a night, but she’d ask too many questions. Like why I hadn’t brought Jace around recently, or why I wasn’t staying at my apartment. I didn’t want her knowing how bad things had gotten. I thought about the park. Sleeping on a bench. But in a ripped T-shirt that exposed my whole front? Horrible idea. So I texted my best friend, May, asking to stay at her place for a few days. She was my rock. If the whole world turned against me, at least I still had her. She texted back right away inviting me to come over. Dragging my suitcase across the street toward the bus stop, I told myself it was going to be okay. This horrible day was going to end. Then I heard them. “Hey, nice shirt!” A group of street wolves were loitering near the stop. I hugged myself tighter and curled into the bench, hoping they’d get bored and leave. “C’mon baby, drop your hands. Let us see what you’re working with.” Go away. Go away. Go away. “You rip that shirt yourself? Damn that’s wild. I like that in a girl.” One of them moved closer, reaching for my shoulder. “Get away from me!” I snapped, my voice shaking. But it only fired them up. “Oh, feisty. Shake those tits for me!” They grabbed my wrists, yanked my arms down. My T-shirt gaped open completely, revealing my lace bra. The cold air made my skin pebble. They laughed even louder. I struggled and screamed. My wolf growled in rage. Shifting in the city was illegal—but right now, I didn’t have a second choice— Just then. Blinding headlights. Followed by screeching tires. A black car skidded to a stop inches away. The door flew open. A deep voice thundered, “Get in.” I was too shocked that I didn’t think twice and obeyed. The car peeled away the second I shut the door. “My suitcase!” I cried. “Someone will get it,” he said darkly. “Address.” I told the driver May’s. Then he pressed a button. A privacy screen slid up between the front and back seats, sealing us in the back. That’s when he turned toward me and leaned in. Like a beast ready to pounce. His scent hit me like a punch—sharp pine mixed with cold metal. My head started to get dizzy. “Walking on the street in that shirt was a mistake,” he said sternly. “It got like this because of you,” I mumbled. He snorted. Then the sound of rustling fabric. A heavy jacket landed across my shoulders—it was still warm from his body and carried his scent. I held my breathe. Wearing his coat almost felt like…he was wrapping himself around me. “You—do you know me?” I whispered. My gut told me that he would never do this for a strange girl. But if he knew who I was, he must know that I was his sister’s husband’s ex. That didn’t explain why he would help. “We’ve met,” he said simply. I stared at him, searching those icy gray eyes. He was staring at me too, with that cold, hungry, possessive eyes. I felt like I was completely naked in front of him. “Aria,” he warned, voice thick and husky. But I couldn’t control myself. I was leaning forward. Shit. Why did my body become so weird? My skin was on fire. My panties were wet. All I wanted was more of his scent, more of his heat. The next second his lips were crashed onto mine—Hard. Rough. I gasped and opened my mouth for him. His tongue slipped in and explored every inch of my mouth, making me shiver. His hands pushed into my torn shirt and grabbed my waist. I couldn’t control my moan when he touched my naked skin. This was crazy! He was a stranger, and most importantly, my ex’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. And I was making out with him at the back of his car. The crazy part was I didn’t even want to stop. He lifted me onto his lap like I weighed nothing. I straddled his thighs and yanked at his tie as he bite my collarbone. Then, suddenly, the car stopped. “Alpha, we’ve arrived.” That’s when it all froze. His lips paused at my neck. I was still squirming on his lap, flushed and throbbing. But he shoved me off. “We can’t do this,” he said coldly. Chapter 3 You're Special To Him Aria’s POV “So you’re telling me this guy made out with you in the backseat of his car… and then just shoved you off like nothing happened?” May asked in shock. 20 minutes later, I was sitting at her place, wrapped in one of her oversized hoodies, a steaming mug of tea in my hands. But I was still reeling from everything that had just happened. “Yup,” I muttered. “Who knows what’s wrong with him.” “What an asshole,” she huffed. “But honestly, this really isn’t like you. You dated that jerk Jace for 4 years and didn’t even sleep with him—which, by the way, was a brilliant choice—and now you're suddenly making out with a complete stranger in his car?” I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. Yeah, she had a point. “I—I don’t know. Maybe it was the whole Jace-getting-married thing. Maybe I just snapped and wanted to screw around with someone hotter just to get back at him…Honestly, it was so stupid now that I think of it.” She grinned and wiggled her brows. “So… he was hot huh?” My cheeks flushed and my mind drifted back. Those stormy gray eyes, his perfectly shaped lips on my neck, and those arms that could pick me up like I weighed nothing…Shit I need to stop. “Yeah. VERY,” I whispered, hiding my red face behind the mug. May burst out laughing. “Now we’re talking! That’s exactly what you need right now—a drop-dead gorgeous rebound to get that loser Jace out of your system. Screw your ‘no sex before marriage’ rule. Life is short.” I gave her a weak smile. Honestly, I didn’t need a rebound. I needed a job, money, and a place to live. Grayson Hart was like dessert when you can’t even afford dinner. “So… do you even know who this guy was?” she asked. I hesitated. Right at this moment, the doorbell rang. She jumped up to get it and came back a few minutes later, hauling in my luggage, her face frozen in disbelief. “OMG. You are not gonna believe what just showed up outside.” “Umm… my luggage?” I joked. “Two fucking muscular guys in black suits and guns! And a freaking stretch limo! They called me ‘ma’am’ and said they hope Miss Aria has a wonderful evening. Now, you—” She leapt at me and shook me by the shoulders. “—you tell me right now who the hell you hooked up with!” I squealed and dropped into the couch with her, laughing and giggling breathlessly. “Okay, okay—I’ll tell you. It was… Grayson Hart.” I practically whispered his name. Because honestly, I still couldn’t believe it either. May froze, eyes wide as saucers. “Grayson—THE Grayson Hart?! As in our Alpha? The CEO of Apex?!” “And Jace’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. Now you know how stupid I was earlier?” She let out a full-on scream. Then she grabbed my hand, her face flushed with excitement. “Oh my God! Aria, do you know what this means? Alpha Grayson never even lends his jacket to his model girlfriends. He likes you. You’re special!” “No,” I said firmly. “If I was special, he wouldn’t have thrown me off his lap when I tried to take off his shirt.” “Maybe he had somewhere to be—” “Don’t, May. Let’s be real. Guys like him don’t fall for girls like me.” I took another sip of tea, hiding the ache in my chest. Hell even Jace thought I was beneath him. What chance did I have with Grayson freaking Hart? “Don’t be silly, Aria. You’re gorgeous. And smart and amazing and—WAIT! I just had the best idea ever.” “What?” “That arrogant jerk Jace thinks you’re just some small-town prude who wasn’t good enough for him right? But what if you ended up with Alpha Grayson? It’ll be easy to get him because he’s already obsessed. Oh, it would destroy Jace. That dickhead would never recover.” OKAY. I’d be lying if I said that exact scenario hadn’t crossed my mind when Grayson kissed me back. What girl hasn’t daydreamed about dating the perfect guy and getting revenge in the most dramatic way possible? But right now, I couldn’t afford to daydream. Reality was already breathing down my neck. “Tempting. But right now I need a job and enough cash to keep Grandma in her hospital bed. Dating rich dudes isn’t exactly high on my to-do list.” May looked at me with soft eyes. “So…any plans? I can try to hook you up with a job, but you know I just work at a coffee shop, and with your degree, you deserve so much more.” I hugged her. “Thank you. Really. I’ll figure something out. Apex promised me severance when they fired me, so I’m going to HR tomorrow to get it sorted.” If I could get that money, at least I’d be OK for the next round of Grandma’s medical bills. — The next morning, I showed up at Apex right on time. But the second Brielle walked in with the HR manager, I had a bad feeling. “What’s she doing here?” I asked coldly. “I’ll explain in a minute,” HR replied with a polite, rehearsed smile as she sat across from me. “So Ms. Collins, I understand you’re here to discuss severance?” “Yes. So let’s not waste time. Just give me the check and I’ll be out of here.” “Unfortunately, severance only applies when the company terminates a contract without cause. In your case… it appears you were let go due to misconduct.” Misconduct? What the freaking hell. “Jace made a snap decision and booted me. What misconduct are you talking about?” “But that’s not what Mr. Carter said. He provided evidence that you made a costly error on a sales quote—omitting a few zeroes, to be exact. Cost the company millions. Here’s the email record.” She handed me a printed sheet. I swore I had never sent this email in my life. But there it was—my name in the sender field. No freaking way. Jace forged this. “And Mr. Carter reported that you had a difficult attitude toward your coworkers. Quote: ‘impatient and arrogant.’ Brielle’s here to verify that.” Brielle twirled her hair and smiled smugly. “Yeah. Aria was a horrible team player.” I stood so fast my chair screeched. “The only thing I didn’t ‘teamplayed’ with you was flirt with the boss in the breakroom!” “Liar!” she yelled. “And I asked Jace. He never said my voice was screechy!” Oh my God. I couldn’t believe how stupid she was. “Sit down, Miss Collins,” HR warned. “As of now, not only are you not getting severance, but we’re also considering legal action to recover the losses. If you understand the situation here, sign this acknowledgement—” “Does Alpha Grayson know about this?” I asked. Both of them froze. After a long pause, HR finally found her voice. “What does Alpha Grayson have to do with any of this?” “He owns Apex, doesn’t he? Does he know his team is abusing their power and firing hardworking employees illegally?” HR frowned. Brielle let out a loud snort. “Please. Don’t act like you know Alpha Grayson.” “What if I do? What if I go to him and then it’s you who gets fired?” She laughed in my face. “Oh, you mean you know him on TV?” “Let’s find out.” I shoved my chair back and stormed out, heading straight for the CEO’s private elevator at the end of the hall. HR scrambled after me, shouting my name. I was too furious to care how this ended. All I wanted now was to blow the whole damn place up. Two guards stood by the elevator. “I need to see Alpha Grayson,” I told them. “Appointment?” “No, but I swear he knows me. Just tell him it’s Aria—from yesterday. He’ll remember.” “You aren’t the first girl here saying that,” one of them mocked. “Come on, Miss Collins,” HR snapped, trying to drag me back. “This is getting crazy. Go back, sign the paper. Take responsibility for your own mistake.” “I didn’t send that email. It was Jace—he’s framing me! I will report all of you.” “Alpha Grayson doesn’t have time for your report, or your visit, or any of your little drama!” “I believe no one but me has the right to decide that,” a cold voice said behind us. Chapter 4 Take Me, Please Aria’s POV A large hand grabbed my arm and pulled me away from HR’s grip. I looked up and my heart almost stopped. Even I couldn’t believe he just showed up here. It felt like a dream. “A-Alpha Grayson,” HR stammered, her face frozen with shock and fear. “I don’t need employees who think they can make decisions for their boss,” he said freezingly while wrapping his arm around my waist. “If I see something like this again, you’re fired.” “Y-yes, Alpha. I’m terribly sorry…” HR’s expression was priceless, but I was in no mood to enjoy it. His icy pine scent consumed me again, making my body weak and hot. My wolf let out a soft purr, urging me to lean into him. But before I could even move, he let go. A pang of disappointment hit me in the chest. “Come,” he said shortly, striding toward the private elevator. I shot HR and the stunned security guards a smug look, then hurried after him. He swiped his card and the elevator doors closed. We started going up to the 58th floor. It was dead silent. My heart was beating so wildly that I was afraid he’d hear it. I snuck a glance at him—he just stared straight ahead, emotionless, keeping a distance, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Unease twisted my stomach. “So, um… what brings you here today?” I broke the silence. He sighed softly. “I owe this company.” “Oh, Oh…Right.” I wanted to punch myself in the face. The awkward silence lingered until the elevator dinged open. The 58th floor was a wide-open space with no cubicles or dividers—just massive floor-to-ceiling windows and a sweeping view of the entire city. “Wow,” I whispered under my breath. Grayson was already walking ahead. I jogged to catch up as he led me into an office at the far end of the floor. A stunning female assistant closed the door behind us, and once again, it was just the two of us. My heart rocketed back into my throat. He casually unbuttoned his jacket. It was amazing how he made even that look sexy. “So you insisted on seeing me?” he asked. He didn’t ask me to sit. He didn’t even move closer. That distance stung a little. “I worked here till a week ago when I found out I was let go for no reason…” I quickly told him the story of how I was fired. “This is clearly illegal in so many ways… can you help me get my job back?” “Unfortunately, no,” he replied, barely hesitating. My heart dropped like a stone. “Why not?” “I’ll have the hiring department look into whether your termination followed proper protocol. But this isn’t something a CEO handles directly. Anything else?” The hiring department? That could take weeks—and I didn’t have weeks. “No… you don’t get it,” I stepped forward, my voice trembling. “My grandma’s in the hospital. Her bills are getting insane every month. And I’m already deep in debt… If I can’t make money, I don’t even know— I really, REALLY need this job.” I knew we came from two different worlds, but laying out the most desperate parts of my life in front of him still made me feel horribly exposed. I just hoped—begged—that he’d understand. But he didn’t. His gray eyes stayed emotionless. “I’m sorry, Miss Collins,” he said quietly. Tears rushed into my eyes. I couldn’t even breathe. All I could think about were the bills, the debt, the mountain of shit waiting for me the second I left this building. “If there’s nothing else, my assistant will show you out.” he said, reaching for the intercom. I rushed forward and pressed my hand down on his before he could call anyone in. His whole body stiffened—but he didn’t pull away. He just stared down at me. I stepped in closer, tilting my head up. His gray eyes darkened like a storm brewing in the distance. His pine scent wrapped around me again, thick and intoxicating. As werewolves, our scent only spikes during a fight or sexual arousal. It was damn obvious which case this was. “You clearly feel something for me,” I whispered. He said nothing. I placed my hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat. It was racing as well. His breathing had also turned shallow. “What are you doing, Miss Collins?” he asked tightly. “Trying to seduce your way into a job?” “You can do whatever you want,” I locked eyes with him. “I won’t stop you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. God, I wanted to lick it. And… well, I did. I leaned up and pressed my lips to it. He let out a growl. The next second, I was pinned on his desk. He stood between my spread legs, one hand by my head. I whimpered, clamping my thighs together—the heat between them was almost unbearable. Just like in the backseat of his car. His hand slid from the desk to my throat. It was so big, he could probably snap my neck if he wanted. “You shouldn’t keep tempting me, Miss Collins.” His body was pressed against my thighs—I definitely felt the effect I was having on him. “Why?” I whispered, licking my lips. “Because your self-control isn’t as strong as you thought?” “Because I don’t fuck virgins.” What the actual hell The next second, he had pulled away. I scrambled off the desk, face red, eyes wide. “What did you just say?!” I snapped. “Why—How the hell do you even know—?” “I know who you are. And I know about your relationship with my sister’s husband.” And just like that, everything clicked. It was Jace. That bastard didn’t just dump me—he ran his mouth about my virginity to everyone, including Grayson. Humiliation crashed over me like a wave. “Jace is a fucking asshole,” I snapped shakily. Grayson shrugged. “Obviously. But Brielle likes him. And he’s family now. I’m sorry but I just can’t get involved in this.” I climbed off his desk with my whole body red and shaking. He didn’t want me. And he was taking his sister and Jace’s side. I was so damn stupid to think that one kiss in the car actually meant anything. But this was Grayson Hart for Christ’s sake. He could have anyone he wanted. “I’m sure you’re a very capable employee, Miss Collins. But seducing me won’t help your career. I wish you all the best.” He finally pressed the intercom button. His assistant appeared at the door, waiting for me to leave. “Bye,” I whispered without even look back. I didn’t want him to notice my falling tears. I walked out of that office, numb, and rode the elevator down like a ghost. My mind was a storm of bills, debt, and Grayson’s ice-cold stare. Now I desperately needed a new job. “Miss Collins!” I turned and saw his assistant come rushing out again, holding an envelope. “Alpha Grayson asked me to give you this,” she said, handing it over. “What is it?” Why didn’t he give it to me earlier? “He didn’t say. Maybe you’ll know once you open it.” She gave me a mysterious smile and walked away. I opened the envelope. A blank check slid out first—I held my breath in shock. Then I found a crumpled note. His handwriting, rushed and messy. Haven’t repaid you for the shirt. Hope everything works out for you Aria. Stay strong. —Grayson Chapter 5 Getting My Attention Aria’s POV “That check clearly means something,” May insisted. “Come on. We’re not doing this again,” I sighed. “If he’s not into you, then why did he let his assistant come after you with a check? He probably saw you crying and couldn’t stand it. You should definitely go back and see him again.” “Nope,” I shut it down immediately. “I had one perfect, fairytale encounter with a rich bachelor. That’s enough. I’m not about to go back there and humiliate myself all over again.” “But—” “Hey, you two!” our manager yelled from the other end of the aisle. “Less talking, more working!” We rolled our eyes at each other and got back to inventory. May had helped me land this supermarket job. It was part of a chain under a big corporation, so the pay and benefits weren’t bad. May still thought it was beneath someone with my degree, but honestly, I was just grateful to be employed. Once we finished our section, the manager wandered off to shout at someone else, and May scooted back over to me. “Just imagine it,” she grinned. “You could write a couple million on that blank check and boom! Instant rich girl life.” “I’m not gonna do that.” “Sure you won’t. You’re too nice,” she muttered, half-admiring, half-scolding. “So? What are you gonna write?” I hesitated. At first, I actually considered writing the price of a shirt. 19.99 that was. Because apparently, my dignity still thinks it matters. But let’s be real, if Grayson was just trying to pay me back for a ripped tee, he would’ve handed his assistant a $20 bill, not a blank check. Maybe… he felt bad I lost my job too. “I’m going to write the amount I should’ve gotten in severance,” I admitted eventually. May's eyes bulged. “That’s it?!” “I know it’s not much, but it’s what I actually deserve. And it’ll help me cover two months of bills.” She sighed like I was letting go of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But my mind was made up. This was my chance to walk away from the mess. I still wanted to rip Jace’s smug face off, but the best revenge right now was surviving. 6 hours later, we finished our shift exhausted and aching. Everyone else got to clock out, but not me—I’d volunteered for night shift and closing duties. The staffs left one by one, yawning, including May. Finally I was alone in this big market. Now here’s the big secret— I actually lived here now. Nobody knew this, not even May. She thought I’d found a new apartment and moved out, but I just couldn’t keep bothering her anymore—her roommates were getting irritated with me hogging the living room and utilities. And renting my own place seemed way out of budget now. So I stayed in this supermarket instead. I closed up the store at night and opened it early in the morning. For the 5 or 6 hours in between, I made a bed out of my coat and slept on the floor near the refrigerated section. Now don’t ask me why I can’t sleep in the staff’s break room. That room was too hot without AC. At least it was cool by the freezer. Tonight I was extra exhausted. The manager made us girls haul too many heavy crates around. I passed out in seconds. But it felt like I’d only been asleep for five minutes—my alarm hadn’t even gone off yet—when I was jolted awake by someone screaming. “OH MY GOD—what the hell are you doing?!” I shot upright, completely disoriented. And froze. In front of me stood an entire group of people—including the manager and several guys in suits, all staring at me wide eyes. And I was only in a tank top and shorts. Half naked. OH GOD. What the hell—Is it morning already?! Why didn’t I hear my alarm? I scrambled to pull my clothes over my body, my hands shaking. The stares didn’t stop. They got more invasive. “Aria Collins! What the fuck are you doing?!” the manager stormed over and roared. “Napping half-naked in my fucking store?! Are you a fucking sex perv?!” My face went beet red, “No! I—I was just staying here temporarily—” “Temporarily?!” he yelled, eyes bulging. “I hired an employee, not a fucking squatter! How much water and electricity have you used free?! Are you stealing food too?!” “No I swear. I shut everything off when I’m done, I don’t use the water unless I have to. And I paid for everything I’ve eaten.” Tears blurred my vision as I tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening. His spit actually hit my cheek as he snarled. “Of all days—you had to pick the day corporate shows up to camp out in my perfect store. You filthy, disgusting little—” “Aria Collins?” A new voice called my name. It came from one of the suited men. I looked up—and my heart dropped. It was Jonathan. A former coworker from Apex. “Holy shit, it is you,” he grinned, raising his brows. “Almost didn’t recognize you at first.” “You… what are you doing here?” I stammered. “Apex owns this supermarket chain. We’re doing site inspections today,” he said with a smirk, his eyes trailing down to my bare legs. “Man! Most people hit rock bottom after getting fired from Apex, but you fall faster than anyone.” “I’m working. Making a decent living,” I said in shaky voice. “There’s no shame with that.” “Oh really?” he sneered. “Does your job include lying around half-naked on the floor? What is this, a new hooker gimmick?” The suits burst out laughing. My furious tears were on the verge of falling. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll fire her right away.” The manager groaned. “Hold up,” Jonathan drawled with a smirk. “This chick got fired from Apex for messing up a seven-figure deal. You might wanna check your inventory. She could be stealing.” “You know that’s a lie. Jace got me fired out of spite! I never made a mistake—” “Oh please,” he cut me off. “Everyone in the industry knows how you fucked up. Jace was so embarrassed that he had to apologize for you.” The manager grabbed my wrist. “Then you’re definitely stealing from this market as well. That’s it you are going to jail. When I figure out what you’ve taken, you must pay back everything!” My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t doubt for a second that the manager would come up with something that I didn’t steal, just like how Jace framed me before. It wasn’t hard for guys like them. But I couldn’t go to jail. My grandma had no one to count on but me. I can’t leave her. The wolf in me surfaced up the next second—I snarled at the manager, yanked my arm free, and ran. “Stop her!” someone shouted behind me. I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I had to escape. I bolted out of the store, desperate and horrified—and slammed right into a solid chest. “Get away from Alpha!” a bodyguard barked. But he pulled me in instead. “Aria?” I was still shaking involuntarily. He unbuttoned the front and wrapped me in, covering my half-naked body. “It’s OK.” his voice was deep with clear hint of rage. I clutched his shirt, gasping for air. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to breathe at all. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Yet I couldn’t make a sound. “She’s having a panic attack,” a woman said nearby. “Alpha, if I may—” I silently prayed him not to hand me over. And he didn’t. “It’s fine, Nova,” he refused. “Aria, you’re safe now. Breathe.” Panicked footsteps echoed behind us. Jonathan’s voice rang out, stunned: “Alpha Grayson! Oh God—w-what’s going on here?!” “Nova,” Grayson said in a cold, dangerous voice, “stay here. Don’t let anyone leave.” “Yes, Alpha.” He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, one arm under my legs, the other around my back. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. Then he carried me through the crowd, into the store, and into a private room. When he set me down in a chair, I was still trembling and sobbing. He finally took off his coat and draped it over my legs, then crouched down in front of me. “You’re safe here,” he said. That’s when I broke down. Crying out loud. Everything—fear, shame, panic—everything spilled out in a messy, helpless flood. I clutched his wrist like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and for once… he didn’t pull away. He said nothing the whole time. Just stayed there with me until the sobs quieted. “Th-thank you…I’m better now.” I sniffled. He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. I trembled at the way he touched my skin. His voice was low, rough, and a little strained. “You’re starting to make me wonder, Miss Collins. If all these run-ins are just your way of getting my attention.”
🔞When My ex-brother-in-law took my virginity...His liquid spurts inslde and my eyes widen, "Wait we forgot a comdom!" …………………… Chapter 1 He Dumped Me Aria's POV I stood in front of the chapel. Pink roses and white lilies decorated every corner I saw—my favorite flowers. The guests were already seated in their designer dresses and pressed suits. And soon, at the end of the red carpet would stand the man I once loved, waiting to marry his bride. Everything was perfect. Except I wasn't the bride. "I really need to see Jace today." I begged the bodyguard blocking the door. A beat-up suitcase and two boxes sat at my feet—everything I owned in the world. "No you don’t. Get out of here," the bodyguard said icily. I saw it in his eyes—disgust. Yeah I get it. No one has sympathy for the crazy ex who shows up at the wedding. But I have my reason. "If you don't let me see him, I'll just stand here and all the guests will see me," I threatened under my breath. Jace wouldn't want that. Especially not today. Today he was marrying Delilah Hart. Sister to Alpha Grayson Hart of Redstone Pack. A 100% high-society darling. All the guys in the world knew that marrying Delilah would make their wealth skyrocket, including Jace. So he made the easy call—marrying the lady who could turn him from a small-town nobody into a golden boy. And dump the girl who stayed by his side for last 4 years when he had nothing. So it’s normal why he didn’t want any guests to see me here. I represented his broke, embarrassing past. He wanted me nowhere near his glossy, glittering new world. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of that. Like a knife was twisting in my chest. “Let me in or I’m starting to yell.” "Wait here." The bodyguard finally made a call. A few minutes later, he waved me in. I wiped my eyes and struggled into the hall with my suitcase and boxes. Instantly, I felt how out of place I was. Everything reeked of wealth here. Expensive perfume. Manicured nails. Not a hair out of place. It was everything you imagined about the upper-class and way more. And me? I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans. My sneakers had holes. "God, a homeless. She stinks." A woman mutter as I walked by. I just showered this morning. My hair still smelled like strawberries and coconut. But poverty had a scent, apparently. "Mr. Carter is inside. Make it quick." The guard took me to a closed door and warned. “Thank you.” The room inside looked like something out of a movie. Marble floors. Floor-length mirrors. A chandelier that probably cost more than my apartment. I hesitated for a second as I dragged my dirty luggage across the white carpet. And there he was. The man I used to love. Adjusting his bowtie in front of a mirror. He was still heartbreakingly handsome. No wonder Delilah fell for him. When he turned and fixed his gorgeous blue eyes upon me, I still felt my heart race. "Hey, Jace," I said quietly. And immediately wanted to punch myself. Hey, Jace? That’s the best I could do? His face was ice cold. "You shouldn't come. Your ratty suitcase, your ripped jeans, your Vans. None of that belongs here." Well if you wanted to be brutal and vicious, that’s how it’s done. "Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? You dumped me over a fucking email!" I snapped. He shrugged. "Look around you. The wealthiest people in the world came for me today. This suit I’m wearing cost more than you can make in your entire life. What more explanation do you want, Aria?" Wow. I always knew he was a cold, calculating bastard. I just didn’t realize how deep it ran. "Maybe chasing Alpha’s sister got you here faster. But you know what? When she finds out how cold and empty you are. You’ll lose it all." Anger flared across his face. "I know how to love. I just won't waste that on a small-town girl like you.” he said freezingly, “Are we done here?" “No.” I took a deep breath and got into the real reason I came. "You're marrying a rich girl. Fine. But why did you have to get me fired?" Yeah. I used to work for this jerk. From intern to full-time at Apex Corp, he was my supervisor. Our relationship was a secret. And just days ago, I found out he was getting married—and I was out of a job. He fired me. "Right, your job.” The jerk shrugged, “You got it because of me. Now that I’m not around, they finally saw how incompetent you are. Problem?" Was he fucking kidding me?! "I graduated top of my class. Made it through 7 rounds of interviews. My performance exceeded every quarterly target. I earned that job!" I cried. “Come on, Aria. You really gonna be so naïve?” He walked closer, smirking. "You passed the interviews because I said so. Your sales? I made those calls. Without me, you'd be nothing but a pretty face." He seized my chin and looked me over with a disgusting look. I slapped his hand away. "Give me my job back,” I hissed, my voice slightly trembling. “My dad’s debt. My grandma’s medical bills…I need the money. You of all people should know what it’s like to be poor. Don’t. Make. Me. Beg." I was throwing my pride at his feet. But he laughed. "Well, how about I offer you a deal?" he said as though he’d been waiting for this moment. He brushed my hair back, fingers trailing down to my collarbone. I shivered in disgust. "You never let me touch you. You were so clinging to that pathetic no-sex-before-marriage rule. Maybe it's time to grow up. Let me fuck you once and I’ll write you a check you can’t refuse. How does that sound?" I widened my eyes in shock. Then I slapped him. HARD. “WHAT THE FUCK! I’m getting married in front of everyone in fucking 10 minutes!” He roared covering his face. "Fuck you, Jace!” I yelled, “You're a spineless freeloading puss! And hey—congrats on the wedding. Hope your junk is soft like a fucking spaghetti tonight!" Then I stormed out dragging my suitcase and boxes, ignoring his angry curses behind me. Hot tears poured down as I dashed across the hallway. God this couldn’t be any worse. I was prepared to drop all my self-esteem and begged with my life because I needed the job and money. But I still let him get to me. Now what do I do? My salary barely covered my rent, my father’s debt and grandma’s bill. Now with my job gone, I already got kicked out by my landlord. I probably had to sleep in a park tonight. So do I go back and let that jerk win? Let him humiliate me...No. I’d rather die than that— "Hey, watch where you're going!" someone yelled. Too late. I slammed right into the man in front of me. He was tall—so tall I felt like I’d just walked into a brick wall. His diamond cufflink was sharp like a blade, and when we collided, it sliced clean through my thin T-shirt with a loud rip. In one second, the front of my shirt was torn open, exposing my white lace bra. “Ah!” I gasped and looked up. The man in front of me was so handsome. Like a statue carved by a master artist. Yet his expression so cold. He looked down at me, and I swear I was about to drown in those stormy gray eyes of his. And then I recognized who he was. This was Jace’s son-to-be brother-in-law. Alpha of Redstone Pack. CEO of Apex Corporation. THE legendary. Grayson Hart. “Aria Collins?” His voice was sexy and velvety. He lowered his head and his eyes dropped to the exposed part of my bra. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the color of his eyes seemed to darken as he stared. Wherever his gaze landed, my skin started burning up. But wait. How did he know my name? Chapter 2 With Ex's Brother-in-law Aria’s POV Of course I recognized him. God, who didn’t? I’d met him at an Apex gala. His face was on every finance magazine cover, and any time you turned on a TV, there he was—linked to the latest scandal with some actress or model. But there was no way he’d know who I was. “I-I… Hello, Alpha Grayson,” I stammered. He turned his eyes away and said to a nearby guard, “Escort Ms. Collins out.” “Yes, Alpha.” The guards stepped in immediately, stretching out their arms like I was some kind of contaminant that might taint Grayson’s perfectly tailored suit. “Wait a minute. You’re not going to say something about my shirt?” He paused—just for a second—then flicked a piece of paper down at my feet. I looked down. A blank check. “I need a shirt I can actually wear out of here. Not your hush money.” I gritted with humiliation. But he didn’t even glance back as he walked away. “God,” I muttered under my breath. Can you believe these rich bastards? They think they can buy everything with money. People nearby were all staring, snickering under their breath. I tried to cover my chest and grab my things to escape, but it was hard to do all that with just two hands. “Oh my god…Aria Collins?” Three girls emerged from the whispering crowd. I took one look at them and sighed internally. Great. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse. “Hello. Layla. Sabrina. Brielle.” I used to work in the same team with these girls back at Apex. We were all under Jace. They adored him—spent more time flirting with at the coffee machine than actually working. Which left me doing their share of the workload. After I got fired—and when news of my secret relationship with Jace got out—they decided I was public enemy number one. “What are you even doing here, Aria? Trying to win back your ex at his wedding? That’s a new low even for you,” Layla snickered. “I’m not here to win anyone back.” I tried to push past them. But they blocked me. “What happened to your shirt?” Brielle snickered. “Did you seriously walk in here with your bra out? Is this like some low-budget fashion statement?” They burst into laughter together. “You could be completely naked and Jace still wouldn’t give a damn,” Sabrina squeaked. “Because he’s marrying Delilah. THE Delilah Hart! Redstone Pack’s sweetheart. And you…well you’re just a poor-ass small-town girl.” I stopped in my track and gave them a cold glare, “Oh yeah? Well at least I’ve actually been with Jace. Do you know how many times I had to listen to him complained about your screechy voices and cheesy perfume? Apparently he rather be with a poor-ass small-town girl than any of you.” Their jaws dropped. “Jace would never say that!” Brielle cried. “Word for word,” I rolled my eyes. “Now move. Or I’m rolling this suitcase over your pretty little skirts.” They looked like ruffled chickens, but they parted. I quickly shoved my dingy luggage ahead like a weapon and stormed out of the church. Rich people were assholes. Grayson, Jace, and their whole damn minions. I struggled to get my suitcase down the steps, and once I hit the street, cold wind slapped me in the face. I had no idea where to go. I could crash in the hospital with my grandma for a night, but she’d ask too many questions. Like why I hadn’t brought Jace around recently, or why I wasn’t staying at my apartment. I didn’t want her knowing how bad things had gotten. I thought about the park. Sleeping on a bench. But in a ripped T-shirt that exposed my whole front? Horrible idea. So I texted my best friend, May, asking to stay at her place for a few days. She was my rock. If the whole world turned against me, at least I still had her. She texted back right away inviting me to come over. Dragging my suitcase across the street toward the bus stop, I told myself it was going to be okay. This horrible day was going to end. Then I heard them. “Hey, nice shirt!” A group of street wolves were loitering near the stop. I hugged myself tighter and curled into the bench, hoping they’d get bored and leave. “C’mon baby, drop your hands. Let us see what you’re working with.” Go away. Go away. Go away. “You rip that shirt yourself? Damn that’s wild. I like that in a girl.” One of them moved closer, reaching for my shoulder. “Get away from me!” I snapped, my voice shaking. But it only fired them up. “Oh, feisty. Shake those tits for me!” They grabbed my wrists, yanked my arms down. My T-shirt gaped open completely, revealing my lace bra. The cold air made my skin pebble. They laughed even louder. I struggled and screamed. My wolf growled in rage. Shifting in the city was illegal—but right now, I didn’t have a second choice— Just then. Blinding headlights. Followed by screeching tires. A black car skidded to a stop inches away. The door flew open. A deep voice thundered, “Get in.” I was too shocked that I didn’t think twice and obeyed. The car peeled away the second I shut the door. “My suitcase!” I cried. “Someone will get it,” he said darkly. “Address.” I told the driver May’s. Then he pressed a button. A privacy screen slid up between the front and back seats, sealing us in the back. That’s when he turned toward me and leaned in. Like a beast ready to pounce. His scent hit me like a punch—sharp pine mixed with cold metal. My head started to get dizzy. “Walking on the street in that shirt was a mistake,” he said sternly. “It got like this because of you,” I mumbled. He snorted. Then the sound of rustling fabric. A heavy jacket landed across my shoulders—it was still warm from his body and carried his scent. I held my breathe. Wearing his coat almost felt like…he was wrapping himself around me. “You—do you know me?” I whispered. My gut told me that he would never do this for a strange girl. But if he knew who I was, he must know that I was his sister’s husband’s ex. That didn’t explain why he would help. “We’ve met,” he said simply. I stared at him, searching those icy gray eyes. He was staring at me too, with that cold, hungry, possessive eyes. I felt like I was completely naked in front of him. “Aria,” he warned, voice thick and husky. But I couldn’t control myself. I was leaning forward. Shit. Why did my body become so weird? My skin was on fire. My panties were wet. All I wanted was more of his scent, more of his heat. The next second his lips were crashed onto mine—Hard. Rough. I gasped and opened my mouth for him. His tongue slipped in and explored every inch of my mouth, making me shiver. His hands pushed into my torn shirt and grabbed my waist. I couldn’t control my moan when he touched my naked skin. This was crazy! He was a stranger, and most importantly, my ex’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. And I was making out with him at the back of his car. The crazy part was I didn’t even want to stop. He lifted me onto his lap like I weighed nothing. I straddled his thighs and yanked at his tie as he bite my collarbone. Then, suddenly, the car stopped. “Alpha, we’ve arrived.” That’s when it all froze. His lips paused at my neck. I was still squirming on his lap, flushed and throbbing. But he shoved me off. “We can’t do this,” he said coldly. Chapter 3 You're Special To Him Aria’s POV “So you’re telling me this guy made out with you in the backseat of his car… and then just shoved you off like nothing happened?” May asked in shock. 20 minutes later, I was sitting at her place, wrapped in one of her oversized hoodies, a steaming mug of tea in my hands. But I was still reeling from everything that had just happened. “Yup,” I muttered. “Who knows what’s wrong with him.” “What an asshole,” she huffed. “But honestly, this really isn’t like you. You dated that jerk Jace for 4 years and didn’t even sleep with him—which, by the way, was a brilliant choice—and now you're suddenly making out with a complete stranger in his car?” I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. Yeah, she had a point. “I—I don’t know. Maybe it was the whole Jace-getting-married thing. Maybe I just snapped and wanted to screw around with someone hotter just to get back at him…Honestly, it was so stupid now that I think of it.” She grinned and wiggled her brows. “So… he was hot huh?” My cheeks flushed and my mind drifted back. Those stormy gray eyes, his perfectly shaped lips on my neck, and those arms that could pick me up like I weighed nothing…Shit I need to stop. “Yeah. VERY,” I whispered, hiding my red face behind the mug. May burst out laughing. “Now we’re talking! That’s exactly what you need right now—a drop-dead gorgeous rebound to get that loser Jace out of your system. Screw your ‘no sex before marriage’ rule. Life is short.” I gave her a weak smile. Honestly, I didn’t need a rebound. I needed a job, money, and a place to live. Grayson Hart was like dessert when you can’t even afford dinner. “So… do you even know who this guy was?” she asked. I hesitated. Right at this moment, the doorbell rang. She jumped up to get it and came back a few minutes later, hauling in my luggage, her face frozen in disbelief. “OMG. You are not gonna believe what just showed up outside.” “Umm… my luggage?” I joked. “Two fucking muscular guys in black suits and guns! And a freaking stretch limo! They called me ‘ma’am’ and said they hope Miss Aria has a wonderful evening. Now, you—” She leapt at me and shook me by the shoulders. “—you tell me right now who the hell you hooked up with!” I squealed and dropped into the couch with her, laughing and giggling breathlessly. “Okay, okay—I’ll tell you. It was… Grayson Hart.” I practically whispered his name. Because honestly, I still couldn’t believe it either. May froze, eyes wide as saucers. “Grayson—THE Grayson Hart?! As in our Alpha? The CEO of Apex?!” “And Jace’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. Now you know how stupid I was earlier?” She let out a full-on scream. Then she grabbed my hand, her face flushed with excitement. “Oh my God! Aria, do you know what this means? Alpha Grayson never even lends his jacket to his model girlfriends. He likes you. You’re special!” “No,” I said firmly. “If I was special, he wouldn’t have thrown me off his lap when I tried to take off his shirt.” “Maybe he had somewhere to be—” “Don’t, May. Let’s be real. Guys like him don’t fall for girls like me.” I took another sip of tea, hiding the ache in my chest. Hell even Jace thought I was beneath him. What chance did I have with Grayson freaking Hart? “Don’t be silly, Aria. You’re gorgeous. And smart and amazing and—WAIT! I just had the best idea ever.” “What?” “That arrogant jerk Jace thinks you’re just some small-town prude who wasn’t good enough for him right? But what if you ended up with Alpha Grayson? It’ll be easy to get him because he’s already obsessed. Oh, it would destroy Jace. That dickhead would never recover.” OKAY. I’d be lying if I said that exact scenario hadn’t crossed my mind when Grayson kissed me back. What girl hasn’t daydreamed about dating the perfect guy and getting revenge in the most dramatic way possible? But right now, I couldn’t afford to daydream. Reality was already breathing down my neck. “Tempting. But right now I need a job and enough cash to keep Grandma in her hospital bed. Dating rich dudes isn’t exactly high on my to-do list.” May looked at me with soft eyes. “So…any plans? I can try to hook you up with a job, but you know I just work at a coffee shop, and with your degree, you deserve so much more.” I hugged her. “Thank you. Really. I’ll figure something out. Apex promised me severance when they fired me, so I’m going to HR tomorrow to get it sorted.” If I could get that money, at least I’d be OK for the next round of Grandma’s medical bills. — The next morning, I showed up at Apex right on time. But the second Brielle walked in with the HR manager, I had a bad feeling. “What’s she doing here?” I asked coldly. “I’ll explain in a minute,” HR replied with a polite, rehearsed smile as she sat across from me. “So Ms. Collins, I understand you’re here to discuss severance?” “Yes. So let’s not waste time. Just give me the check and I’ll be out of here.” “Unfortunately, severance only applies when the company terminates a contract without cause. In your case… it appears you were let go due to misconduct.” Misconduct? What the freaking hell. “Jace made a snap decision and booted me. What misconduct are you talking about?” “But that’s not what Mr. Carter said. He provided evidence that you made a costly error on a sales quote—omitting a few zeroes, to be exact. Cost the company millions. Here’s the email record.” She handed me a printed sheet. I swore I had never sent this email in my life. But there it was—my name in the sender field. No freaking way. Jace forged this. “And Mr. Carter reported that you had a difficult attitude toward your coworkers. Quote: ‘impatient and arrogant.’ Brielle’s here to verify that.” Brielle twirled her hair and smiled smugly. “Yeah. Aria was a horrible team player.” I stood so fast my chair screeched. “The only thing I didn’t ‘teamplayed’ with you was flirt with the boss in the breakroom!” “Liar!” she yelled. “And I asked Jace. He never said my voice was screechy!” Oh my God. I couldn’t believe how stupid she was. “Sit down, Miss Collins,” HR warned. “As of now, not only are you not getting severance, but we’re also considering legal action to recover the losses. If you understand the situation here, sign this acknowledgement—” “Does Alpha Grayson know about this?” I asked. Both of them froze. After a long pause, HR finally found her voice. “What does Alpha Grayson have to do with any of this?” “He owns Apex, doesn’t he? Does he know his team is abusing their power and firing hardworking employees illegally?” HR frowned. Brielle let out a loud snort. “Please. Don’t act like you know Alpha Grayson.” “What if I do? What if I go to him and then it’s you who gets fired?” She laughed in my face. “Oh, you mean you know him on TV?” “Let’s find out.” I shoved my chair back and stormed out, heading straight for the CEO’s private elevator at the end of the hall. HR scrambled after me, shouting my name. I was too furious to care how this ended. All I wanted now was to blow the whole damn place up. Two guards stood by the elevator. “I need to see Alpha Grayson,” I told them. “Appointment?” “No, but I swear he knows me. Just tell him it’s Aria—from yesterday. He’ll remember.” “You aren’t the first girl here saying that,” one of them mocked. “Come on, Miss Collins,” HR snapped, trying to drag me back. “This is getting crazy. Go back, sign the paper. Take responsibility for your own mistake.” “I didn’t send that email. It was Jace—he’s framing me! I will report all of you.” “Alpha Grayson doesn’t have time for your report, or your visit, or any of your little drama!” “I believe no one but me has the right to decide that,” a cold voice said behind us. Chapter 4 Take Me, Please Aria’s POV A large hand grabbed my arm and pulled me away from HR’s grip. I looked up and my heart almost stopped. Even I couldn’t believe he just showed up here. It felt like a dream. “A-Alpha Grayson,” HR stammered, her face frozen with shock and fear. “I don’t need employees who think they can make decisions for their boss,” he said freezingly while wrapping his arm around my waist. “If I see something like this again, you’re fired.” “Y-yes, Alpha. I’m terribly sorry…” HR’s expression was priceless, but I was in no mood to enjoy it. His icy pine scent consumed me again, making my body weak and hot. My wolf let out a soft purr, urging me to lean into him. But before I could even move, he let go. A pang of disappointment hit me in the chest. “Come,” he said shortly, striding toward the private elevator. I shot HR and the stunned security guards a smug look, then hurried after him. He swiped his card and the elevator doors closed. We started going up to the 58th floor. It was dead silent. My heart was beating so wildly that I was afraid he’d hear it. I snuck a glance at him—he just stared straight ahead, emotionless, keeping a distance, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Unease twisted my stomach. “So, um… what brings you here today?” I broke the silence. He sighed softly. “I owe this company.” “Oh, Oh…Right.” I wanted to punch myself in the face. The awkward silence lingered until the elevator dinged open. The 58th floor was a wide-open space with no cubicles or dividers—just massive floor-to-ceiling windows and a sweeping view of the entire city. “Wow,” I whispered under my breath. Grayson was already walking ahead. I jogged to catch up as he led me into an office at the far end of the floor. A stunning female assistant closed the door behind us, and once again, it was just the two of us. My heart rocketed back into my throat. He casually unbuttoned his jacket. It was amazing how he made even that look sexy. “So you insisted on seeing me?” he asked. He didn’t ask me to sit. He didn’t even move closer. That distance stung a little. “I worked here till a week ago when I found out I was let go for no reason…” I quickly told him the story of how I was fired. “This is clearly illegal in so many ways… can you help me get my job back?” “Unfortunately, no,” he replied, barely hesitating. My heart dropped like a stone. “Why not?” “I’ll have the hiring department look into whether your termination followed proper protocol. But this isn’t something a CEO handles directly. Anything else?” The hiring department? That could take weeks—and I didn’t have weeks. “No… you don’t get it,” I stepped forward, my voice trembling. “My grandma’s in the hospital. Her bills are getting insane every month. And I’m already deep in debt… If I can’t make money, I don’t even know— I really, REALLY need this job.” I knew we came from two different worlds, but laying out the most desperate parts of my life in front of him still made me feel horribly exposed. I just hoped—begged—that he’d understand. But he didn’t. His gray eyes stayed emotionless. “I’m sorry, Miss Collins,” he said quietly. Tears rushed into my eyes. I couldn’t even breathe. All I could think about were the bills, the debt, the mountain of shit waiting for me the second I left this building. “If there’s nothing else, my assistant will show you out.” he said, reaching for the intercom. I rushed forward and pressed my hand down on his before he could call anyone in. His whole body stiffened—but he didn’t pull away. He just stared down at me. I stepped in closer, tilting my head up. His gray eyes darkened like a storm brewing in the distance. His pine scent wrapped around me again, thick and intoxicating. As werewolves, our scent only spikes during a fight or sexual arousal. It was damn obvious which case this was. “You clearly feel something for me,” I whispered. He said nothing. I placed my hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat. It was racing as well. His breathing had also turned shallow. “What are you doing, Miss Collins?” he asked tightly. “Trying to seduce your way into a job?” “You can do whatever you want,” I locked eyes with him. “I won’t stop you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. God, I wanted to lick it. And… well, I did. I leaned up and pressed my lips to it. He let out a growl. The next second, I was pinned on his desk. He stood between my spread legs, one hand by my head. I whimpered, clamping my thighs together—the heat between them was almost unbearable. Just like in the backseat of his car. His hand slid from the desk to my throat. It was so big, he could probably snap my neck if he wanted. “You shouldn’t keep tempting me, Miss Collins.” His body was pressed against my thighs—I definitely felt the effect I was having on him. “Why?” I whispered, licking my lips. “Because your self-control isn’t as strong as you thought?” “Because I don’t fuck virgins.” What the actual hell The next second, he had pulled away. I scrambled off the desk, face red, eyes wide. “What did you just say?!” I snapped. “Why—How the hell do you even know—?” “I know who you are. And I know about your relationship with my sister’s husband.” And just like that, everything clicked. It was Jace. That bastard didn’t just dump me—he ran his mouth about my virginity to everyone, including Grayson. Humiliation crashed over me like a wave. “Jace is a fucking asshole,” I snapped shakily. Grayson shrugged. “Obviously. But Brielle likes him. And he’s family now. I’m sorry but I just can’t get involved in this.” I climbed off his desk with my whole body red and shaking. He didn’t want me. And he was taking his sister and Jace’s side. I was so damn stupid to think that one kiss in the car actually meant anything. But this was Grayson Hart for Christ’s sake. He could have anyone he wanted. “I’m sure you’re a very capable employee, Miss Collins. But seducing me won’t help your career. I wish you all the best.” He finally pressed the intercom button. His assistant appeared at the door, waiting for me to leave. “Bye,” I whispered without even look back. I didn’t want him to notice my falling tears. I walked out of that office, numb, and rode the elevator down like a ghost. My mind was a storm of bills, debt, and Grayson’s ice-cold stare. Now I desperately needed a new job. “Miss Collins!” I turned and saw his assistant come rushing out again, holding an envelope. “Alpha Grayson asked me to give you this,” she said, handing it over. “What is it?” Why didn’t he give it to me earlier? “He didn’t say. Maybe you’ll know once you open it.” She gave me a mysterious smile and walked away. I opened the envelope. A blank check slid out first—I held my breath in shock. Then I found a crumpled note. His handwriting, rushed and messy. Haven’t repaid you for the shirt. Hope everything works out for you Aria. Stay strong. —Grayson Chapter 5 Getting My Attention Aria’s POV “That check clearly means something,” May insisted. “Come on. We’re not doing this again,” I sighed. “If he’s not into you, then why did he let his assistant come after you with a check? He probably saw you crying and couldn’t stand it. You should definitely go back and see him again.” “Nope,” I shut it down immediately. “I had one perfect, fairytale encounter with a rich bachelor. That’s enough. I’m not about to go back there and humiliate myself all over again.” “But—” “Hey, you two!” our manager yelled from the other end of the aisle. “Less talking, more working!” We rolled our eyes at each other and got back to inventory. May had helped me land this supermarket job. It was part of a chain under a big corporation, so the pay and benefits weren’t bad. May still thought it was beneath someone with my degree, but honestly, I was just grateful to be employed. Once we finished our section, the manager wandered off to shout at someone else, and May scooted back over to me. “Just imagine it,” she grinned. “You could write a couple million on that blank check and boom! Instant rich girl life.” “I’m not gonna do that.” “Sure you won’t. You’re too nice,” she muttered, half-admiring, half-scolding. “So? What are you gonna write?” I hesitated. At first, I actually considered writing the price of a shirt. 19.99 that was. Because apparently, my dignity still thinks it matters. But let’s be real, if Grayson was just trying to pay me back for a ripped tee, he would’ve handed his assistant a $20 bill, not a blank check. Maybe… he felt bad I lost my job too. “I’m going to write the amount I should’ve gotten in severance,” I admitted eventually. May's eyes bulged. “That’s it?!” “I know it’s not much, but it’s what I actually deserve. And it’ll help me cover two months of bills.” She sighed like I was letting go of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But my mind was made up. This was my chance to walk away from the mess. I still wanted to rip Jace’s smug face off, but the best revenge right now was surviving. 6 hours later, we finished our shift exhausted and aching. Everyone else got to clock out, but not me—I’d volunteered for night shift and closing duties. The staffs left one by one, yawning, including May. Finally I was alone in this big market. Now here’s the big secret— I actually lived here now. Nobody knew this, not even May. She thought I’d found a new apartment and moved out, but I just couldn’t keep bothering her anymore—her roommates were getting irritated with me hogging the living room and utilities. And renting my own place seemed way out of budget now. So I stayed in this supermarket instead. I closed up the store at night and opened it early in the morning. For the 5 or 6 hours in between, I made a bed out of my coat and slept on the floor near the refrigerated section. Now don’t ask me why I can’t sleep in the staff’s break room. That room was too hot without AC. At least it was cool by the freezer. Tonight I was extra exhausted. The manager made us girls haul too many heavy crates around. I passed out in seconds. But it felt like I’d only been asleep for five minutes—my alarm hadn’t even gone off yet—when I was jolted awake by someone screaming. “OH MY GOD—what the hell are you doing?!” I shot upright, completely disoriented. And froze. In front of me stood an entire group of people—including the manager and several guys in suits, all staring at me wide eyes. And I was only in a tank top and shorts. Half naked. OH GOD. What the hell—Is it morning already?! Why didn’t I hear my alarm? I scrambled to pull my clothes over my body, my hands shaking. The stares didn’t stop. They got more invasive. “Aria Collins! What the fuck are you doing?!” the manager stormed over and roared. “Napping half-naked in my fucking store?! Are you a fucking sex perv?!” My face went beet red, “No! I—I was just staying here temporarily—” “Temporarily?!” he yelled, eyes bulging. “I hired an employee, not a fucking squatter! How much water and electricity have you used free?! Are you stealing food too?!” “No I swear. I shut everything off when I’m done, I don’t use the water unless I have to. And I paid for everything I’ve eaten.” Tears blurred my vision as I tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening. His spit actually hit my cheek as he snarled. “Of all days—you had to pick the day corporate shows up to camp out in my perfect store. You filthy, disgusting little—” “Aria Collins?” A new voice called my name. It came from one of the suited men. I looked up—and my heart dropped. It was Jonathan. A former coworker from Apex. “Holy shit, it is you,” he grinned, raising his brows. “Almost didn’t recognize you at first.” “You… what are you doing here?” I stammered. “Apex owns this supermarket chain. We’re doing site inspections today,” he said with a smirk, his eyes trailing down to my bare legs. “Man! Most people hit rock bottom after getting fired from Apex, but you fall faster than anyone.” “I’m working. Making a decent living,” I said in shaky voice. “There’s no shame with that.” “Oh really?” he sneered. “Does your job include lying around half-naked on the floor? What is this, a new hooker gimmick?” The suits burst out laughing. My furious tears were on the verge of falling. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll fire her right away.” The manager groaned. “Hold up,” Jonathan drawled with a smirk. “This chick got fired from Apex for messing up a seven-figure deal. You might wanna check your inventory. She could be stealing.” “You know that’s a lie. Jace got me fired out of spite! I never made a mistake—” “Oh please,” he cut me off. “Everyone in the industry knows how you fucked up. Jace was so embarrassed that he had to apologize for you.” The manager grabbed my wrist. “Then you’re definitely stealing from this market as well. That’s it you are going to jail. When I figure out what you’ve taken, you must pay back everything!” My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t doubt for a second that the manager would come up with something that I didn’t steal, just like how Jace framed me before. It wasn’t hard for guys like them. But I couldn’t go to jail. My grandma had no one to count on but me. I can’t leave her. The wolf in me surfaced up the next second—I snarled at the manager, yanked my arm free, and ran. “Stop her!” someone shouted behind me. I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I had to escape. I bolted out of the store, desperate and horrified—and slammed right into a solid chest. “Get away from Alpha!” a bodyguard barked. But he pulled me in instead. “Aria?” I was still shaking involuntarily. He unbuttoned the front and wrapped me in, covering my half-naked body. “It’s OK.” his voice was deep with clear hint of rage. I clutched his shirt, gasping for air. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to breathe at all. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Yet I couldn’t make a sound. “She’s having a panic attack,” a woman said nearby. “Alpha, if I may—” I silently prayed him not to hand me over. And he didn’t. “It’s fine, Nova,” he refused. “Aria, you’re safe now. Breathe.” Panicked footsteps echoed behind us. Jonathan’s voice rang out, stunned: “Alpha Grayson! Oh God—w-what’s going on here?!” “Nova,” Grayson said in a cold, dangerous voice, “stay here. Don’t let anyone leave.” “Yes, Alpha.” He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, one arm under my legs, the other around my back. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. Then he carried me through the crowd, into the store, and into a private room. When he set me down in a chair, I was still trembling and sobbing. He finally took off his coat and draped it over my legs, then crouched down in front of me. “You’re safe here,” he said. That’s when I broke down. Crying out loud. Everything—fear, shame, panic—everything spilled out in a messy, helpless flood. I clutched his wrist like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and for once… he didn’t pull away. He said nothing the whole time. Just stayed there with me until the sobs quieted. “Th-thank you…I’m better now.” I sniffled. He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. I trembled at the way he touched my skin. His voice was low, rough, and a little strained. “You’re starting to make me wonder, Miss Collins. If all these run-ins are just your way of getting my attention.”
I'm a GP, and last Tuesday a patient of mine asked if she could stop her B12 injections. Not because she'd given up on getting better. Because of something that showed up in her cognitive screen that I have never seen in 23 years of practice. I've been managing B12 deficiency in this surgery for over two decades. I've seen the standard pattern. The bloods come back low. We start the injections, hydroxocobalamin, every twelve weeks. Within a few months the serum levels come back into range. We tell the patient they need the injections for life because the underlying absorption issue doesn't go away. Some of them feel a bit sharper at first. Most plateau. Most of the cognitive symptoms, the fog, the slow word-finding, the memory slips, never quite resolve. We tell them this is what age-related decline looks like alongside well-managed B12. We tell them to stay the course. Last Tuesday, one of them didn't. Her name is Barbara. She's been my patient for four years now, and she was coming in for the same review she gets every six months. Cognitive complaints. Quarterly hydroxocobalamin injections, by our practice nurse, since shortly after her bloods came back low at the start of all this. Score on the cognitive screen had been dropping by about two points each visit despite the injections doing their job on her serum levels. I expected the usual. A small further drop. Maybe stable if she was lucky. A conversation about whether donepezil should join the picture. Confirmation that she'd be in next month for her next injection. I did the screen. And I just stopped. Her score had gone up. Not by a small margin. By a margin I have never seen in a patient with mild cognitive impairment in 23 years of practice. Three points up. Above where she'd been when I first started recording her cognitive complaints four years ago. I looked at her. "What have you been doing differently?" "Nothing crazy. Just something a friend in my book group told me about." I didn't believe her. "New medication? Did anything change with your other prescriptions?" "No, nothing prescription. I just want to ask you something. Can I stop the injections? I don't think I need them anymore." I pulled up her records from six months ago and compared them side by side. Her trajectory had reversed. In 23 years of treating cognitive complaints in this surgery, with patients on B12 injections, on the standard schedule, on the formulary medication, doing everything we'd told them to do, I have watched scores go in one direction. Down. Lower over time. More forgetting. More confusion. More worry. This one went the other way. I sat back in my chair and I told her, honestly. "Barbara, I'd like to keep you on the injections for now while we work this out. But I need to understand what changed. Because these numbers don't match anything in your treatment history, and they don't match anything I've seen in 23 years." That's when Barbara told me everything. She said for the past four years, every six months, she'd sit in my surgery and hear the same thing. Levels are fine. Stay the course. We'll keep an eye on it. And every six months she'd go home and try something new on her own, because the course wasn't getting her where she wanted to be. She tried sleep first. The leaflet from the surgery said sleep was the foundation. She bought a new mattress. She stopped looking at her phone after 9pm. She read books about sleep. She got eight hours a night for four months solid. The fog was the same. She tried diet after that. Mediterranean. Oily fish twice a week. Blueberries every morning. Walnuts as snacks. Olive oil instead of butter. She did it for five months. Her cholesterol came down a few points. The fog was still there. She tried exercise. Walking five mornings a week, twenty-two minutes a loop around her village. Then she joined a Pilates class. Then a tai chi class on Saturdays. Her hip hurt less. Her sleep improved further. The fog stayed. And then there were the injections themselves. The first one had genuinely helped. She said the brain fog had lifted for nearly three weeks after that first appointment, and she'd told her sister about it the next time they had tea, that was the first time in two years she'd told someone something hopeful. The second injection helped a bit less. By the fourth injection she was barely noticing a difference. But her serum B12 was 'within range' so we kept her on the schedule. Twelve-weekly. Four years now. A small puncture and a small bruise and a small lift that had stopped lifting two and a half years ago. She told me she had almost accepted it. That this was just her life now. Coming in every twelve weeks for a jab in the arm. Watching the screen score creep down in between. Sitting in my surgery while I talked, kindly, about what we'd do next. Going home and feeling herself slip a little further every month and not being able to point to anything specific. Just the slow accumulation of a hundred small absences. She told me about her mother. How her mother started forgetting where she'd put her handbag in her late sixties. How she'd ask Barbara the same question three times in an evening. How she'd lose the thread of a story halfway through telling it. How she'd come into the kitchen and stand there for several seconds trying to remember why she'd come in. Small things at first. Things you tell yourself are just normal. Things Barbara used to laugh about with her sister, in the way you laugh about something because the alternative is crying about it. By the time her mother was 76, she didn't know which day of the week it was. By 78, she was getting lost on the route to the corner shop she'd been walking to for thirty years. By 79, she put the kettle in the fridge twice in one week. By 81, when Barbara visited her in the home, her mother looked up from her chair and asked the carer who the lady at the door was. Barbara was the lady at the door. Her only daughter. I hear that story every week in this surgery. Different names. Same road. Then she told me what changed. About five months ago, a friend in her book group told her about something she'd been giving her husband. This friend explained something Barbara had never heard from me, or from any specialist she'd ever seen. She said the reason B12 didn't work isn't because it's a bad idea. It's because most vitamin B supplements out there aren't in the forms your body can actually use immediately. And here is the part that stopped me, when Barbara repeated it to me, because the friend, somehow, had also understood that this was true of the injections. Not just supermarket B12 tablets. The injections too. Here's what she explained, and I'm going to put it in terms that make sense, because I've come to believe she was right and it matters. Around every nerve fibre in your brain, and there are billions of them, there is a fatty insulating layer called the myelin sheath. It's what allows electrical signals to travel cleanly and quickly along the nerve. When the myelin sheath is healthy, signals fire fast and clean. Thoughts complete themselves. Words arrive when you reach for them. Names stay where they should. The whole system runs the way it's supposed to. When the myelin sheath starts to break down, signals slow. They scatter. They lose definition. Thoughts take longer. Words don't arrive. Movements feel a half-beat behind. The whole nervous system runs at a lower register. That's the brain fog. That's the morning where the names aren't there. That's the conversation where you lose the thread. The myelin sheath is something your body has to actively maintain. Every day. With the right materials. The most important of those materials is B12, but specifically, the active form of it. The one called methylcobalamin. The B12 injections we routinely prescribe are hydroxocobalamin. That's not the same as cyanocobalamin in supermarket B12 tablets, it's closer to what your body needs. But it's still not the active form. It still requires a conversion step. And for people whose conversion enzymes are struggling, which is most people over 60, that conversion remains the bottleneck. Which is why Barbara's serum B12 was beautiful and her cognitive function wasn't. The injection delivered B12 to her bloodstream. The B12 in her bloodstream was almost the right form. Not quite. The myelin sheath was still hungry. That's why the first injection had helped. There was such a deficit when she started that even partial conversion produced a noticeable effect. Then the conversion enzymes hit their ceiling. The injections kept her serum levels topped up. The myelin kept thinning. The cognitive screen kept dropping. And we kept her on the schedule because the schedule was what the schedule was. When Barbara explained this to me, I'll be honest. I knew the underlying biology. I studied B12 metabolism in medical school. I've read the research on methylation pathways. I've ordered countless courses of hydroxocobalamin in this surgery without really thinking about it, because that's what the formulary stocks and that's what we do. But I had never put it together with what I was seeing in patients like Barbara. Patients whose injections were keeping their serum levels textbook-perfect. Whose cognitive screens kept dropping anyway. Patients I'd been telling, kindly, that some of this is just normal aging on top of well-managed B12. And I had never seen a patient's score actually go up. Not stable. Not slow the decline. Actually improve. That's what was sitting in front of me on her form. "So what did you do about it?" I asked her. She told me her friend had pointed her to a brand called rynw. A British company that uses the active forms of every B vitamin. Methylcobalamin instead of cyanocobalamin or hydroxocobalamin. Methylfolate instead of folic acid. P5P instead of pyridoxine. Already in the forms the body can use the moment they're absorbed, regardless of whether the conversion machinery is still working. "It's not a miracle pill," she said. "I kept going to my injection appointments. I still went to bed early. I still walked. I still ate the fish. But this was the first thing that actually moved the fog." I asked her to walk me through her timeline. She said the first week, she slept a little longer before her brain came online in the morning. She wasn't sure if it was real or if she just wanted it to be. By week two, she remembered her grandson's friends' names without having to scroll through her phone. First time in over a year. By week three, she went back to the morning crossword. Not the cryptic one, the quick one. But she finished it before her tea went cold, which she hadn't been able to do in two years. By month two, she went to her granddaughter's school play and sat through the whole hour and a half. She said she remembered the songs, the names of the characters, the bit at the end where the frog was supposed to be a prince. She was actually there. Present. Not just managing. Month three, she finished the book her book group had been reading. The first book she'd finished in over a year. Month five, she was sitting in my surgery with a cognitive screen score that had gone in the wrong direction. The good kind of wrong. And she was asking if it was time to come off injections she'd been having every twelve weeks for the last four years. After Barbara left that day, I spent the entire evening reading everything I could find on methylcobalamin and the maintenance of myelin in older adults. The research backed up what she'd told me. The pathway was real. The form distinction was real. The studies were real. The largest, run out of Oxford, had followed several hundred people with mild cognitive impairment over two years. The group taking active forms of B vitamins lost brain tissue at a dramatically slower rate than the placebo group. The effect was strongest in the regions most responsible for memory and clear thinking. I'd known about that study. I just hadn't translated it into anything I did differently in clinic. But here's what I also learned, and it matters. Not all active-form B vitamins are the same. Most products that claim to use methylcobalamin or methylfolate actually use them in token amounts, alongside large quantities of the cheaper cyanocobalamin and folic acid, to keep the bottle cost down. Or they use the active forms at doses well below what the actual research used. I told Barbara I wanted to check her serum B12 first before we made any decision about the injections. We took her bloods. The result came back two days later. Her B12 was at the higher end of the range. Higher than she'd been on hydroxocobalamin alone in the past two years. Whatever she was now taking, in whatever form, was reaching her bloodstream, and the cognitive screen score told me it was reaching her myelin sheath, even before the bloodwork confirmed the first part. I rang her that afternoon. I told her if her next bloods in three months remained adequate, we could discuss switching from twelve-weekly hydroxocobalamin to daily oral active-form maintenance, with monitoring. That's a conversation she and I would have, with her bloods in front of us. I wanted to keep watching. But I'm telling you, after twenty-three years of writing standing prescriptions for hydroxocobalamin every twelve weeks for life, the conversation about transitioning a stable patient off injections, with her serum levels and her cognitive function in range simultaneously, that's not a conversation I would have considered before Barbara walked into my surgery last Tuesday. I started recommending rynw, quietly, to a few of my patients. The ones who were where Barbara had been six months ago. The ones whose injections were doing what injections are supposed to do, but who were still slipping in every other way that mattered. I'm watching their results now. And I'm seeing things I don't normally see. If you're reading this right now because your B12 levels are 'within range' and your memory keeps slipping anyway. If you've been on the injections for years and the first one helped but none of the others did. If you've done the sleep, the diet, the walking, and the fog is still there. If you watched your mother or your father go through this and you're quietly watching the same thing happen in your own head, one small absence at a time, and nobody can tell you how to get off the road you're on. You're not imagining it. You're not being dramatic. You don't just have to accept this. You were treating the bloodwork. Nobody was treating the myelin sheath. And without a maintained myelin sheath, none of the rest of it makes a lasting difference. The active forms of B vitamins reach the myelin sheath directly, regardless of whether your conversion enzymes are still working. The myelin gets the support it needs. Signals start firing cleanly again. The fog lifts. Words start arriving. The cycle starts to break. Not because something forced it. Because your body is doing what it already knows how to do. You just had to give it the form it can actually use. But only if the form is right. Only if the dose matches the research. Only if it's tested. rynw is the brand I've been recommending. I picked it because it's the only one I could find in the UK that uses the active forms of every key ingredient, methylcobalamin, methylfolate, P5P, at the doses the actual clinical research uses. British company. Third-party tested for purity. No fillers. 30 days to try it. If nothing changes, full refund. No questions. A note on the injections. If you're currently on B12 injections, do not stop them on your own. They are doing important work on your serum levels, and the absorption issue that put you on them is still real. What you can do is talk to your GP about adding the active forms, and then, with monitoring and proper bloodwork, having a conversation about whether the schedule still needs to be what it is. If by the end of week one you're remembering names you'd been forgetting. If by week two you finish a crossword for the first time in a year. If by week three you sit through a school play and you're actually present. If a month from now your book group meets and you've actually finished the book. If three months from now your GP runs your cognitive screen and stops. And looks at you. And asks if it might be time to think about whether the twelve-weekly injection schedule is still what's needed. You'll wish you'd found this years ago. I know Barbara does. - Dr. Catherine Bennett 👉 https://rynw.com/products/b-complex
I'm the clean one in my house. I cleaned my fridge twice a week for 4 years. My husband used to joke I was punishing it. Last month I figured out why none of it ever worked. I'm Helen. I'm 56, and I have cleaned my fridge like this every two weeks since I was twenty-four years old. Tomorrow morning, I'll open it and the smell will already be there. Faint at first. Sour, like old milk you can't quite locate. Hidden behind the bleach for maybe 36 hours. By Wednesday it'll be obvious. By Friday I'll feel embarrassed when my daughter-in-law Emma comes over and reaches in for a glass of water. For 30 years I assumed this was just how fridges were. That the smell was the cost of having food in a house. That my mum and her mum and every woman in our family had the same faint awful sour edge under their bleach and we all just pretended not to notice. I want to talk about why none of that was true. But first I want to talk about how much I tried. I bought a new fridge in 2021. Around €1,200. A Bosch, the kind they advertise as having anti-bacterial linings. Within six weeks of installing it the smell was back. Identical. Same notes. Same timing. I cried in my kitchen the morning I noticed. Not because of the fridge. Because of the money and the certainty that it must be me. So I cleaned harder. I went from cleaning every two weeks to weekly. Then to twice a week. Sundays AND Wednesdays. My husband Tom started teasing me — "Helen, the fridge is going to file for divorce" — and then he stopped because he saw it was upsetting me. I bought every product. Fridge spray from the supermarket. White vinegar diluted in water. Bicarbonate of soda paste. The pink cleaning paste my friend swore by. Bleach — old fashioned, full strength bleach — diluted to the strength they use in food prep kitchens. I kept rubber gloves by the fridge. I had a special toothbrush — labelled, in case anyone confused it with a real one — for cleaning the rubber door seal where my mother had told me bacteria hides. I dropped a fresh box of bicarbonate of soda in every month. 47 boxes between 2019 and last summer. I added them up because I needed to see the number. I stopped buying soft fruit because the strawberries always went furry before I finished them and I didn't want to look at them in the bin. Same with raspberries. Same with bagged salad. Same with mushrooms. I'd narrowed my entire weekly shop down to things I trusted to last. It's a small thing to live with, I know. Nobody's getting hospitalised. But every Sunday night, in my bleach-smelling kitchen at eleven o'clock, with my hands raw and shelves on the draining board, I felt something a bit broken. Tom said something to me last August that I think about a lot. He said: "Helen. You're a good person, you're a clever person, you're a tidy person. You haven't been able to fix this in 30 years. Maybe it isn't your job to fix." I didn't know what he meant at the time. I do now. What changed it was a conversation on the train. I was on the train one morning in February. The woman next to me was reading something on her tablet and we got chatting the way people sometimes do. She told me she ran a catering company out in the countryside. Twenty-five years in commercial kitchens. I told her I cleaned fridges for fun, which is the joke I'd developed. She laughed politely. Then she said, completely casually: "We don't scrub air." I asked her what she meant. "In commercial kitchens. Nobody who's been doing this twenty years thinks the smell or the spoilage in a fridge comes from the surfaces. We clean surfaces because health inspectors come, but the actual problem — what's killing your strawberries, what's making your fridge smell — is in the air. You can scrub a shelf for an hour and the air above it doesn't change. We treat the air with a unit. Has been standard for decades. Domestic fridges never had one because nobody thought to make a small version." I stared at her. "There's a small version now?" "There's a few. The one I have at home is called Noova. About the size of a salt shaker. Sits on the middle shelf. Takes the smell away in two days, makes the food last twice as long. Lasts ten years. About the same as you'd spend on bicarb boxes over the same time." I wrote it on my phone. My hand was shaking slightly, which is silly, but it was. I went home that evening, looked it up, and read for two hours. Not the marketing — the science. What the woman on the train told me was right. The reason I'd been losing the war for 30 years is that I'd been fighting on the wrong battlefield. When food spoils in a fridge, the bacteria and mould don't stay on the food. They release spores and volatile compounds into the air inside the unit. The cold doesn't kill these — it slows them, and some species of mould actually thrive in cold conditions. The spores then settle on every other surface in the fridge, including food I'd just cleaned. That's why the strawberries I bought on Saturday were furry by Tuesday even though the fridge had been bleached on Sunday. The bleach killed the surface bacteria. The air put new ones back within hours. NSF International tested 14 random domestic fridges in 2013. Every single one contained yeast and mould — 100%. A study from the University of Vienna last year found 2,184 species of microbes living in 45 normal home fridges. Sixty percent of them contained pathogens that grow at fridge temperature. The European Food Safety Authority recommends a fridge temperature below 5°C. Most domestic fridges run at 6-7°C. Mine was 6.5°C — well within the range where Listeria continues to multiply. I'd been scrubbing surfaces for 30 years. I'd never been treating the air. Nobody had told me the air needed treating. I ordered Noova that night. Here's what it is, in proper words. It's a small steel cylinder containing what's called a CH-CUT Catalytic Decomposition Technology™ core. The same technology has been used in commercial food storage warehouses for decades. The core attracts airborne contaminants — bacteria, mould spores, volatile organic compounds — and tears them apart at the molecular level, converting them into harmless water vapour and carbon dioxide. Unlike bicarbonate of soda which absorbs odours until it saturates and then does nothing, Noova destroys what it captures. So it never fills up. No batteries. No filters. No replacements. Set it on the middle shelf and it works for ten years. I'll be honest. I expected it to do something for the smell, and I expected to be slightly disappointed about everything else. Here's what actually happened. 36 hours after I put it in: the smell was gone. Not faded. Gone. I opened the fridge on the Wednesday morning to make coffee and stood there for ten seconds trying to work out what was different. It smelled of nothing. Like a new appliance still in its packaging. Day five: I bought strawberries to test. They were still firm on day six. Day seven. Day nine. I ate the last of them on day ten. My standard was 3 days before this. Day fourteen: I noticed I hadn't cleaned the fridge that week. I'd just wiped a shelf with a damp cloth on Sunday. There was nothing to clean. The shelves looked like I'd just deep-scrubbed them. I told Tom and he opened the door and stood there for a minute and said "Helen. I think you can stop now." Week six: I weighed everything I threw out for that two weeks. About €5. Down from roughly €40 a fortnight. My loaf of bread went the full week without mould. The leftover roast chicken from Sunday tasted right on Wednesday. The yoghurt my granddaughter brought reached its printed date and was still completely fine. Week ten: I cancelled my bicarbonate of soda order on Amazon Subscribe & Save. I'd been getting two boxes delivered every month for nine years. I bought three more Noovas in week six. One for Tom's mum. One for our daughter. One for Emma, my daughter-in-law, who I'd seen wrinkle her nose at my fridge in 2022 and never quite forgot. Tom's mum phoned the second week to ask whether anyone made a bigger one for the freezer. She'd never thanked me for a present that fast in 30 years of marriage. I'm going to stop here because the rest is just numbers. Strawberries lasting twice as long. €30 a week not in the bin. A fridge that smells of nothing. What I want to say to anyone reading this who's been losing the same war I was losing — and I think there are a lot of you, because we were all taught the same thing by the same mothers — is that it isn't your cleaning. It never was. You were taught to scrub the wrong thing. The smell isn't on your shelves. The mould isn't on your food. The problem isn't your fridge being too old or too full or too cheap or too anything. It's the air, which nobody ever told us to treat, because nobody ever sold us a way to until now. I'm 56 years old and I just learned this. I'd be slightly angry about that if I weren't so relieved. Right now, the company behind Noova is offering up to sixty percent off, but I don't know how long that's going to last. Every time word spreads about this device, it sells out fast. Last year alone, they completely sold out their inventory twice. That's why it's not in stores and you won't find it on Amazon. It's only available on the official Noova website and supplies are extremely limited. If you've been scrubbing your fridge every Sunday with bleach and a toothbrush, and the smell is back by Wednesday — if you've quietly wondered whether you're losing your mind because none of it ever sticks — you need to see this. One Noova device costs less than what most European families waste on spoiled groceries in a single week — and protects your refrigerator for ten full years with zero maintenance. The company backs this with a ninety-day money-back guarantee. If Noova doesn't eliminate your fridge odours and keep your food fresher longer, you get every penny back, no questions asked. That's three full months to test it in real-world conditions with zero risk. I spent thirty years scrubbing surfaces that were never the problem. I scrubbed my way through three fridges and probably a thousand euros of cleaning products. All I needed was this one small device on the middle shelf. Click the button below to see if it's still available before it sells out again. | I'm the clean one in my house. I cleaned my fridge twice a week for 4 years. My husband used to joke I was punishing it. Last month I figured out why none of it ever worked. I'm Helen. I'm 56, and I have cleaned my fridge like this every two weeks since I was twenty-four years old. Tomorrow morning, I'll open it and the smell will already be there. Faint at first. Sour, like old milk you can't quite locate. Hidden behind the bleach for maybe 36 hours. By Wednesday it'll be obvious. By Friday I'll feel embarrassed when my daughter-in-law Emma comes over and reaches in for a glass of water. For 30 years I assumed this was just how fridges were. That the smell was the cost of having food in a house. That my mum and her mum and every woman in our family had the same faint awful sour edge under their bleach and we all just pretended not to notice. I want to talk about why none of that was true. But first I want to talk about how much I tried. I bought a new fridge in 2021. Around €1,200. A Bosch, the kind they advertise as having anti-bacterial linings. Within six weeks of installing it the smell was back. Identical. Same notes. Same timing. I cried in my kitchen the morning I noticed. Not because of the fridge. Because of the money and the certainty that it must be me. So I cleaned harder. I went from cleaning every two weeks to weekly. Then to twice a week. Sundays AND Wednesdays. My husband Tom started teasing me — "Helen, the fridge is going to file for divorce" — and then he stopped because he saw it was upsetting me. I bought every product. Fridge spray from the supermarket. White vinegar diluted in water. Bicarbonate of soda paste. The pink cleaning paste my friend swore by. Bleach — old fashioned, full strength bleach — diluted to the strength they use in food prep kitchens. I kept rubber gloves by the fridge. I had a special toothbrush — labelled, in case anyone confused it with a real one — for cleaning the rubber door seal where my mother had told me bacteria hides. I dropped a fresh box of bicarbonate of soda in every month. 47 boxes between 2019 and last summer. I added them up because I needed to see the number. I stopped buying soft fruit because the strawberries always went furry before I finished them and I didn't want to look at them in the bin. Same with raspberries. Same with bagged salad. Same with mushrooms. I'd narrowed my entire weekly shop down to things I trusted to last. It's a small thing to live with, I know. Nobody's getting hospitalised. But every Sunday night, in my bleach-smelling kitchen at eleven o'clock, with my hands raw and shelves on the draining board, I felt something a bit broken. Tom said something to me last August that I think about a lot. He said: "Helen. You're a good person, you're a clever person, you're a tidy person. You haven't been able to fix this in 30 years. Maybe it isn't your job to fix." I didn't know what he meant at the time. I do now. What changed it was a conversation on the train. I was on the train one morning in February. The woman next to me was reading something on her tablet and we got chatting the way people sometimes do. She told me she ran a catering company out in the countryside. Twenty-five years in commercial kitchens. I told her I cleaned fridges for fun, which is the joke I'd developed. She laughed politely. Then she said, completely casually: "We don't scrub air." I asked her what she meant. "In commercial kitchens. Nobody who's been doing this twenty years thinks the smell or the spoilage in a fridge comes from the surfaces. We clean surfaces because health inspectors come, but the actual problem — what's killing your strawberries, what's making your fridge smell — is in the air. You can scrub a shelf for an hour and the air above it doesn't change. We treat the air with a unit. Has been standard for decades. Domestic fridges never had one because nobody thought to make a small version." I stared at her. "There's a small version now?" "There's a few. The one I have at home is called Noova. About the size of a salt shaker. Sits on the middle shelf. Takes the smell away in two days, makes the food last twice as long. Lasts ten years. About the same as you'd spend on bicarb boxes over the same time." I wrote it on my phone. My hand was shaking slightly, which is silly, but it was. I went home that evening, looked it up, and read for two hours. Not the marketing — the science. What the woman on the train told me was right. The reason I'd been losing the war for 30 years is that I'd been fighting on the wrong battlefield. When food spoils in a fridge, the bacteria and mould don't stay on the food. They release spores and volatile compounds into the air inside the unit. The cold doesn't kill these — it slows them, and some species of mould actually thrive in cold conditions. The spores then settle on every other surface in the fridge, including food I'd just cleaned. That's why the strawberries I bought on Saturday were furry by Tuesday even though the fridge had been bleached on Sunday. The bleach killed the surface bacteria. The air put new ones back within hours. NSF International tested 14 random domestic fridges in 2013. Every single one contained yeast and mould — 100%. A study from the University of Vienna last year found 2,184 species of microbes living in 45 normal home fridges. Sixty percent of them contained pathogens that grow at fridge temperature. The European Food Safety Authority recommends a fridge temperature below 5°C. Most domestic fridges run at 6-7°C. Mine was 6.5°C — well within the range where Listeria continues to multiply. I'd been scrubbing surfaces for 30 years. I'd never been treating the air. Nobody had told me the air needed treating. I ordered Noova that night. Here's what it is, in proper words. It's a small steel cylinder containing what's called a CH-CUT Catalytic Decomposition Technology™ core. The same technology has been used in commercial food storage warehouses for decades. The core attracts airborne contaminants — bacteria, mould spores, volatile organic compounds — and tears them apart at the molecular level, converting them into harmless water vapour and carbon dioxide. Unlike bicarbonate of soda which absorbs odours until it saturates and then does nothing, Noova destroys what it captures. So it never fills up. No batteries. No filters. No replacements. Set it on the middle shelf and it works for ten years. I'll be honest. I expected it to do something for the smell, and I expected to be slightly disappointed about everything else. Here's what actually happened. 36 hours after I put it in: the smell was gone. Not faded. Gone. I opened the fridge on the Wednesday morning to make coffee and stood there for ten seconds trying to work out what was different. It smelled of nothing. Like a new appliance still in its packaging. Day five: I bought strawberries to test. They were still firm on day six. Day seven. Day nine. I ate the last of them on day ten. My standard was 3 days before this. Day fourteen: I noticed I hadn't cleaned the fridge that week. I'd just wiped a shelf with a damp cloth on Sunday. There was nothing to clean. The shelves looked like I'd just deep-scrubbed them. I told Tom and he opened the door and stood there for a minute and said "Helen. I think you can stop now." Week six: I weighed everything I threw out for that two weeks. About €5. Down from roughly €40 a fortnight. My loaf of bread went the full week without mould. The leftover roast chicken from Sunday tasted right on Wednesday. The yoghurt my granddaughter brought reached its printed date and was still completely fine. Week ten: I cancelled my bicarbonate of soda order on Amazon Subscribe & Save. I'd been getting two boxes delivered every month for nine years. I bought three more Noovas in week six. One for Tom's mum. One for our daughter. One for Emma, my daughter-in-law, who I'd seen wrinkle her nose at my fridge in 2022 and never quite forgot. Tom's mum phoned the second week to ask whether anyone made a bigger one for the freezer. She'd never thanked me for a present that fast in 30 years of marriage. I'm going to stop here because the rest is just numbers. Strawberries lasting twice as long. €30 a week not in the bin. A fridge that smells of nothing. What I want to say to anyone reading this who's been losing the same war I was losing — and I think there are a lot of you, because we were all taught the same thing by the same mothers — is that it isn't your cleaning. It never was. You were taught to scrub the wrong thing. The smell isn't on your shelves. The mould isn't on your food. The problem isn't your fridge being too old or too full or too cheap or too anything. It's the air, which nobody ever told us to treat, because nobody ever sold us a way to until now. I'm 56 years old and I just learned this. I'd be slightly angry about that if I weren't so relieved. Right now, the company behind Noova is offering up to sixty percent off, but I don't know how long that's going to last. Every time word spreads about this device, it sells out fast. Last year alone, they completely sold out their inventory twice. That's why it's not in stores and you won't find it on Amazon. It's only available on the official Noova website and supplies are extremely limited. If you've been scrubbing your fridge every Sunday with bleach and a toothbrush, and the smell is back by Wednesday — if you've quietly wondered whether you're losing your mind because none of it ever sticks — you need to see this. One Noova device costs less than what most European families waste on spoiled groceries in a single week — and protects your refrigerator for ten full years with zero maintenance. The company backs this with a ninety-day money-back guarantee. If Noova doesn't eliminate your fridge odours and keep your food fresher longer, you get every penny back, no questions asked. That's three full months to test it in real-world conditions with zero risk. I spent thirty years scrubbing surfaces that were never the problem. I scrubbed my way through three fridges and probably a thousand euros of cleaning products. All I needed was this one small device on the middle shelf. Click the button below to see if it's still available before it sells out again. | I'm the clean one in my house. I cleaned my fridge twice a week for 4 years. My husband used to joke I was punishing it. Last month I figured out why none of it ever worked. I'm Helen. I'm 56, and I have cleaned my fridge like this every two weeks since I was twenty-four years old. Tomorrow morning, I'll open it and the smell will already be there. Faint at first. Sour, like old milk you can't quite locate. Hidden behind the bleach for maybe 36 hours. By Wednesday it'll be obvious. By Friday I'll feel embarrassed when my daughter-in-law Emma comes over and reaches in for a glass of water. For 30 years I assumed this was just how fridges were. That the smell was the cost of having food in a house. That my mum and her mum and every woman in our family had the same faint awful sour edge under their bleach and we all just pretended not to notice. I want to talk about why none of that was true. But first I want to talk about how much I tried. I bought a new fridge in 2021. Around €1,200. A Bosch, the kind they advertise as having anti-bacterial linings. Within six weeks of installing it the smell was back. Identical. Same notes. Same timing. I cried in my kitchen the morning I noticed. Not because of the fridge. Because of the money and the certainty that it must be me. So I cleaned harder. I went from cleaning every two weeks to weekly. Then to twice a week. Sundays AND Wednesdays. My husband Tom started teasing me — "Helen, the fridge is going to file for divorce" — and then he stopped because he saw it was upsetting me. I bought every product. Fridge spray from the supermarket. White vinegar diluted in water. Bicarbonate of soda paste. The pink cleaning paste my friend swore by. Bleach — old fashioned, full strength bleach — diluted to the strength they use in food prep kitchens. I kept rubber gloves by the fridge. I had a special toothbrush — labelled, in case anyone confused it with a real one — for cleaning the rubber door seal where my mother had told me bacteria hides. I dropped a fresh box of bicarbonate of soda in every month. 47 boxes between 2019 and last summer. I added them up because I needed to see the number. I stopped buying soft fruit because the strawberries always went furry before I finished them and I didn't want to look at them in the bin. Same with raspberries. Same with bagged salad. Same with mushrooms. I'd narrowed my entire weekly shop down to things I trusted to last. It's a small thing to live with, I know. Nobody's getting hospitalised. But every Sunday night, in my bleach-smelling kitchen at eleven o'clock, with my hands raw and shelves on the draining board, I felt something a bit broken. Tom said something to me last August that I think about a lot. He said: "Helen. You're a good person, you're a clever person, you're a tidy person. You haven't been able to fix this in 30 years. Maybe it isn't your job to fix." I didn't know what he meant at the time. I do now. What changed it was a conversation on the train. I was on the train one morning in February. The woman next to me was reading something on her tablet and we got chatting the way people sometimes do. She told me she ran a catering company out in the countryside. Twenty-five years in commercial kitchens. I told her I cleaned fridges for fun, which is the joke I'd developed. She laughed politely. Then she said, completely casually: "We don't scrub air." I asked her what she meant. "In commercial kitchens. Nobody who's been doing this twenty years thinks the smell or the spoilage in a fridge comes from the surfaces. We clean surfaces because health inspectors come, but the actual problem — what's killing your strawberries, what's making your fridge smell — is in the air. You can scrub a shelf for an hour and the air above it doesn't change. We treat the air with a unit. Has been standard for decades. Domestic fridges never had one because nobody thought to make a small version." I stared at her. "There's a small version now?" "There's a few. The one I have at home is called Noova. About the size of a salt shaker. Sits on the middle shelf. Takes the smell away in two days, makes the food last twice as long. Lasts ten years. About the same as you'd spend on bicarb boxes over the same time." I wrote it on my phone. My hand was shaking slightly, which is silly, but it was. I went home that evening, looked it up, and read for two hours. Not the marketing — the science. What the woman on the train told me was right. The reason I'd been losing the war for 30 years is that I'd been fighting on the wrong battlefield. When food spoils in a fridge, the bacteria and mould don't stay on the food. They release spores and volatile compounds into the air inside the unit. The cold doesn't kill these — it slows them, and some species of mould actually thrive in cold conditions. The spores then settle on every other surface in the fridge, including food I'd just cleaned. That's why the strawberries I bought on Saturday were furry by Tuesday even though the fridge had been bleached on Sunday. The bleach killed the surface bacteria. The air put new ones back within hours. NSF International tested 14 random domestic fridges in 2013. Every single one contained yeast and mould — 100%. A study from the University of Vienna last year found 2,184 species of microbes living in 45 normal home fridges. Sixty percent of them contained pathogens that grow at fridge temperature. The European Food Safety Authority recommends a fridge temperature below 5°C. Most domestic fridges run at 6-7°C. Mine was 6.5°C — well within the range where Listeria continues to multiply. I'd been scrubbing surfaces for 30 years. I'd never been treating the air. Nobody had told me the air needed treating. I ordered Noova that night. Here's what it is, in proper words. It's a small steel cylinder containing what's called a CH-CUT Catalytic Decomposition Technology™ core. The same technology has been used in commercial food storage warehouses for decades. The core attracts airborne contaminants — bacteria, mould spores, volatile organic compounds — and tears them apart at the molecular level, converting them into harmless water vapour and carbon dioxide. Unlike bicarbonate of soda which absorbs odours until it saturates and then does nothing, Noova destroys what it captures. So it never fills up. No batteries. No filters. No replacements. Set it on the middle shelf and it works for ten years. I'll be honest. I expected it to do something for the smell, and I expected to be slightly disappointed about everything else. Here's what actually happened. 36 hours after I put it in: the smell was gone. Not faded. Gone. I opened the fridge on the Wednesday morning to make coffee and stood there for ten seconds trying to work out what was different. It smelled of nothing. Like a new appliance still in its packaging. Day five: I bought strawberries to test. They were still firm on day six. Day seven. Day nine. I ate the last of them on day ten. My standard was 3 days before this. Day fourteen: I noticed I hadn't cleaned the fridge that week. I'd just wiped a shelf with a damp cloth on Sunday. There was nothing to clean. The shelves looked like I'd just deep-scrubbed them. I told Tom and he opened the door and stood there for a minute and said "Helen. I think you can stop now." Week six: I weighed everything I threw out for that two weeks. About €5. Down from roughly €40 a fortnight. My loaf of bread went the full week without mould. The leftover roast chicken from Sunday tasted right on Wednesday. The yoghurt my granddaughter brought reached its printed date and was still completely fine. Week ten: I cancelled my bicarbonate of soda order on Amazon Subscribe & Save. I'd been getting two boxes delivered every month for nine years. I bought three more Noovas in week six. One for Tom's mum. One for our daughter. One for Emma, my daughter-in-law, who I'd seen wrinkle her nose at my fridge in 2022 and never quite forgot. Tom's mum phoned the second week to ask whether anyone made a bigger one for the freezer. She'd never thanked me for a present that fast in 30 years of marriage. I'm going to stop here because the rest is just numbers. Strawberries lasting twice as long. €30 a week not in the bin. A fridge that smells of nothing. What I want to say to anyone reading this who's been losing the same war I was losing — and I think there are a lot of you, because we were all taught the same thing by the same mothers — is that it isn't your cleaning. It never was. You were taught to scrub the wrong thing. The smell isn't on your shelves. The mould isn't on your food. The problem isn't your fridge being too old or too full or too cheap or too anything. It's the air, which nobody ever told us to treat, because nobody ever sold us a way to until now. I'm 56 years old and I just learned this. I'd be slightly angry about that if I weren't so relieved. Right now, the company behind Noova is offering up to sixty percent off, but I don't know how long that's going to last. Every time word spreads about this device, it sells out fast. Last year alone, they completely sold out their inventory twice. That's why it's not in stores and you won't find it on Amazon. It's only available on the official Noova website and supplies are extremely limited. If you've been scrubbing your fridge every Sunday with bleach and a toothbrush, and the smell is back by Wednesday — if you've quietly wondered whether you're losing your mind because none of it ever sticks — you need to see this. One Noova device costs less than what most European families waste on spoiled groceries in a single week — and protects your refrigerator for ten full years with zero maintenance. The company backs this with a ninety-day money-back guarantee. If Noova doesn't eliminate your fridge odours and keep your food fresher longer, you get every penny back, no questions asked. That's three full months to test it in real-world conditions with zero risk. I spent thirty years scrubbing surfaces that were never the problem. I scrubbed my way through three fridges and probably a thousand euros of cleaning products. All I needed was this one small device on the middle shelf. Click the button below to see if it's still available before it sells out again.
At 74 you stop expecting things to surprise you. So when I tracked my food waste for 8 weeks, I expected to confirm what I already knew. The number broke me. I'm Patricia. I'm 74, I live alone in a small house, and like a lot of people my age I count every penny. Between my state pension and the supplements I get about €1,400 a month. Property tax, gas heating in winter, the electricity, the car insurance I keep so I can drive to my sister Maureen on Sundays — by the time I've paid all of it I have about €100 a week for groceries and anything else. It isn't enough. Most weeks aren't enough. I've got very good at making it stretch. I want to tell you about something I did in January that I think a lot of people my age should do, and what came out of it. In January I bought a cheap kitchen scale from the home goods shop in town. About fifteen euros. The kind that runs on a battery and shows kilos and grams. Every time I threw something out of the fridge, I weighed it. Then I worked out what I'd paid for it from the receipt. Then I wrote both numbers down in a notebook with the date. I did this for 8 weeks. I want to be specific about what I was throwing out, because if you're like me you'll recognise every item. A bag of salad I'd opened on Wednesday and meant to use Thursday and forgot until Saturday. €2.80. 80 grams of slimy spinach. A punnet of strawberries from the supermarket, full price €4.50, opened on Sunday, growing fuzz by Wednesday. About 60% wasted. Roughly €2.70 in the bin. A piece of cheese I'd bought on a yellow markdown sticker for €4, with a fuzzy edge developing on the wrap by day five. The whole thing thrown out because I'm 74 and I'm not eating around mould. Half a litre of milk that smelled fine on Monday and slightly turned by Wednesday. €1. A roast chicken thigh from the Sunday dinner I cooked for myself, sealed in a container, that had a faint sour edge by Tuesday lunchtime. €2.50 for the cut. A loaf of multigrain bread, smallest size, that I'd intended to last me the week and which had a green spot by Friday. €2.80, half thrown. That's a single week. It happened in some form every single week. I was going to add it all up at the end of February. Maureen phoned on a Tuesday and we got chatting about food budgets and I said "Hold on Maureen, I want to add up something." I got the notebook. I added it up. €54.80 a week. I sat at the table for a long time after I worked it out. Maureen had to phone me back later because we'd been cut off. I couldn't speak. €55 a week. About €220 a month. Over €2,860 a year. On a state pension. I want to be honest with anyone reading this. The reason I cried that afternoon wasn't really the money, although the money mattered. It was that I'd been telling myself for years I was being careful. Vouchers in the kitchen drawer. Yellow markdown stickers. Cooking from scratch every Sunday. Stretching meals two ways. Doing all of the things you do when you grew up the way my generation grew up, in households where wasting food was something you didn't do. And the whole time I'd been throwing nearly a fifth of my food into the bin. It wasn't laziness. I am not lazy. I think you can tell I'm not lazy from the part where I bought a kitchen scale to weigh my rubbish. The food was simply going off before I could eat it. I phoned my niece Karen the next morning. She's 42, she lives in the city, and she's the one in our family who's always on the internet and always knows things. I told her what I'd worked out. She listened the whole way through. Then she said something I didn't understand at first. "Aunt Pat. It's probably not your fridge. It's the air inside it." She explained what she meant. She'd read an article a few months back about why food spoils faster in domestic fridges than in commercial ones. The science is to do with the air. When food spoils, even a small amount, it releases bacteria and mould spores into the air inside the fridge. The air then circulates and lands on every other surface — including food you've just put in. The cold slows the spread but doesn't stop it. Some moulds actually prefer the cold. So even if your fridge looks clean — even if the shelves are bleached, even if the food is fresh — the air inside it has been carrying contamination for as long as it's been running. NSF International tested 14 home fridges in 2013, Karen told me. Every single one had yeast and mould in the air. A hundred percent. There was a more recent study from the University of Vienna that found over 2,000 species of microbes living in 45 normal home fridges, and that 60% of them contained active food pathogens. The European Food Safety Authority says your fridge should be below 5°C. Karen looked it up while we were on the phone — said most home fridges run at 6 or 7. That gap is where Listeria multiplies. I'd never even thought to check mine. I asked her why nobody knew this. She said: because nobody made money keeping your food fresh permanently. They make money selling you a new box of bicarbonate of soda every month and a new fridge every ten years and replacement charcoal bags forever. It only became a household product when somebody worked out how to miniaturise the technology that commercial kitchens have used for decades. She told me what to look up. A small unit, about the size of a salt shaker, that sits on the middle shelf of a normal fridge. Brand called Noova. Treats the air. Lasts ten years. No filters. No batteries. No replacements. I want to tell you my exact thoughts at this point because I think they'll match yours. First thought: That's a lot of money for a pensioner. I am not throwing money I don't have at something I read about on the internet. Second thought: I am throwing €55 a week into the bin already. The cost of one Noova is less than two weeks of what I'd already been wasting. I'm already throwing the price of it at the problem — just very slowly, in bin bags, every Friday. Third thought: If this works even half as well as Karen says, it pays itself back in food I'd otherwise throw away inside a few weeks. Fourth thought: And if it doesn't work, what? That's when I read about the 90-day money-back return. 90 days. Three months. They send your money back if you decide it doesn't work in your kitchen, no questions asked. I bought one. Just one. I wasn't going to be silly about it. I've kept the same notebook from January and continued tracking my food waste. I'm going to give you the actual numbers because I think they're the only honest way to do this. Weeks 1-8 before Noova: €54.80 average per week thrown out. Week 1 with Noova: €23 (still using up older food bought before). Week 4: €12. Week 8: €8 — which was a piece of cheese I dropped on the kitchen floor and a small punnet of raspberries I got distracted from. Total for the 8 weeks before: €438 in the bin. Total for the 8 weeks after: €81. Difference: €357 of food I kept. Noova paid for itself in less than two weeks of food I would have thrown away. After that, it's roughly €47 of food in my fridge every week, for the next ten years, that I would have been throwing away. If I'm still here at 84, that's nearly €24,000 of groceries that doesn't go in the bin. I want to be careful about something here. I'm not saying everyone will see the exact numbers I saw. I lived alone and I bought packs sized for households of four. People with families might see less proportionally. But the principle is what I want to leave you with: the fridge had been costing me money for years. I just wasn't seeing the bill. The other thing I want to mention because I know it'll matter to anyone in the same position as me: the smell that I'd lived with for so long that I'd stopped noticing was gone in two days. Two days. I noticed it the morning I went to make coffee and the air that came out of the fridge was cold and clean and didn't smell of anything. It was so unfamiliar that I thought for a second the fridge had broken. I phoned Maureen the same morning and ordered her one. She tried to argue about the money and I said "Maureen. Trust me on this one. It pays itself back." She phoned me three weeks later because her strawberries had lasted nine days. We laughed for about a minute on the phone, both of us. The kind of laugh you don't realise you needed. Right now, the company behind Noova is offering up to sixty percent off, but I don't know how long that's going to last. Every time word spreads about this device, it sells out fast. Last year alone, they completely sold out their inventory twice. That's why it's not in stores and you won't find it on Amazon. It's only available on the official Noova website and supplies are extremely limited. If you're a pensioner reading this and you're wasting groceries you can't afford to replace, please listen. One Noova device costs less than what most European families waste on spoiled food in a single week. The cost of it sits in your bin every two weeks already — you just haven't been weighing it. It protects your refrigerator for ten full years with zero maintenance. No batteries, no filters, no replacements, no subscription, nothing else to buy ever. The company backs this with a ninety-day money-back guarantee. If Noova doesn't eliminate your fridge odours and keep your food fresher longer, you get every penny back, no questions asked. That's three full months to test it in real-world conditions, with your own groceries, in your own kitchen, with zero risk. I waited twelve years too long. That's nearly twenty thousand euros of groceries in the bin since 2012, on a pension I cannot replace. All I needed was this one small device on the middle shelf. Click the button below to see if it's still available before it sells out again. | At 74 you stop expecting things to surprise you. So when I tracked my food waste for 8 weeks, I expected to confirm what I already knew. The number broke me. I'm Patricia. I'm 74, I live alone in a small house, and like a lot of people my age I count every penny. Between my state pension and the supplements I get about €1,400 a month. Property tax, gas heating in winter, the electricity, the car insurance I keep so I can drive to my sister Maureen on Sundays — by the time I've paid all of it I have about €100 a week for groceries and anything else. It isn't enough. Most weeks aren't enough. I've got very good at making it stretch. I want to tell you about something I did in January that I think a lot of people my age should do, and what came out of it. In January I bought a cheap kitchen scale from the home goods shop in town. About fifteen euros. The kind that runs on a battery and shows kilos and grams. Every time I threw something out of the fridge, I weighed it. Then I worked out what I'd paid for it from the receipt. Then I wrote both numbers down in a notebook with the date. I did this for 8 weeks. I want to be specific about what I was throwing out, because if you're like me you'll recognise every item. A bag of salad I'd opened on Wednesday and meant to use Thursday and forgot until Saturday. €2.80. 80 grams of slimy spinach. A punnet of strawberries from the supermarket, full price €4.50, opened on Sunday, growing fuzz by Wednesday. About 60% wasted. Roughly €2.70 in the bin. A piece of cheese I'd bought on a yellow markdown sticker for €4, with a fuzzy edge developing on the wrap by day five. The whole thing thrown out because I'm 74 and I'm not eating around mould. Half a litre of milk that smelled fine on Monday and slightly turned by Wednesday. €1. A roast chicken thigh from the Sunday dinner I cooked for myself, sealed in a container, that had a faint sour edge by Tuesday lunchtime. €2.50 for the cut. A loaf of multigrain bread, smallest size, that I'd intended to last me the week and which had a green spot by Friday. €2.80, half thrown. That's a single week. It happened in some form every single week. I was going to add it all up at the end of February. Maureen phoned on a Tuesday and we got chatting about food budgets and I said "Hold on Maureen, I want to add up something." I got the notebook. I added it up. €54.80 a week. I sat at the table for a long time after I worked it out. Maureen had to phone me back later because we'd been cut off. I couldn't speak. €55 a week. About €220 a month. Over €2,860 a year. On a state pension. I want to be honest with anyone reading this. The reason I cried that afternoon wasn't really the money, although the money mattered. It was that I'd been telling myself for years I was being careful. Vouchers in the kitchen drawer. Yellow markdown stickers. Cooking from scratch every Sunday. Stretching meals two ways. Doing all of the things you do when you grew up the way my generation grew up, in households where wasting food was something you didn't do. And the whole time I'd been throwing nearly a fifth of my food into the bin. It wasn't laziness. I am not lazy. I think you can tell I'm not lazy from the part where I bought a kitchen scale to weigh my rubbish. The food was simply going off before I could eat it. I phoned my niece Karen the next morning. She's 42, she lives in the city, and she's the one in our family who's always on the internet and always knows things. I told her what I'd worked out. She listened the whole way through. Then she said something I didn't understand at first. "Aunt Pat. It's probably not your fridge. It's the air inside it." She explained what she meant. She'd read an article a few months back about why food spoils faster in domestic fridges than in commercial ones. The science is to do with the air. When food spoils, even a small amount, it releases bacteria and mould spores into the air inside the fridge. The air then circulates and lands on every other surface — including food you've just put in. The cold slows the spread but doesn't stop it. Some moulds actually prefer the cold. So even if your fridge looks clean — even if the shelves are bleached, even if the food is fresh — the air inside it has been carrying contamination for as long as it's been running. NSF International tested 14 home fridges in 2013, Karen told me. Every single one had yeast and mould in the air. A hundred percent. There was a more recent study from the University of Vienna that found over 2,000 species of microbes living in 45 normal home fridges, and that 60% of them contained active food pathogens. The European Food Safety Authority says your fridge should be below 5°C. Karen looked it up while we were on the phone — said most home fridges run at 6 or 7. That gap is where Listeria multiplies. I'd never even thought to check mine. I asked her why nobody knew this. She said: because nobody made money keeping your food fresh permanently. They make money selling you a new box of bicarbonate of soda every month and a new fridge every ten years and replacement charcoal bags forever. It only became a household product when somebody worked out how to miniaturise the technology that commercial kitchens have used for decades. She told me what to look up. A small unit, about the size of a salt shaker, that sits on the middle shelf of a normal fridge. Brand called Noova. Treats the air. Lasts ten years. No filters. No batteries. No replacements. I want to tell you my exact thoughts at this point because I think they'll match yours. First thought: That's a lot of money for a pensioner. I am not throwing money I don't have at something I read about on the internet. Second thought: I am throwing €55 a week into the bin already. The cost of one Noova is less than two weeks of what I'd already been wasting. I'm already throwing the price of it at the problem — just very slowly, in bin bags, every Friday. Third thought: If this works even half as well as Karen says, it pays itself back in food I'd otherwise throw away inside a few weeks. Fourth thought: And if it doesn't work, what? That's when I read about the 90-day money-back return. 90 days. Three months. They send your money back if you decide it doesn't work in your kitchen, no questions asked. I bought one. Just one. I wasn't going to be silly about it. I've kept the same notebook from January and continued tracking my food waste. I'm going to give you the actual numbers because I think they're the only honest way to do this. Weeks 1-8 before Noova: €54.80 average per week thrown out. Week 1 with Noova: €23 (still using up older food bought before). Week 4: €12. Week 8: €8 — which was a piece of cheese I dropped on the kitchen floor and a small punnet of raspberries I got distracted from. Total for the 8 weeks before: €438 in the bin. Total for the 8 weeks after: €81. Difference: €357 of food I kept. Noova paid for itself in less than two weeks of food I would have thrown away. After that, it's roughly €47 of food in my fridge every week, for the next ten years, that I would have been throwing away. If I'm still here at 84, that's nearly €24,000 of groceries that doesn't go in the bin. I want to be careful about something here. I'm not saying everyone will see the exact numbers I saw. I lived alone and I bought packs sized for households of four. People with families might see less proportionally. But the principle is what I want to leave you with: the fridge had been costing me money for years. I just wasn't seeing the bill. The other thing I want to mention because I know it'll matter to anyone in the same position as me: the smell that I'd lived with for so long that I'd stopped noticing was gone in two days. Two days. I noticed it the morning I went to make coffee and the air that came out of the fridge was cold and clean and didn't smell of anything. It was so unfamiliar that I thought for a second the fridge had broken. I phoned Maureen the same morning and ordered her one. She tried to argue about the money and I said "Maureen. Trust me on this one. It pays itself back." She phoned me three weeks later because her strawberries had lasted nine days. We laughed for about a minute on the phone, both of us. The kind of laugh you don't realise you needed. Right now, the company behind Noova is offering up to sixty percent off, but I don't know how long that's going to last. Every time word spreads about this device, it sells out fast. Last year alone, they completely sold out their inventory twice. That's why it's not in stores and you won't find it on Amazon. It's only available on the official Noova website and supplies are extremely limited. If you're a pensioner reading this and you're wasting groceries you can't afford to replace, please listen. One Noova device costs less than what most European families waste on spoiled food in a single week. The cost of it sits in your bin every two weeks already — you just haven't been weighing it. It protects your refrigerator for ten full years with zero maintenance. No batteries, no filters, no replacements, no subscription, nothing else to buy ever. The company backs this with a ninety-day money-back guarantee. If Noova doesn't eliminate your fridge odours and keep your food fresher longer, you get every penny back, no questions asked. That's three full months to test it in real-world conditions, with your own groceries, in your own kitchen, with zero risk. I waited twelve years too long. That's nearly twenty thousand euros of groceries in the bin since 2012, on a pension I cannot replace. All I needed was this one small device on the middle shelf. Click the button below to see if it's still available before it sells out again. | At 74 you stop expecting things to surprise you. So when I tracked my food waste for 8 weeks, I expected to confirm what I already knew. The number broke me. I'm Patricia. I'm 74, I live alone in a small house, and like a lot of people my age I count every penny. Between my state pension and the supplements I get about €1,400 a month. Property tax, gas heating in winter, the electricity, the car insurance I keep so I can drive to my sister Maureen on Sundays — by the time I've paid all of it I have about €100 a week for groceries and anything else. It isn't enough. Most weeks aren't enough. I've got very good at making it stretch. I want to tell you about something I did in January that I think a lot of people my age should do, and what came out of it. In January I bought a cheap kitchen scale from the home goods shop in town. About fifteen euros. The kind that runs on a battery and shows kilos and grams. Every time I threw something out of the fridge, I weighed it. Then I worked out what I'd paid for it from the receipt. Then I wrote both numbers down in a notebook with the date. I did this for 8 weeks. I want to be specific about what I was throwing out, because if you're like me you'll recognise every item. A bag of salad I'd opened on Wednesday and meant to use Thursday and forgot until Saturday. €2.80. 80 grams of slimy spinach. A punnet of strawberries from the supermarket, full price €4.50, opened on Sunday, growing fuzz by Wednesday. About 60% wasted. Roughly €2.70 in the bin. A piece of cheese I'd bought on a yellow markdown sticker for €4, with a fuzzy edge developing on the wrap by day five. The whole thing thrown out because I'm 74 and I'm not eating around mould. Half a litre of milk that smelled fine on Monday and slightly turned by Wednesday. €1. A roast chicken thigh from the Sunday dinner I cooked for myself, sealed in a container, that had a faint sour edge by Tuesday lunchtime. €2.50 for the cut. A loaf of multigrain bread, smallest size, that I'd intended to last me the week and which had a green spot by Friday. €2.80, half thrown. That's a single week. It happened in some form every single week. I was going to add it all up at the end of February. Maureen phoned on a Tuesday and we got chatting about food budgets and I said "Hold on Maureen, I want to add up something." I got the notebook. I added it up. €54.80 a week. I sat at the table for a long time after I worked it out. Maureen had to phone me back later because we'd been cut off. I couldn't speak. €55 a week. About €220 a month. Over €2,860 a year. On a state pension. I want to be honest with anyone reading this. The reason I cried that afternoon wasn't really the money, although the money mattered. It was that I'd been telling myself for years I was being careful. Vouchers in the kitchen drawer. Yellow markdown stickers. Cooking from scratch every Sunday. Stretching meals two ways. Doing all of the things you do when you grew up the way my generation grew up, in households where wasting food was something you didn't do. And the whole time I'd been throwing nearly a fifth of my food into the bin. It wasn't laziness. I am not lazy. I think you can tell I'm not lazy from the part where I bought a kitchen scale to weigh my rubbish. The food was simply going off before I could eat it. I phoned my niece Karen the next morning. She's 42, she lives in the city, and she's the one in our family who's always on the internet and always knows things. I told her what I'd worked out. She listened the whole way through. Then she said something I didn't understand at first. "Aunt Pat. It's probably not your fridge. It's the air inside it." She explained what she meant. She'd read an article a few months back about why food spoils faster in domestic fridges than in commercial ones. The science is to do with the air. When food spoils, even a small amount, it releases bacteria and mould spores into the air inside the fridge. The air then circulates and lands on every other surface — including food you've just put in. The cold slows the spread but doesn't stop it. Some moulds actually prefer the cold. So even if your fridge looks clean — even if the shelves are bleached, even if the food is fresh — the air inside it has been carrying contamination for as long as it's been running. NSF International tested 14 home fridges in 2013, Karen told me. Every single one had yeast and mould in the air. A hundred percent. There was a more recent study from the University of Vienna that found over 2,000 species of microbes living in 45 normal home fridges, and that 60% of them contained active food pathogens. The European Food Safety Authority says your fridge should be below 5°C. Karen looked it up while we were on the phone — said most home fridges run at 6 or 7. That gap is where Listeria multiplies. I'd never even thought to check mine. I asked her why nobody knew this. She said: because nobody made money keeping your food fresh permanently. They make money selling you a new box of bicarbonate of soda every month and a new fridge every ten years and replacement charcoal bags forever. It only became a household product when somebody worked out how to miniaturise the technology that commercial kitchens have used for decades. She told me what to look up. A small unit, about the size of a salt shaker, that sits on the middle shelf of a normal fridge. Brand called Noova. Treats the air. Lasts ten years. No filters. No batteries. No replacements. I want to tell you my exact thoughts at this point because I think they'll match yours. First thought: That's a lot of money for a pensioner. I am not throwing money I don't have at something I read about on the internet. Second thought: I am throwing €55 a week into the bin already. The cost of one Noova is less than two weeks of what I'd already been wasting. I'm already throwing the price of it at the problem — just very slowly, in bin bags, every Friday. Third thought: If this works even half as well as Karen says, it pays itself back in food I'd otherwise throw away inside a few weeks. Fourth thought: And if it doesn't work, what? That's when I read about the 90-day money-back return. 90 days. Three months. They send your money back if you decide it doesn't work in your kitchen, no questions asked. I bought one. Just one. I wasn't going to be silly about it. I've kept the same notebook from January and continued tracking my food waste. I'm going to give you the actual numbers because I think they're the only honest way to do this. Weeks 1-8 before Noova: €54.80 average per week thrown out. Week 1 with Noova: €23 (still using up older food bought before). Week 4: €12. Week 8: €8 — which was a piece of cheese I dropped on the kitchen floor and a small punnet of raspberries I got distracted from. Total for the 8 weeks before: €438 in the bin. Total for the 8 weeks after: €81. Difference: €357 of food I kept. Noova paid for itself in less than two weeks of food I would have thrown away. After that, it's roughly €47 of food in my fridge every week, for the next ten years, that I would have been throwing away. If I'm still here at 84, that's nearly €24,000 of groceries that doesn't go in the bin. I want to be careful about something here. I'm not saying everyone will see the exact numbers I saw. I lived alone and I bought packs sized for households of four. People with families might see less proportionally. But the principle is what I want to leave you with: the fridge had been costing me money for years. I just wasn't seeing the bill. The other thing I want to mention because I know it'll matter to anyone in the same position as me: the smell that I'd lived with for so long that I'd stopped noticing was gone in two days. Two days. I noticed it the morning I went to make coffee and the air that came out of the fridge was cold and clean and didn't smell of anything. It was so unfamiliar that I thought for a second the fridge had broken. I phoned Maureen the same morning and ordered her one. She tried to argue about the money and I said "Maureen. Trust me on this one. It pays itself back." She phoned me three weeks later because her strawberries had lasted nine days. We laughed for about a minute on the phone, both of us. The kind of laugh you don't realise you needed. Right now, the company behind Noova is offering up to sixty percent off, but I don't know how long that's going to last. Every time word spreads about this device, it sells out fast. Last year alone, they completely sold out their inventory twice. That's why it's not in stores and you won't find it on Amazon. It's only available on the official Noova website and supplies are extremely limited. If you're a pensioner reading this and you're wasting groceries you can't afford to replace, please listen. One Noova device costs less than what most European families waste on spoiled food in a single week. The cost of it sits in your bin every two weeks already — you just haven't been weighing it. It protects your refrigerator for ten full years with zero maintenance. No batteries, no filters, no replacements, no subscription, nothing else to buy ever. The company backs this with a ninety-day money-back guarantee. If Noova doesn't eliminate your fridge odours and keep your food fresher longer, you get every penny back, no questions asked. That's three full months to test it in real-world conditions, with your own groceries, in your own kitchen, with zero risk. I waited twelve years too long. That's nearly twenty thousand euros of groceries in the bin since 2012, on a pension I cannot replace. All I needed was this one small device on the middle shelf. Click the button below to see if it's still available before it sells out again.
I'm a GP, and last Tuesday a patient of mine asked if she could stop her B12 injections. Not because she'd given up on getting better. Because of something that showed up in her cognitive screen that I have never seen in 23 years of practice. I've been managing B12 deficiency in this surgery for over two decades. I've seen the standard pattern. The bloods come back low. We start the injections, hydroxocobalamin, every twelve weeks. Within a few months the serum levels come back into range. We tell the patient they need the injections for life because the underlying absorption issue doesn't go away. Some of them feel a bit sharper at first. Most plateau. Most of the cognitive symptoms, the fog, the slow word-finding, the memory slips, never quite resolve. We tell them this is what age-related decline looks like alongside well-managed B12. We tell them to stay the course. Last Tuesday, one of them didn't. Her name is Barbara. She's been my patient for four years now, and she was coming in for the same review she gets every six months. Cognitive complaints. Quarterly hydroxocobalamin injections, by our practice nurse, since shortly after her bloods came back low at the start of all this. Score on the cognitive screen had been dropping by about two points each visit despite the injections doing their job on her serum levels. I expected the usual. A small further drop. Maybe stable if she was lucky. A conversation about whether donepezil should join the picture. Confirmation that she'd be in next month for her next injection. I did the screen. And I just stopped. Her score had gone up. Not by a small margin. By a margin I have never seen in a patient with mild cognitive impairment in 23 years of practice. Three points up. Above where she'd been when I first started recording her cognitive complaints four years ago. I looked at her. "What have you been doing differently?" "Nothing crazy. Just something a friend in my book group told me about." I didn't believe her. "New medication? Did anything change with your other prescriptions?" "No, nothing prescription. I just want to ask you something. Can I stop the injections? I don't think I need them anymore." I pulled up her records from six months ago and compared them side by side. Her trajectory had reversed. In 23 years of treating cognitive complaints in this surgery, with patients on B12 injections, on the standard schedule, on the formulary medication, doing everything we'd told them to do, I have watched scores go in one direction. Down. Lower over time. More forgetting. More confusion. More worry. This one went the other way. I sat back in my chair and I told her, honestly. "Barbara, I'd like to keep you on the injections for now while we work this out. But I need to understand what changed. Because these numbers don't match anything in your treatment history, and they don't match anything I've seen in 23 years." That's when Barbara told me everything. She said for the past four years, every six months, she'd sit in my surgery and hear the same thing. Levels are fine. Stay the course. We'll keep an eye on it. And every six months she'd go home and try something new on her own, because the course wasn't getting her where she wanted to be. She tried sleep first. The leaflet from the surgery said sleep was the foundation. She bought a new mattress. She stopped looking at her phone after 9pm. She read books about sleep. She got eight hours a night for four months solid. The fog was the same. She tried diet after that. Mediterranean. Oily fish twice a week. Blueberries every morning. Walnuts as snacks. Olive oil instead of butter. She did it for five months. Her cholesterol came down a few points. The fog was still there. She tried exercise. Walking five mornings a week, twenty-two minutes a loop around her village. Then she joined a Pilates class. Then a tai chi class on Saturdays. Her hip hurt less. Her sleep improved further. The fog stayed. And then there were the injections themselves. The first one had genuinely helped. She said the brain fog had lifted for nearly three weeks after that first appointment, and she'd told her sister about it the next time they had tea, that was the first time in two years she'd told someone something hopeful. The second injection helped a bit less. By the fourth injection she was barely noticing a difference. But her serum B12 was 'within range' so we kept her on the schedule. Twelve-weekly. Four years now. A small puncture and a small bruise and a small lift that had stopped lifting two and a half years ago. She told me she had almost accepted it. That this was just her life now. Coming in every twelve weeks for a jab in the arm. Watching the screen score creep down in between. Sitting in my surgery while I talked, kindly, about what we'd do next. Going home and feeling herself slip a little further every month and not being able to point to anything specific. Just the slow accumulation of a hundred small absences. She told me about her mother. How her mother started forgetting where she'd put her handbag in her late sixties. How she'd ask Barbara the same question three times in an evening. How she'd lose the thread of a story halfway through telling it. How she'd come into the kitchen and stand there for several seconds trying to remember why she'd come in. Small things at first. Things you tell yourself are just normal. Things Barbara used to laugh about with her sister, in the way you laugh about something because the alternative is crying about it. By the time her mother was 76, she didn't know which day of the week it was. By 78, she was getting lost on the route to the corner shop she'd been walking to for thirty years. By 79, she put the kettle in the fridge twice in one week. By 81, when Barbara visited her in the home, her mother looked up from her chair and asked the carer who the lady at the door was. Barbara was the lady at the door. Her only daughter. I hear that story every week in this surgery. Different names. Same road. Then she told me what changed. About five months ago, a friend in her book group told her about something she'd been giving her husband. This friend explained something Barbara had never heard from me, or from any specialist she'd ever seen. She said the reason B12 didn't work isn't because it's a bad idea. It's because most vitamin B supplements out there aren't in the forms your body can actually use immediately. And here is the part that stopped me, when Barbara repeated it to me, because the friend, somehow, had also understood that this was true of the injections. Not just supermarket B12 tablets. The injections too. Here's what she explained, and I'm going to put it in terms that make sense, because I've come to believe she was right and it matters. Around every nerve fibre in your brain, and there are billions of them, there is a fatty insulating layer called the myelin sheath. It's what allows electrical signals to travel cleanly and quickly along the nerve. When the myelin sheath is healthy, signals fire fast and clean. Thoughts complete themselves. Words arrive when you reach for them. Names stay where they should. The whole system runs the way it's supposed to. When the myelin sheath starts to break down, signals slow. They scatter. They lose definition. Thoughts take longer. Words don't arrive. Movements feel a half-beat behind. The whole nervous system runs at a lower register. That's the brain fog. That's the morning where the names aren't there. That's the conversation where you lose the thread. The myelin sheath is something your body has to actively maintain. Every day. With the right materials. The most important of those materials is B12, but specifically, the active form of it. The one called methylcobalamin. The B12 injections we routinely prescribe are hydroxocobalamin. That's not the same as cyanocobalamin in supermarket B12 tablets, it's closer to what your body needs. But it's still not the active form. It still requires a conversion step. And for people whose conversion enzymes are struggling, which is most people over 60, that conversion remains the bottleneck. Which is why Barbara's serum B12 was beautiful and her cognitive function wasn't. The injection delivered B12 to her bloodstream. The B12 in her bloodstream was almost the right form. Not quite. The myelin sheath was still hungry. That's why the first injection had helped. There was such a deficit when she started that even partial conversion produced a noticeable effect. Then the conversion enzymes hit their ceiling. The injections kept her serum levels topped up. The myelin kept thinning. The cognitive screen kept dropping. And we kept her on the schedule because the schedule was what the schedule was. When Barbara explained this to me, I'll be honest. I knew the underlying biology. I studied B12 metabolism in medical school. I've read the research on methylation pathways. I've ordered countless courses of hydroxocobalamin in this surgery without really thinking about it, because that's what the formulary stocks and that's what we do. But I had never put it together with what I was seeing in patients like Barbara. Patients whose injections were keeping their serum levels textbook-perfect. Whose cognitive screens kept dropping anyway. Patients I'd been telling, kindly, that some of this is just normal aging on top of well-managed B12. And I had never seen a patient's score actually go up. Not stable. Not slow the decline. Actually improve. That's what was sitting in front of me on her form. "So what did you do about it?" I asked her. She told me her friend had pointed her to a brand called rynw. A British company that uses the active forms of every B vitamin. Methylcobalamin instead of cyanocobalamin or hydroxocobalamin. Methylfolate instead of folic acid. P5P instead of pyridoxine. Already in the forms the body can use the moment they're absorbed, regardless of whether the conversion machinery is still working. "It's not a miracle pill," she said. "I kept going to my injection appointments. I still went to bed early. I still walked. I still ate the fish. But this was the first thing that actually moved the fog." I asked her to walk me through her timeline. She said the first week, she slept a little longer before her brain came online in the morning. She wasn't sure if it was real or if she just wanted it to be. By week two, she remembered her grandson's friends' names without having to scroll through her phone. First time in over a year. By week three, she went back to the morning crossword. Not the cryptic one, the quick one. But she finished it before her tea went cold, which she hadn't been able to do in two years. By month two, she went to her granddaughter's school play and sat through the whole hour and a half. She said she remembered the songs, the names of the characters, the bit at the end where the frog was supposed to be a prince. She was actually there. Present. Not just managing. Month three, she finished the book her book group had been reading. The first book she'd finished in over a year. Month five, she was sitting in my surgery with a cognitive screen score that had gone in the wrong direction. The good kind of wrong. And she was asking if it was time to come off injections she'd been having every twelve weeks for the last four years. After Barbara left that day, I spent the entire evening reading everything I could find on methylcobalamin and the maintenance of myelin in older adults. The research backed up what she'd told me. The pathway was real. The form distinction was real. The studies were real. The largest, run out of Oxford, had followed several hundred people with mild cognitive impairment over two years. The group taking active forms of B vitamins lost brain tissue at a dramatically slower rate than the placebo group. The effect was strongest in the regions most responsible for memory and clear thinking. I'd known about that study. I just hadn't translated it into anything I did differently in clinic. But here's what I also learned, and it matters. Not all active-form B vitamins are the same. Most products that claim to use methylcobalamin or methylfolate actually use them in token amounts, alongside large quantities of the cheaper cyanocobalamin and folic acid, to keep the bottle cost down. Or they use the active forms at doses well below what the actual research used. I told Barbara I wanted to check her serum B12 first before we made any decision about the injections. We took her bloods. The result came back two days later. Her B12 was at the higher end of the range. Higher than she'd been on hydroxocobalamin alone in the past two years. Whatever she was now taking, in whatever form, was reaching her bloodstream, and the cognitive screen score told me it was reaching her myelin sheath, even before the bloodwork confirmed the first part. I rang her that afternoon. I told her if her next bloods in three months remained adequate, we could discuss switching from twelve-weekly hydroxocobalamin to daily oral active-form maintenance, with monitoring. That's a conversation she and I would have, with her bloods in front of us. I wanted to keep watching. But I'm telling you, after twenty-three years of writing standing prescriptions for hydroxocobalamin every twelve weeks for life, the conversation about transitioning a stable patient off injections, with her serum levels and her cognitive function in range simultaneously, that's not a conversation I would have considered before Barbara walked into my surgery last Tuesday. I started recommending rynw, quietly, to a few of my patients. The ones who were where Barbara had been six months ago. The ones whose injections were doing what injections are supposed to do, but who were still slipping in every other way that mattered. I'm watching their results now. And I'm seeing things I don't normally see. If you're reading this right now because your B12 levels are 'within range' and your memory keeps slipping anyway. If you've been on the injections for years and the first one helped but none of the others did. If you've done the sleep, the diet, the walking, and the fog is still there. If you watched your mother or your father go through this and you're quietly watching the same thing happen in your own head, one small absence at a time, and nobody can tell you how to get off the road you're on. You're not imagining it. You're not being dramatic. You don't just have to accept this. You were treating the bloodwork. Nobody was treating the myelin sheath. And without a maintained myelin sheath, none of the rest of it makes a lasting difference. The active forms of B vitamins reach the myelin sheath directly, regardless of whether your conversion enzymes are still working. The myelin gets the support it needs. Signals start firing cleanly again. The fog lifts. Words start arriving. The cycle starts to break. Not because something forced it. Because your body is doing what it already knows how to do. You just had to give it the form it can actually use. But only if the form is right. Only if the dose matches the research. Only if it's tested. rynw is the brand I've been recommending. I picked it because it's the only one I could find in the UK that uses the active forms of every key ingredient, methylcobalamin, methylfolate, P5P, at the doses the actual clinical research uses. British company. Third-party tested for purity. No fillers. 30 days to try it. If nothing changes, full refund. No questions. A note on the injections. If you're currently on B12 injections, do not stop them on your own. They are doing important work on your serum levels, and the absorption issue that put you on them is still real. What you can do is talk to your GP about adding the active forms, and then, with monitoring and proper bloodwork, having a conversation about whether the schedule still needs to be what it is. If by the end of week one you're remembering names you'd been forgetting. If by week two you finish a crossword for the first time in a year. If by week three you sit through a school play and you're actually present. If a month from now your book group meets and you've actually finished the book. If three months from now your GP runs your cognitive screen and stops. And looks at you. And asks if it might be time to think about whether the twelve-weekly injection schedule is still what's needed. You'll wish you'd found this years ago. I know Barbara does. - Dr. Catherine Bennett 👉 https://rynw.com/products/b-complex
I'm a GP, and last Tuesday a patient of mine asked if she could stop her B12 injections. Not because she'd given up on getting better. Because of something that showed up in her cognitive screen that I have never seen in 23 years of practice. I've been managing B12 deficiency in this surgery for over two decades. I've seen the standard pattern. The bloods come back low. We start the injections, hydroxocobalamin, every twelve weeks. Within a few months the serum levels come back into range. We tell the patient they need the injections for life because the underlying absorption issue doesn't go away. Some of them feel a bit sharper at first. Most plateau. Most of the cognitive symptoms, the fog, the slow word-finding, the memory slips, never quite resolve. We tell them this is what age-related decline looks like alongside well-managed B12. We tell them to stay the course. Last Tuesday, one of them didn't. Her name is Barbara. She's been my patient for four years now, and she was coming in for the same review she gets every six months. Cognitive complaints. Quarterly hydroxocobalamin injections, by our practice nurse, since shortly after her bloods came back low at the start of all this. Score on the cognitive screen had been dropping by about two points each visit despite the injections doing their job on her serum levels. I expected the usual. A small further drop. Maybe stable if she was lucky. A conversation about whether donepezil should join the picture. Confirmation that she'd be in next month for her next injection. I did the screen. And I just stopped. Her score had gone up. Not by a small margin. By a margin I have never seen in a patient with mild cognitive impairment in 23 years of practice. Three points up. Above where she'd been when I first started recording her cognitive complaints four years ago. I looked at her. "What have you been doing differently?" "Nothing crazy. Just something a friend in my book group told me about." I didn't believe her. "New medication? Did anything change with your other prescriptions?" "No, nothing prescription. I just want to ask you something. Can I stop the injections? I don't think I need them anymore." I pulled up her records from six months ago and compared them side by side. Her trajectory had reversed. In 23 years of treating cognitive complaints in this surgery, with patients on B12 injections, on the standard schedule, on the formulary medication, doing everything we'd told them to do, I have watched scores go in one direction. Down. Lower over time. More forgetting. More confusion. More worry. This one went the other way. I sat back in my chair and I told her, honestly. "Barbara, I'd like to keep you on the injections for now while we work this out. But I need to understand what changed. Because these numbers don't match anything in your treatment history, and they don't match anything I've seen in 23 years." That's when Barbara told me everything. She said for the past four years, every six months, she'd sit in my surgery and hear the same thing. Levels are fine. Stay the course. We'll keep an eye on it. And every six months she'd go home and try something new on her own, because the course wasn't getting her where she wanted to be. She tried sleep first. The leaflet from the surgery said sleep was the foundation. She bought a new mattress. She stopped looking at her phone after 9pm. She read books about sleep. She got eight hours a night for four months solid. The fog was the same. She tried diet after that. Mediterranean. Oily fish twice a week. Blueberries every morning. Walnuts as snacks. Olive oil instead of butter. She did it for five months. Her cholesterol came down a few points. The fog was still there. She tried exercise. Walking five mornings a week, twenty-two minutes a loop around her village. Then she joined a Pilates class. Then a tai chi class on Saturdays. Her hip hurt less. Her sleep improved further. The fog stayed. And then there were the injections themselves. The first one had genuinely helped. She said the brain fog had lifted for nearly three weeks after that first appointment, and she'd told her sister about it the next time they had tea, that was the first time in two years she'd told someone something hopeful. The second injection helped a bit less. By the fourth injection she was barely noticing a difference. But her serum B12 was 'within range' so we kept her on the schedule. Twelve-weekly. Four years now. A small puncture and a small bruise and a small lift that had stopped lifting two and a half years ago. She told me she had almost accepted it. That this was just her life now. Coming in every twelve weeks for a jab in the arm. Watching the screen score creep down in between. Sitting in my surgery while I talked, kindly, about what we'd do next. Going home and feeling herself slip a little further every month and not being able to point to anything specific. Just the slow accumulation of a hundred small absences. She told me about her mother. How her mother started forgetting where she'd put her handbag in her late sixties. How she'd ask Barbara the same question three times in an evening. How she'd lose the thread of a story halfway through telling it. How she'd come into the kitchen and stand there for several seconds trying to remember why she'd come in. Small things at first. Things you tell yourself are just normal. Things Barbara used to laugh about with her sister, in the way you laugh about something because the alternative is crying about it. By the time her mother was 76, she didn't know which day of the week it was. By 78, she was getting lost on the route to the corner shop she'd been walking to for thirty years. By 79, she put the kettle in the fridge twice in one week. By 81, when Barbara visited her in the home, her mother looked up from her chair and asked the carer who the lady at the door was. Barbara was the lady at the door. Her only daughter. I hear that story every week in this surgery. Different names. Same road. Then she told me what changed. About five months ago, a friend in her book group told her about something she'd been giving her husband. This friend explained something Barbara had never heard from me, or from any specialist she'd ever seen. She said the reason B12 didn't work isn't because it's a bad idea. It's because most vitamin B supplements out there aren't in the forms your body can actually use immediately. And here is the part that stopped me, when Barbara repeated it to me, because the friend, somehow, had also understood that this was true of the injections. Not just supermarket B12 tablets. The injections too. Here's what she explained, and I'm going to put it in terms that make sense, because I've come to believe she was right and it matters. Around every nerve fibre in your brain, and there are billions of them, there is a fatty insulating layer called the myelin sheath. It's what allows electrical signals to travel cleanly and quickly along the nerve. When the myelin sheath is healthy, signals fire fast and clean. Thoughts complete themselves. Words arrive when you reach for them. Names stay where they should. The whole system runs the way it's supposed to. When the myelin sheath starts to break down, signals slow. They scatter. They lose definition. Thoughts take longer. Words don't arrive. Movements feel a half-beat behind. The whole nervous system runs at a lower register. That's the brain fog. That's the morning where the names aren't there. That's the conversation where you lose the thread. The myelin sheath is something your body has to actively maintain. Every day. With the right materials. The most important of those materials is B12, but specifically, the active form of it. The one called methylcobalamin. The B12 injections we routinely prescribe are hydroxocobalamin. That's not the same as cyanocobalamin in supermarket B12 tablets, it's closer to what your body needs. But it's still not the active form. It still requires a conversion step. And for people whose conversion enzymes are struggling, which is most people over 60, that conversion remains the bottleneck. Which is why Barbara's serum B12 was beautiful and her cognitive function wasn't. The injection delivered B12 to her bloodstream. The B12 in her bloodstream was almost the right form. Not quite. The myelin sheath was still hungry. That's why the first injection had helped. There was such a deficit when she started that even partial conversion produced a noticeable effect. Then the conversion enzymes hit their ceiling. The injections kept her serum levels topped up. The myelin kept thinning. The cognitive screen kept dropping. And we kept her on the schedule because the schedule was what the schedule was. When Barbara explained this to me, I'll be honest. I knew the underlying biology. I studied B12 metabolism in medical school. I've read the research on methylation pathways. I've ordered countless courses of hydroxocobalamin in this surgery without really thinking about it, because that's what the formulary stocks and that's what we do. But I had never put it together with what I was seeing in patients like Barbara. Patients whose injections were keeping their serum levels textbook-perfect. Whose cognitive screens kept dropping anyway. Patients I'd been telling, kindly, that some of this is just normal aging on top of well-managed B12. And I had never seen a patient's score actually go up. Not stable. Not slow the decline. Actually improve. That's what was sitting in front of me on her form. "So what did you do about it?" I asked her. She told me her friend had pointed her to a brand called rynw. A British company that uses the active forms of every B vitamin. Methylcobalamin instead of cyanocobalamin or hydroxocobalamin. Methylfolate instead of folic acid. P5P instead of pyridoxine. Already in the forms the body can use the moment they're absorbed, regardless of whether the conversion machinery is still working. "It's not a miracle pill," she said. "I kept going to my injection appointments. I still went to bed early. I still walked. I still ate the fish. But this was the first thing that actually moved the fog." I asked her to walk me through her timeline. She said the first week, she slept a little longer before her brain came online in the morning. She wasn't sure if it was real or if she just wanted it to be. By week two, she remembered her grandson's friends' names without having to scroll through her phone. First time in over a year. By week three, she went back to the morning crossword. Not the cryptic one, the quick one. But she finished it before her tea went cold, which she hadn't been able to do in two years. By month two, she went to her granddaughter's school play and sat through the whole hour and a half. She said she remembered the songs, the names of the characters, the bit at the end where the frog was supposed to be a prince. She was actually there. Present. Not just managing. Month three, she finished the book her book group had been reading. The first book she'd finished in over a year. Month five, she was sitting in my surgery with a cognitive screen score that had gone in the wrong direction. The good kind of wrong. And she was asking if it was time to come off injections she'd been having every twelve weeks for the last four years. After Barbara left that day, I spent the entire evening reading everything I could find on methylcobalamin and the maintenance of myelin in older adults. The research backed up what she'd told me. The pathway was real. The form distinction was real. The studies were real. The largest, run out of Oxford, had followed several hundred people with mild cognitive impairment over two years. The group taking active forms of B vitamins lost brain tissue at a dramatically slower rate than the placebo group. The effect was strongest in the regions most responsible for memory and clear thinking. I'd known about that study. I just hadn't translated it into anything I did differently in clinic. But here's what I also learned, and it matters. Not all active-form B vitamins are the same. Most products that claim to use methylcobalamin or methylfolate actually use them in token amounts, alongside large quantities of the cheaper cyanocobalamin and folic acid, to keep the bottle cost down. Or they use the active forms at doses well below what the actual research used. I told Barbara I wanted to check her serum B12 first before we made any decision about the injections. We took her bloods. The result came back two days later. Her B12 was at the higher end of the range. Higher than she'd been on hydroxocobalamin alone in the past two years. Whatever she was now taking, in whatever form, was reaching her bloodstream, and the cognitive screen score told me it was reaching her myelin sheath, even before the bloodwork confirmed the first part. I rang her that afternoon. I told her if her next bloods in three months remained adequate, we could discuss switching from twelve-weekly hydroxocobalamin to daily oral active-form maintenance, with monitoring. That's a conversation she and I would have, with her bloods in front of us. I wanted to keep watching. But I'm telling you, after twenty-three years of writing standing prescriptions for hydroxocobalamin every twelve weeks for life, the conversation about transitioning a stable patient off injections, with her serum levels and her cognitive function in range simultaneously, that's not a conversation I would have considered before Barbara walked into my surgery last Tuesday. I started recommending rynw, quietly, to a few of my patients. The ones who were where Barbara had been six months ago. The ones whose injections were doing what injections are supposed to do, but who were still slipping in every other way that mattered. I'm watching their results now. And I'm seeing things I don't normally see. If you're reading this right now because your B12 levels are 'within range' and your memory keeps slipping anyway. If you've been on the injections for years and the first one helped but none of the others did. If you've done the sleep, the diet, the walking, and the fog is still there. If you watched your mother or your father go through this and you're quietly watching the same thing happen in your own head, one small absence at a time, and nobody can tell you how to get off the road you're on. You're not imagining it. You're not being dramatic. You don't just have to accept this. You were treating the bloodwork. Nobody was treating the myelin sheath. And without a maintained myelin sheath, none of the rest of it makes a lasting difference. The active forms of B vitamins reach the myelin sheath directly, regardless of whether your conversion enzymes are still working. The myelin gets the support it needs. Signals start firing cleanly again. The fog lifts. Words start arriving. The cycle starts to break. Not because something forced it. Because your body is doing what it already knows how to do. You just had to give it the form it can actually use. But only if the form is right. Only if the dose matches the research. Only if it's tested. rynw is the brand I've been recommending. I picked it because it's the only one I could find in the UK that uses the active forms of every key ingredient, methylcobalamin, methylfolate, P5P, at the doses the actual clinical research uses. British company. Third-party tested for purity. No fillers. 30 days to try it. If nothing changes, full refund. No questions. A note on the injections. If you're currently on B12 injections, do not stop them on your own. They are doing important work on your serum levels, and the absorption issue that put you on them is still real. What you can do is talk to your GP about adding the active forms, and then, with monitoring and proper bloodwork, having a conversation about whether the schedule still needs to be what it is. If by the end of week one you're remembering names you'd been forgetting. If by week two you finish a crossword for the first time in a year. If by week three you sit through a school play and you're actually present. If a month from now your book group meets and you've actually finished the book. If three months from now your GP runs your cognitive screen and stops. And looks at you. And asks if it might be time to think about whether the twelve-weekly injection schedule is still what's needed. You'll wish you'd found this years ago. I know Barbara does. - Dr. Catherine Bennett 👉 https://rynw.com/products/b-complex
I'm a GP, and last Tuesday a patient of mine asked if she could stop her B12 injections. Not because she'd given up on getting better. Because of something that showed up in her cognitive screen that I have never seen in 23 years of practice. I've been managing B12 deficiency in this surgery for over two decades. I've seen the standard pattern. The bloods come back low. We start the injections, hydroxocobalamin, every twelve weeks. Within a few months the serum levels come back into range. We tell the patient they need the injections for life because the underlying absorption issue doesn't go away. Some of them feel a bit sharper at first. Most plateau. Most of the cognitive symptoms, the fog, the slow word-finding, the memory slips, never quite resolve. We tell them this is what age-related decline looks like alongside well-managed B12. We tell them to stay the course. Last Tuesday, one of them didn't. Her name is Barbara. She's been my patient for four years now, and she was coming in for the same review she gets every six months. Cognitive complaints. Quarterly hydroxocobalamin injections, by our practice nurse, since shortly after her bloods came back low at the start of all this. Score on the cognitive screen had been dropping by about two points each visit despite the injections doing their job on her serum levels. I expected the usual. A small further drop. Maybe stable if she was lucky. A conversation about whether donepezil should join the picture. Confirmation that she'd be in next month for her next injection. I did the screen. And I just stopped. Her score had gone up. Not by a small margin. By a margin I have never seen in a patient with mild cognitive impairment in 23 years of practice. Three points up. Above where she'd been when I first started recording her cognitive complaints four years ago. I looked at her. "What have you been doing differently?" "Nothing crazy. Just something a friend in my book group told me about." I didn't believe her. "New medication? Did anything change with your other prescriptions?" "No, nothing prescription. I just want to ask you something. Can I stop the injections? I don't think I need them anymore." I pulled up her records from six months ago and compared them side by side. Her trajectory had reversed. In 23 years of treating cognitive complaints in this surgery, with patients on B12 injections, on the standard schedule, on the formulary medication, doing everything we'd told them to do, I have watched scores go in one direction. Down. Lower over time. More forgetting. More confusion. More worry. This one went the other way. I sat back in my chair and I told her, honestly. "Barbara, I'd like to keep you on the injections for now while we work this out. But I need to understand what changed. Because these numbers don't match anything in your treatment history, and they don't match anything I've seen in 23 years." That's when Barbara told me everything. She said for the past four years, every six months, she'd sit in my surgery and hear the same thing. Levels are fine. Stay the course. We'll keep an eye on it. And every six months she'd go home and try something new on her own, because the course wasn't getting her where she wanted to be. She tried sleep first. The leaflet from the surgery said sleep was the foundation. She bought a new mattress. She stopped looking at her phone after 9pm. She read books about sleep. She got eight hours a night for four months solid. The fog was the same. She tried diet after that. Mediterranean. Oily fish twice a week. Blueberries every morning. Walnuts as snacks. Olive oil instead of butter. She did it for five months. Her cholesterol came down a few points. The fog was still there. She tried exercise. Walking five mornings a week, twenty-two minutes a loop around her village. Then she joined a Pilates class. Then a tai chi class on Saturdays. Her hip hurt less. Her sleep improved further. The fog stayed. And then there were the injections themselves. The first one had genuinely helped. She said the brain fog had lifted for nearly three weeks after that first appointment, and she'd told her sister about it the next time they had tea, that was the first time in two years she'd told someone something hopeful. The second injection helped a bit less. By the fourth injection she was barely noticing a difference. But her serum B12 was 'within range' so we kept her on the schedule. Twelve-weekly. Four years now. A small puncture and a small bruise and a small lift that had stopped lifting two and a half years ago. She told me she had almost accepted it. That this was just her life now. Coming in every twelve weeks for a jab in the arm. Watching the screen score creep down in between. Sitting in my surgery while I talked, kindly, about what we'd do next. Going home and feeling herself slip a little further every month and not being able to point to anything specific. Just the slow accumulation of a hundred small absences. She told me about her mother. How her mother started forgetting where she'd put her handbag in her late sixties. How she'd ask Barbara the same question three times in an evening. How she'd lose the thread of a story halfway through telling it. How she'd come into the kitchen and stand there for several seconds trying to remember why she'd come in. Small things at first. Things you tell yourself are just normal. Things Barbara used to laugh about with her sister, in the way you laugh about something because the alternative is crying about it. By the time her mother was 76, she didn't know which day of the week it was. By 78, she was getting lost on the route to the corner shop she'd been walking to for thirty years. By 79, she put the kettle in the fridge twice in one week. By 81, when Barbara visited her in the home, her mother looked up from her chair and asked the carer who the lady at the door was. Barbara was the lady at the door. Her only daughter. I hear that story every week in this surgery. Different names. Same road. Then she told me what changed. About five months ago, a friend in her book group told her about something she'd been giving her husband. This friend explained something Barbara had never heard from me, or from any specialist she'd ever seen. She said the reason B12 didn't work isn't because it's a bad idea. It's because most vitamin B supplements out there aren't in the forms your body can actually use immediately. And here is the part that stopped me, when Barbara repeated it to me, because the friend, somehow, had also understood that this was true of the injections. Not just supermarket B12 tablets. The injections too. Here's what she explained, and I'm going to put it in terms that make sense, because I've come to believe she was right and it matters. Around every nerve fibre in your brain, and there are billions of them, there is a fatty insulating layer called the myelin sheath. It's what allows electrical signals to travel cleanly and quickly along the nerve. When the myelin sheath is healthy, signals fire fast and clean. Thoughts complete themselves. Words arrive when you reach for them. Names stay where they should. The whole system runs the way it's supposed to. When the myelin sheath starts to break down, signals slow. They scatter. They lose definition. Thoughts take longer. Words don't arrive. Movements feel a half-beat behind. The whole nervous system runs at a lower register. That's the brain fog. That's the morning where the names aren't there. That's the conversation where you lose the thread. The myelin sheath is something your body has to actively maintain. Every day. With the right materials. The most important of those materials is B12, but specifically, the active form of it. The one called methylcobalamin. The B12 injections we routinely prescribe are hydroxocobalamin. That's not the same as cyanocobalamin in supermarket B12 tablets, it's closer to what your body needs. But it's still not the active form. It still requires a conversion step. And for people whose conversion enzymes are struggling, which is most people over 60, that conversion remains the bottleneck. Which is why Barbara's serum B12 was beautiful and her cognitive function wasn't. The injection delivered B12 to her bloodstream. The B12 in her bloodstream was almost the right form. Not quite. The myelin sheath was still hungry. That's why the first injection had helped. There was such a deficit when she started that even partial conversion produced a noticeable effect. Then the conversion enzymes hit their ceiling. The injections kept her serum levels topped up. The myelin kept thinning. The cognitive screen kept dropping. And we kept her on the schedule because the schedule was what the schedule was. When Barbara explained this to me, I'll be honest. I knew the underlying biology. I studied B12 metabolism in medical school. I've read the research on methylation pathways. I've ordered countless courses of hydroxocobalamin in this surgery without really thinking about it, because that's what the formulary stocks and that's what we do. But I had never put it together with what I was seeing in patients like Barbara. Patients whose injections were keeping their serum levels textbook-perfect. Whose cognitive screens kept dropping anyway. Patients I'd been telling, kindly, that some of this is just normal aging on top of well-managed B12. And I had never seen a patient's score actually go up. Not stable. Not slow the decline. Actually improve. That's what was sitting in front of me on her form. "So what did you do about it?" I asked her. She told me her friend had pointed her to a brand called rynw. A British company that uses the active forms of every B vitamin. Methylcobalamin instead of cyanocobalamin or hydroxocobalamin. Methylfolate instead of folic acid. P5P instead of pyridoxine. Already in the forms the body can use the moment they're absorbed, regardless of whether the conversion machinery is still working. "It's not a miracle pill," she said. "I kept going to my injection appointments. I still went to bed early. I still walked. I still ate the fish. But this was the first thing that actually moved the fog." I asked her to walk me through her timeline. She said the first week, she slept a little longer before her brain came online in the morning. She wasn't sure if it was real or if she just wanted it to be. By week two, she remembered her grandson's friends' names without having to scroll through her phone. First time in over a year. By week three, she went back to the morning crossword. Not the cryptic one, the quick one. But she finished it before her tea went cold, which she hadn't been able to do in two years. By month two, she went to her granddaughter's school play and sat through the whole hour and a half. She said she remembered the songs, the names of the characters, the bit at the end where the frog was supposed to be a prince. She was actually there. Present. Not just managing. Month three, she finished the book her book group had been reading. The first book she'd finished in over a year. Month five, she was sitting in my surgery with a cognitive screen score that had gone in the wrong direction. The good kind of wrong. And she was asking if it was time to come off injections she'd been having every twelve weeks for the last four years. After Barbara left that day, I spent the entire evening reading everything I could find on methylcobalamin and the maintenance of myelin in older adults. The research backed up what she'd told me. The pathway was real. The form distinction was real. The studies were real. The largest, run out of Oxford, had followed several hundred people with mild cognitive impairment over two years. The group taking active forms of B vitamins lost brain tissue at a dramatically slower rate than the placebo group. The effect was strongest in the regions most responsible for memory and clear thinking. I'd known about that study. I just hadn't translated it into anything I did differently in clinic. But here's what I also learned, and it matters. Not all active-form B vitamins are the same. Most products that claim to use methylcobalamin or methylfolate actually use them in token amounts, alongside large quantities of the cheaper cyanocobalamin and folic acid, to keep the bottle cost down. Or they use the active forms at doses well below what the actual research used. I told Barbara I wanted to check her serum B12 first before we made any decision about the injections. We took her bloods. The result came back two days later. Her B12 was at the higher end of the range. Higher than she'd been on hydroxocobalamin alone in the past two years. Whatever she was now taking, in whatever form, was reaching her bloodstream, and the cognitive screen score told me it was reaching her myelin sheath, even before the bloodwork confirmed the first part. I rang her that afternoon. I told her if her next bloods in three months remained adequate, we could discuss switching from twelve-weekly hydroxocobalamin to daily oral active-form maintenance, with monitoring. That's a conversation she and I would have, with her bloods in front of us. I wanted to keep watching. But I'm telling you, after twenty-three years of writing standing prescriptions for hydroxocobalamin every twelve weeks for life, the conversation about transitioning a stable patient off injections, with her serum levels and her cognitive function in range simultaneously, that's not a conversation I would have considered before Barbara walked into my surgery last Tuesday. I started recommending rynw, quietly, to a few of my patients. The ones who were where Barbara had been six months ago. The ones whose injections were doing what injections are supposed to do, but who were still slipping in every other way that mattered. I'm watching their results now. And I'm seeing things I don't normally see. If you're reading this right now because your B12 levels are 'within range' and your memory keeps slipping anyway. If you've been on the injections for years and the first one helped but none of the others did. If you've done the sleep, the diet, the walking, and the fog is still there. If you watched your mother or your father go through this and you're quietly watching the same thing happen in your own head, one small absence at a time, and nobody can tell you how to get off the road you're on. You're not imagining it. You're not being dramatic. You don't just have to accept this. You were treating the bloodwork. Nobody was treating the myelin sheath. And without a maintained myelin sheath, none of the rest of it makes a lasting difference. The active forms of B vitamins reach the myelin sheath directly, regardless of whether your conversion enzymes are still working. The myelin gets the support it needs. Signals start firing cleanly again. The fog lifts. Words start arriving. The cycle starts to break. Not because something forced it. Because your body is doing what it already knows how to do. You just had to give it the form it can actually use. But only if the form is right. Only if the dose matches the research. Only if it's tested. rynw is the brand I've been recommending. I picked it because it's the only one I could find in the UK that uses the active forms of every key ingredient, methylcobalamin, methylfolate, P5P, at the doses the actual clinical research uses. British company. Third-party tested for purity. No fillers. 30 days to try it. If nothing changes, full refund. No questions. A note on the injections. If you're currently on B12 injections, do not stop them on your own. They are doing important work on your serum levels, and the absorption issue that put you on them is still real. What you can do is talk to your GP about adding the active forms, and then, with monitoring and proper bloodwork, having a conversation about whether the schedule still needs to be what it is. If by the end of week one you're remembering names you'd been forgetting. If by week two you finish a crossword for the first time in a year. If by week three you sit through a school play and you're actually present. If a month from now your book group meets and you've actually finished the book. If three months from now your GP runs your cognitive screen and stops. And looks at you. And asks if it might be time to think about whether the twelve-weekly injection schedule is still what's needed. You'll wish you'd found this years ago. I know Barbara does. - Dr. Catherine Bennett 👉 https://rynw.com/products/b-complex
I'm a GP, and last Tuesday a patient of mine asked if she could stop her B12 injections. Not because she'd given up on getting better. Because of something that showed up in her cognitive screen that I have never seen in 23 years of practice. I've been managing B12 deficiency in this surgery for over two decades. I've seen the standard pattern. The bloods come back low. We start the injections, hydroxocobalamin, every twelve weeks. Within a few months the serum levels come back into range. We tell the patient they need the injections for life because the underlying absorption issue doesn't go away. Some of them feel a bit sharper at first. Most plateau. Most of the cognitive symptoms, the fog, the slow word-finding, the memory slips, never quite resolve. We tell them this is what age-related decline looks like alongside well-managed B12. We tell them to stay the course. Last Tuesday, one of them didn't. Her name is Barbara. She's been my patient for four years now, and she was coming in for the same review she gets every six months. Cognitive complaints. Quarterly hydroxocobalamin injections, by our practice nurse, since shortly after her bloods came back low at the start of all this. Score on the cognitive screen had been dropping by about two points each visit despite the injections doing their job on her serum levels. I expected the usual. A small further drop. Maybe stable if she was lucky. A conversation about whether donepezil should join the picture. Confirmation that she'd be in next month for her next injection. I did the screen. And I just stopped. Her score had gone up. Not by a small margin. By a margin I have never seen in a patient with mild cognitive impairment in 23 years of practice. Three points up. Above where she'd been when I first started recording her cognitive complaints four years ago. I looked at her. "What have you been doing differently?" "Nothing crazy. Just something a friend in my book group told me about." I didn't believe her. "New medication? Did anything change with your other prescriptions?" "No, nothing prescription. I just want to ask you something. Can I stop the injections? I don't think I need them anymore." I pulled up her records from six months ago and compared them side by side. Her trajectory had reversed. In 23 years of treating cognitive complaints in this surgery, with patients on B12 injections, on the standard schedule, on the formulary medication, doing everything we'd told them to do, I have watched scores go in one direction. Down. Lower over time. More forgetting. More confusion. More worry. This one went the other way. I sat back in my chair and I told her, honestly. "Barbara, I'd like to keep you on the injections for now while we work this out. But I need to understand what changed. Because these numbers don't match anything in your treatment history, and they don't match anything I've seen in 23 years." That's when Barbara told me everything. She said for the past four years, every six months, she'd sit in my surgery and hear the same thing. Levels are fine. Stay the course. We'll keep an eye on it. And every six months she'd go home and try something new on her own, because the course wasn't getting her where she wanted to be. She tried sleep first. The leaflet from the surgery said sleep was the foundation. She bought a new mattress. She stopped looking at her phone after 9pm. She read books about sleep. She got eight hours a night for four months solid. The fog was the same. She tried diet after that. Mediterranean. Oily fish twice a week. Blueberries every morning. Walnuts as snacks. Olive oil instead of butter. She did it for five months. Her cholesterol came down a few points. The fog was still there. She tried exercise. Walking five mornings a week, twenty-two minutes a loop around her village. Then she joined a Pilates class. Then a tai chi class on Saturdays. Her hip hurt less. Her sleep improved further. The fog stayed. And then there were the injections themselves. The first one had genuinely helped. She said the brain fog had lifted for nearly three weeks after that first appointment, and she'd told her sister about it the next time they had tea, that was the first time in two years she'd told someone something hopeful. The second injection helped a bit less. By the fourth injection she was barely noticing a difference. But her serum B12 was 'within range' so we kept her on the schedule. Twelve-weekly. Four years now. A small puncture and a small bruise and a small lift that had stopped lifting two and a half years ago. She told me she had almost accepted it. That this was just her life now. Coming in every twelve weeks for a jab in the arm. Watching the screen score creep down in between. Sitting in my surgery while I talked, kindly, about what we'd do next. Going home and feeling herself slip a little further every month and not being able to point to anything specific. Just the slow accumulation of a hundred small absences. She told me about her mother. How her mother started forgetting where she'd put her handbag in her late sixties. How she'd ask Barbara the same question three times in an evening. How she'd lose the thread of a story halfway through telling it. How she'd come into the kitchen and stand there for several seconds trying to remember why she'd come in. Small things at first. Things you tell yourself are just normal. Things Barbara used to laugh about with her sister, in the way you laugh about something because the alternative is crying about it. By the time her mother was 76, she didn't know which day of the week it was. By 78, she was getting lost on the route to the corner shop she'd been walking to for thirty years. By 79, she put the kettle in the fridge twice in one week. By 81, when Barbara visited her in the home, her mother looked up from her chair and asked the carer who the lady at the door was. Barbara was the lady at the door. Her only daughter. I hear that story every week in this surgery. Different names. Same road. Then she told me what changed. About five months ago, a friend in her book group told her about something she'd been giving her husband. This friend explained something Barbara had never heard from me, or from any specialist she'd ever seen. She said the reason B12 didn't work isn't because it's a bad idea. It's because most vitamin B supplements out there aren't in the forms your body can actually use immediately. And here is the part that stopped me, when Barbara repeated it to me, because the friend, somehow, had also understood that this was true of the injections. Not just supermarket B12 tablets. The injections too. Here's what she explained, and I'm going to put it in terms that make sense, because I've come to believe she was right and it matters. Around every nerve fibre in your brain, and there are billions of them, there is a fatty insulating layer called the myelin sheath. It's what allows electrical signals to travel cleanly and quickly along the nerve. When the myelin sheath is healthy, signals fire fast and clean. Thoughts complete themselves. Words arrive when you reach for them. Names stay where they should. The whole system runs the way it's supposed to. When the myelin sheath starts to break down, signals slow. They scatter. They lose definition. Thoughts take longer. Words don't arrive. Movements feel a half-beat behind. The whole nervous system runs at a lower register. That's the brain fog. That's the morning where the names aren't there. That's the conversation where you lose the thread. The myelin sheath is something your body has to actively maintain. Every day. With the right materials. The most important of those materials is B12, but specifically, the active form of it. The one called methylcobalamin. The B12 injections we routinely prescribe are hydroxocobalamin. That's not the same as cyanocobalamin in supermarket B12 tablets, it's closer to what your body needs. But it's still not the active form. It still requires a conversion step. And for people whose conversion enzymes are struggling, which is most people over 60, that conversion remains the bottleneck. Which is why Barbara's serum B12 was beautiful and her cognitive function wasn't. The injection delivered B12 to her bloodstream. The B12 in her bloodstream was almost the right form. Not quite. The myelin sheath was still hungry. That's why the first injection had helped. There was such a deficit when she started that even partial conversion produced a noticeable effect. Then the conversion enzymes hit their ceiling. The injections kept her serum levels topped up. The myelin kept thinning. The cognitive screen kept dropping. And we kept her on the schedule because the schedule was what the schedule was. When Barbara explained this to me, I'll be honest. I knew the underlying biology. I studied B12 metabolism in medical school. I've read the research on methylation pathways. I've ordered countless courses of hydroxocobalamin in this surgery without really thinking about it, because that's what the formulary stocks and that's what we do. But I had never put it together with what I was seeing in patients like Barbara. Patients whose injections were keeping their serum levels textbook-perfect. Whose cognitive screens kept dropping anyway. Patients I'd been telling, kindly, that some of this is just normal aging on top of well-managed B12. And I had never seen a patient's score actually go up. Not stable. Not slow the decline. Actually improve. That's what was sitting in front of me on her form. "So what did you do about it?" I asked her. She told me her friend had pointed her to a brand called rynw. A British company that uses the active forms of every B vitamin. Methylcobalamin instead of cyanocobalamin or hydroxocobalamin. Methylfolate instead of folic acid. P5P instead of pyridoxine. Already in the forms the body can use the moment they're absorbed, regardless of whether the conversion machinery is still working. "It's not a miracle pill," she said. "I kept going to my injection appointments. I still went to bed early. I still walked. I still ate the fish. But this was the first thing that actually moved the fog." I asked her to walk me through her timeline. She said the first week, she slept a little longer before her brain came online in the morning. She wasn't sure if it was real or if she just wanted it to be. By week two, she remembered her grandson's friends' names without having to scroll through her phone. First time in over a year. By week three, she went back to the morning crossword. Not the cryptic one, the quick one. But she finished it before her tea went cold, which she hadn't been able to do in two years. By month two, she went to her granddaughter's school play and sat through the whole hour and a half. She said she remembered the songs, the names of the characters, the bit at the end where the frog was supposed to be a prince. She was actually there. Present. Not just managing. Month three, she finished the book her book group had been reading. The first book she'd finished in over a year. Month five, she was sitting in my surgery with a cognitive screen score that had gone in the wrong direction. The good kind of wrong. And she was asking if it was time to come off injections she'd been having every twelve weeks for the last four years. After Barbara left that day, I spent the entire evening reading everything I could find on methylcobalamin and the maintenance of myelin in older adults. The research backed up what she'd told me. The pathway was real. The form distinction was real. The studies were real. The largest, run out of Oxford, had followed several hundred people with mild cognitive impairment over two years. The group taking active forms of B vitamins lost brain tissue at a dramatically slower rate than the placebo group. The effect was strongest in the regions most responsible for memory and clear thinking. I'd known about that study. I just hadn't translated it into anything I did differently in clinic. But here's what I also learned, and it matters. Not all active-form B vitamins are the same. Most products that claim to use methylcobalamin or methylfolate actually use them in token amounts, alongside large quantities of the cheaper cyanocobalamin and folic acid, to keep the bottle cost down. Or they use the active forms at doses well below what the actual research used. I told Barbara I wanted to check her serum B12 first before we made any decision about the injections. We took her bloods. The result came back two days later. Her B12 was at the higher end of the range. Higher than she'd been on hydroxocobalamin alone in the past two years. Whatever she was now taking, in whatever form, was reaching her bloodstream, and the cognitive screen score told me it was reaching her myelin sheath, even before the bloodwork confirmed the first part. I rang her that afternoon. I told her if her next bloods in three months remained adequate, we could discuss switching from twelve-weekly hydroxocobalamin to daily oral active-form maintenance, with monitoring. That's a conversation she and I would have, with her bloods in front of us. I wanted to keep watching. But I'm telling you, after twenty-three years of writing standing prescriptions for hydroxocobalamin every twelve weeks for life, the conversation about transitioning a stable patient off injections, with her serum levels and her cognitive function in range simultaneously, that's not a conversation I would have considered before Barbara walked into my surgery last Tuesday. I started recommending rynw, quietly, to a few of my patients. The ones who were where Barbara had been six months ago. The ones whose injections were doing what injections are supposed to do, but who were still slipping in every other way that mattered. I'm watching their results now. And I'm seeing things I don't normally see. If you're reading this right now because your B12 levels are 'within range' and your memory keeps slipping anyway. If you've been on the injections for years and the first one helped but none of the others did. If you've done the sleep, the diet, the walking, and the fog is still there. If you watched your mother or your father go through this and you're quietly watching the same thing happen in your own head, one small absence at a time, and nobody can tell you how to get off the road you're on. You're not imagining it. You're not being dramatic. You don't just have to accept this. You were treating the bloodwork. Nobody was treating the myelin sheath. And without a maintained myelin sheath, none of the rest of it makes a lasting difference. The active forms of B vitamins reach the myelin sheath directly, regardless of whether your conversion enzymes are still working. The myelin gets the support it needs. Signals start firing cleanly again. The fog lifts. Words start arriving. The cycle starts to break. Not because something forced it. Because your body is doing what it already knows how to do. You just had to give it the form it can actually use. But only if the form is right. Only if the dose matches the research. Only if it's tested. rynw is the brand I've been recommending. I picked it because it's the only one I could find in the UK that uses the active forms of every key ingredient, methylcobalamin, methylfolate, P5P, at the doses the actual clinical research uses. British company. Third-party tested for purity. No fillers. 30 days to try it. If nothing changes, full refund. No questions. A note on the injections. If you're currently on B12 injections, do not stop them on your own. They are doing important work on your serum levels, and the absorption issue that put you on them is still real. What you can do is talk to your GP about adding the active forms, and then, with monitoring and proper bloodwork, having a conversation about whether the schedule still needs to be what it is. If by the end of week one you're remembering names you'd been forgetting. If by week two you finish a crossword for the first time in a year. If by week three you sit through a school play and you're actually present. If a month from now your book group meets and you've actually finished the book. If three months from now your GP runs your cognitive screen and stops. And looks at you. And asks if it might be time to think about whether the twelve-weekly injection schedule is still what's needed. You'll wish you'd found this years ago. I know Barbara does. - Dr. Catherine Bennett 👉 https://rynw.com/products/b-complex
🔞When My ex-brother-in-law took my virginity...His liquid spurts inslde and my eyes widen, "Wait we forgot a comdom!" …………………… Chapter 1 He Dumped Me Aria's POV I stood in front of the chapel. Pink roses and white lilies decorated every corner I saw—my favorite flowers. The guests were already seated in their designer dresses and pressed suits. And soon, at the end of the red carpet would stand the man I once loved, waiting to marry his bride. Everything was perfect. Except I wasn't the bride. "I really need to see Jace today." I begged the bodyguard blocking the door. A beat-up suitcase and two boxes sat at my feet—everything I owned in the world. "No you don’t. Get out of here," the bodyguard said icily. I saw it in his eyes—disgust. Yeah I get it. No one has sympathy for the crazy ex who shows up at the wedding. But I have my reason. "If you don't let me see him, I'll just stand here and all the guests will see me," I threatened under my breath. Jace wouldn't want that. Especially not today. Today he was marrying Delilah Hart. Sister to Alpha Grayson Hart of Redstone Pack. A 100% high-society darling. All the guys in the world knew that marrying Delilah would make their wealth skyrocket, including Jace. So he made the easy call—marrying the lady who could turn him from a small-town nobody into a golden boy. And dump the girl who stayed by his side for last 4 years when he had nothing. So it’s normal why he didn’t want any guests to see me here. I represented his broke, embarrassing past. He wanted me nowhere near his glossy, glittering new world. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of that. Like a knife was twisting in my chest. “Let me in or I’m starting to yell.” "Wait here." The bodyguard finally made a call. A few minutes later, he waved me in. I wiped my eyes and struggled into the hall with my suitcase and boxes. Instantly, I felt how out of place I was. Everything reeked of wealth here. Expensive perfume. Manicured nails. Not a hair out of place. It was everything you imagined about the upper-class and way more. And me? I was wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans. My sneakers had holes. "God, a homeless. She stinks." A woman mutter as I walked by. I just showered this morning. My hair still smelled like strawberries and coconut. But poverty had a scent, apparently. "Mr. Carter is inside. Make it quick." The guard took me to a closed door and warned. “Thank you.” The room inside looked like something out of a movie. Marble floors. Floor-length mirrors. A chandelier that probably cost more than my apartment. I hesitated for a second as I dragged my dirty luggage across the white carpet. And there he was. The man I used to love. Adjusting his bowtie in front of a mirror. He was still heartbreakingly handsome. No wonder Delilah fell for him. When he turned and fixed his gorgeous blue eyes upon me, I still felt my heart race. "Hey, Jace," I said quietly. And immediately wanted to punch myself. Hey, Jace? That’s the best I could do? His face was ice cold. "You shouldn't come. Your ratty suitcase, your ripped jeans, your Vans. None of that belongs here." Well if you wanted to be brutal and vicious, that’s how it’s done. "Don’t you think I deserve an explanation? You dumped me over a fucking email!" I snapped. He shrugged. "Look around you. The wealthiest people in the world came for me today. This suit I’m wearing cost more than you can make in your entire life. What more explanation do you want, Aria?" Wow. I always knew he was a cold, calculating bastard. I just didn’t realize how deep it ran. "Maybe chasing Alpha’s sister got you here faster. But you know what? When she finds out how cold and empty you are. You’ll lose it all." Anger flared across his face. "I know how to love. I just won't waste that on a small-town girl like you.” he said freezingly, “Are we done here?" “No.” I took a deep breath and got into the real reason I came. "You're marrying a rich girl. Fine. But why did you have to get me fired?" Yeah. I used to work for this jerk. From intern to full-time at Apex Corp, he was my supervisor. Our relationship was a secret. And just days ago, I found out he was getting married—and I was out of a job. He fired me. "Right, your job.” The jerk shrugged, “You got it because of me. Now that I’m not around, they finally saw how incompetent you are. Problem?" Was he fucking kidding me?! "I graduated top of my class. Made it through 7 rounds of interviews. My performance exceeded every quarterly target. I earned that job!" I cried. “Come on, Aria. You really gonna be so naïve?” He walked closer, smirking. "You passed the interviews because I said so. Your sales? I made those calls. Without me, you'd be nothing but a pretty face." He seized my chin and looked me over with a disgusting look. I slapped his hand away. "Give me my job back,” I hissed, my voice slightly trembling. “My dad’s debt. My grandma’s medical bills…I need the money. You of all people should know what it’s like to be poor. Don’t. Make. Me. Beg." I was throwing my pride at his feet. But he laughed. "Well, how about I offer you a deal?" he said as though he’d been waiting for this moment. He brushed my hair back, fingers trailing down to my collarbone. I shivered in disgust. "You never let me touch you. You were so clinging to that pathetic no-sex-before-marriage rule. Maybe it's time to grow up. Let me fuck you once and I’ll write you a check you can’t refuse. How does that sound?" I widened my eyes in shock. Then I slapped him. HARD. “WHAT THE FUCK! I’m getting married in front of everyone in fucking 10 minutes!” He roared covering his face. "Fuck you, Jace!” I yelled, “You're a spineless freeloading puss! And hey—congrats on the wedding. Hope your junk is soft like a fucking spaghetti tonight!" Then I stormed out dragging my suitcase and boxes, ignoring his angry curses behind me. Hot tears poured down as I dashed across the hallway. God this couldn’t be any worse. I was prepared to drop all my self-esteem and begged with my life because I needed the job and money. But I still let him get to me. Now what do I do? My salary barely covered my rent, my father’s debt and grandma’s bill. Now with my job gone, I already got kicked out by my landlord. I probably had to sleep in a park tonight. So do I go back and let that jerk win? Let him humiliate me...No. I’d rather die than that— "Hey, watch where you're going!" someone yelled. Too late. I slammed right into the man in front of me. He was tall—so tall I felt like I’d just walked into a brick wall. His diamond cufflink was sharp like a blade, and when we collided, it sliced clean through my thin T-shirt with a loud rip. In one second, the front of my shirt was torn open, exposing my white lace bra. “Ah!” I gasped and looked up. The man in front of me was so handsome. Like a statue carved by a master artist. Yet his expression so cold. He looked down at me, and I swear I was about to drown in those stormy gray eyes of his. And then I recognized who he was. This was Jace’s son-to-be brother-in-law. Alpha of Redstone Pack. CEO of Apex Corporation. THE legendary. Grayson Hart. “Aria Collins?” His voice was sexy and velvety. He lowered his head and his eyes dropped to the exposed part of my bra. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the color of his eyes seemed to darken as he stared. Wherever his gaze landed, my skin started burning up. But wait. How did he know my name? Chapter 2 With Ex's Brother-in-law Aria’s POV Of course I recognized him. God, who didn’t? I’d met him at an Apex gala. His face was on every finance magazine cover, and any time you turned on a TV, there he was—linked to the latest scandal with some actress or model. But there was no way he’d know who I was. “I-I… Hello, Alpha Grayson,” I stammered. He turned his eyes away and said to a nearby guard, “Escort Ms. Collins out.” “Yes, Alpha.” The guards stepped in immediately, stretching out their arms like I was some kind of contaminant that might taint Grayson’s perfectly tailored suit. “Wait a minute. You’re not going to say something about my shirt?” He paused—just for a second—then flicked a piece of paper down at my feet. I looked down. A blank check. “I need a shirt I can actually wear out of here. Not your hush money.” I gritted with humiliation. But he didn’t even glance back as he walked away. “God,” I muttered under my breath. Can you believe these rich bastards? They think they can buy everything with money. People nearby were all staring, snickering under their breath. I tried to cover my chest and grab my things to escape, but it was hard to do all that with just two hands. “Oh my god…Aria Collins?” Three girls emerged from the whispering crowd. I took one look at them and sighed internally. Great. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse. “Hello. Layla. Sabrina. Brielle.” I used to work in the same team with these girls back at Apex. We were all under Jace. They adored him—spent more time flirting with at the coffee machine than actually working. Which left me doing their share of the workload. After I got fired—and when news of my secret relationship with Jace got out—they decided I was public enemy number one. “What are you even doing here, Aria? Trying to win back your ex at his wedding? That’s a new low even for you,” Layla snickered. “I’m not here to win anyone back.” I tried to push past them. But they blocked me. “What happened to your shirt?” Brielle snickered. “Did you seriously walk in here with your bra out? Is this like some low-budget fashion statement?” They burst into laughter together. “You could be completely naked and Jace still wouldn’t give a damn,” Sabrina squeaked. “Because he’s marrying Delilah. THE Delilah Hart! Redstone Pack’s sweetheart. And you…well you’re just a poor-ass small-town girl.” I stopped in my track and gave them a cold glare, “Oh yeah? Well at least I’ve actually been with Jace. Do you know how many times I had to listen to him complained about your screechy voices and cheesy perfume? Apparently he rather be with a poor-ass small-town girl than any of you.” Their jaws dropped. “Jace would never say that!” Brielle cried. “Word for word,” I rolled my eyes. “Now move. Or I’m rolling this suitcase over your pretty little skirts.” They looked like ruffled chickens, but they parted. I quickly shoved my dingy luggage ahead like a weapon and stormed out of the church. Rich people were assholes. Grayson, Jace, and their whole damn minions. I struggled to get my suitcase down the steps, and once I hit the street, cold wind slapped me in the face. I had no idea where to go. I could crash in the hospital with my grandma for a night, but she’d ask too many questions. Like why I hadn’t brought Jace around recently, or why I wasn’t staying at my apartment. I didn’t want her knowing how bad things had gotten. I thought about the park. Sleeping on a bench. But in a ripped T-shirt that exposed my whole front? Horrible idea. So I texted my best friend, May, asking to stay at her place for a few days. She was my rock. If the whole world turned against me, at least I still had her. She texted back right away inviting me to come over. Dragging my suitcase across the street toward the bus stop, I told myself it was going to be okay. This horrible day was going to end. Then I heard them. “Hey, nice shirt!” A group of street wolves were loitering near the stop. I hugged myself tighter and curled into the bench, hoping they’d get bored and leave. “C’mon baby, drop your hands. Let us see what you’re working with.” Go away. Go away. Go away. “You rip that shirt yourself? Damn that’s wild. I like that in a girl.” One of them moved closer, reaching for my shoulder. “Get away from me!” I snapped, my voice shaking. But it only fired them up. “Oh, feisty. Shake those tits for me!” They grabbed my wrists, yanked my arms down. My T-shirt gaped open completely, revealing my lace bra. The cold air made my skin pebble. They laughed even louder. I struggled and screamed. My wolf growled in rage. Shifting in the city was illegal—but right now, I didn’t have a second choice— Just then. Blinding headlights. Followed by screeching tires. A black car skidded to a stop inches away. The door flew open. A deep voice thundered, “Get in.” I was too shocked that I didn’t think twice and obeyed. The car peeled away the second I shut the door. “My suitcase!” I cried. “Someone will get it,” he said darkly. “Address.” I told the driver May’s. Then he pressed a button. A privacy screen slid up between the front and back seats, sealing us in the back. That’s when he turned toward me and leaned in. Like a beast ready to pounce. His scent hit me like a punch—sharp pine mixed with cold metal. My head started to get dizzy. “Walking on the street in that shirt was a mistake,” he said sternly. “It got like this because of you,” I mumbled. He snorted. Then the sound of rustling fabric. A heavy jacket landed across my shoulders—it was still warm from his body and carried his scent. I held my breathe. Wearing his coat almost felt like…he was wrapping himself around me. “You—do you know me?” I whispered. My gut told me that he would never do this for a strange girl. But if he knew who I was, he must know that I was his sister’s husband’s ex. That didn’t explain why he would help. “We’ve met,” he said simply. I stared at him, searching those icy gray eyes. He was staring at me too, with that cold, hungry, possessive eyes. I felt like I was completely naked in front of him. “Aria,” he warned, voice thick and husky. But I couldn’t control myself. I was leaning forward. Shit. Why did my body become so weird? My skin was on fire. My panties were wet. All I wanted was more of his scent, more of his heat. The next second his lips were crashed onto mine—Hard. Rough. I gasped and opened my mouth for him. His tongue slipped in and explored every inch of my mouth, making me shiver. His hands pushed into my torn shirt and grabbed my waist. I couldn’t control my moan when he touched my naked skin. This was crazy! He was a stranger, and most importantly, my ex’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. And I was making out with him at the back of his car. The crazy part was I didn’t even want to stop. He lifted me onto his lap like I weighed nothing. I straddled his thighs and yanked at his tie as he bite my collarbone. Then, suddenly, the car stopped. “Alpha, we’ve arrived.” That’s when it all froze. His lips paused at my neck. I was still squirming on his lap, flushed and throbbing. But he shoved me off. “We can’t do this,” he said coldly. Chapter 3 You're Special To Him Aria’s POV “So you’re telling me this guy made out with you in the backseat of his car… and then just shoved you off like nothing happened?” May asked in shock. 20 minutes later, I was sitting at her place, wrapped in one of her oversized hoodies, a steaming mug of tea in my hands. But I was still reeling from everything that had just happened. “Yup,” I muttered. “Who knows what’s wrong with him.” “What an asshole,” she huffed. “But honestly, this really isn’t like you. You dated that jerk Jace for 4 years and didn’t even sleep with him—which, by the way, was a brilliant choice—and now you're suddenly making out with a complete stranger in his car?” I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. Yeah, she had a point. “I—I don’t know. Maybe it was the whole Jace-getting-married thing. Maybe I just snapped and wanted to screw around with someone hotter just to get back at him…Honestly, it was so stupid now that I think of it.” She grinned and wiggled her brows. “So… he was hot huh?” My cheeks flushed and my mind drifted back. Those stormy gray eyes, his perfectly shaped lips on my neck, and those arms that could pick me up like I weighed nothing…Shit I need to stop. “Yeah. VERY,” I whispered, hiding my red face behind the mug. May burst out laughing. “Now we’re talking! That’s exactly what you need right now—a drop-dead gorgeous rebound to get that loser Jace out of your system. Screw your ‘no sex before marriage’ rule. Life is short.” I gave her a weak smile. Honestly, I didn’t need a rebound. I needed a job, money, and a place to live. Grayson Hart was like dessert when you can’t even afford dinner. “So… do you even know who this guy was?” she asked. I hesitated. Right at this moment, the doorbell rang. She jumped up to get it and came back a few minutes later, hauling in my luggage, her face frozen in disbelief. “OMG. You are not gonna believe what just showed up outside.” “Umm… my luggage?” I joked. “Two fucking muscular guys in black suits and guns! And a freaking stretch limo! They called me ‘ma’am’ and said they hope Miss Aria has a wonderful evening. Now, you—” She leapt at me and shook me by the shoulders. “—you tell me right now who the hell you hooked up with!” I squealed and dropped into the couch with her, laughing and giggling breathlessly. “Okay, okay—I’ll tell you. It was… Grayson Hart.” I practically whispered his name. Because honestly, I still couldn’t believe it either. May froze, eyes wide as saucers. “Grayson—THE Grayson Hart?! As in our Alpha? The CEO of Apex?!” “And Jace’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. Now you know how stupid I was earlier?” She let out a full-on scream. Then she grabbed my hand, her face flushed with excitement. “Oh my God! Aria, do you know what this means? Alpha Grayson never even lends his jacket to his model girlfriends. He likes you. You’re special!” “No,” I said firmly. “If I was special, he wouldn’t have thrown me off his lap when I tried to take off his shirt.” “Maybe he had somewhere to be—” “Don’t, May. Let’s be real. Guys like him don’t fall for girls like me.” I took another sip of tea, hiding the ache in my chest. Hell even Jace thought I was beneath him. What chance did I have with Grayson freaking Hart? “Don’t be silly, Aria. You’re gorgeous. And smart and amazing and—WAIT! I just had the best idea ever.” “What?” “That arrogant jerk Jace thinks you’re just some small-town prude who wasn’t good enough for him right? But what if you ended up with Alpha Grayson? It’ll be easy to get him because he’s already obsessed. Oh, it would destroy Jace. That dickhead would never recover.” OKAY. I’d be lying if I said that exact scenario hadn’t crossed my mind when Grayson kissed me back. What girl hasn’t daydreamed about dating the perfect guy and getting revenge in the most dramatic way possible? But right now, I couldn’t afford to daydream. Reality was already breathing down my neck. “Tempting. But right now I need a job and enough cash to keep Grandma in her hospital bed. Dating rich dudes isn’t exactly high on my to-do list.” May looked at me with soft eyes. “So…any plans? I can try to hook you up with a job, but you know I just work at a coffee shop, and with your degree, you deserve so much more.” I hugged her. “Thank you. Really. I’ll figure something out. Apex promised me severance when they fired me, so I’m going to HR tomorrow to get it sorted.” If I could get that money, at least I’d be OK for the next round of Grandma’s medical bills. — The next morning, I showed up at Apex right on time. But the second Brielle walked in with the HR manager, I had a bad feeling. “What’s she doing here?” I asked coldly. “I’ll explain in a minute,” HR replied with a polite, rehearsed smile as she sat across from me. “So Ms. Collins, I understand you’re here to discuss severance?” “Yes. So let’s not waste time. Just give me the check and I’ll be out of here.” “Unfortunately, severance only applies when the company terminates a contract without cause. In your case… it appears you were let go due to misconduct.” Misconduct? What the freaking hell. “Jace made a snap decision and booted me. What misconduct are you talking about?” “But that’s not what Mr. Carter said. He provided evidence that you made a costly error on a sales quote—omitting a few zeroes, to be exact. Cost the company millions. Here’s the email record.” She handed me a printed sheet. I swore I had never sent this email in my life. But there it was—my name in the sender field. No freaking way. Jace forged this. “And Mr. Carter reported that you had a difficult attitude toward your coworkers. Quote: ‘impatient and arrogant.’ Brielle’s here to verify that.” Brielle twirled her hair and smiled smugly. “Yeah. Aria was a horrible team player.” I stood so fast my chair screeched. “The only thing I didn’t ‘teamplayed’ with you was flirt with the boss in the breakroom!” “Liar!” she yelled. “And I asked Jace. He never said my voice was screechy!” Oh my God. I couldn’t believe how stupid she was. “Sit down, Miss Collins,” HR warned. “As of now, not only are you not getting severance, but we’re also considering legal action to recover the losses. If you understand the situation here, sign this acknowledgement—” “Does Alpha Grayson know about this?” I asked. Both of them froze. After a long pause, HR finally found her voice. “What does Alpha Grayson have to do with any of this?” “He owns Apex, doesn’t he? Does he know his team is abusing their power and firing hardworking employees illegally?” HR frowned. Brielle let out a loud snort. “Please. Don’t act like you know Alpha Grayson.” “What if I do? What if I go to him and then it’s you who gets fired?” She laughed in my face. “Oh, you mean you know him on TV?” “Let’s find out.” I shoved my chair back and stormed out, heading straight for the CEO’s private elevator at the end of the hall. HR scrambled after me, shouting my name. I was too furious to care how this ended. All I wanted now was to blow the whole damn place up. Two guards stood by the elevator. “I need to see Alpha Grayson,” I told them. “Appointment?” “No, but I swear he knows me. Just tell him it’s Aria—from yesterday. He’ll remember.” “You aren’t the first girl here saying that,” one of them mocked. “Come on, Miss Collins,” HR snapped, trying to drag me back. “This is getting crazy. Go back, sign the paper. Take responsibility for your own mistake.” “I didn’t send that email. It was Jace—he’s framing me! I will report all of you.” “Alpha Grayson doesn’t have time for your report, or your visit, or any of your little drama!” “I believe no one but me has the right to decide that,” a cold voice said behind us. Chapter 4 Take Me, Please Aria’s POV A large hand grabbed my arm and pulled me away from HR’s grip. I looked up and my heart almost stopped. Even I couldn’t believe he just showed up here. It felt like a dream. “A-Alpha Grayson,” HR stammered, her face frozen with shock and fear. “I don’t need employees who think they can make decisions for their boss,” he said freezingly while wrapping his arm around my waist. “If I see something like this again, you’re fired.” “Y-yes, Alpha. I’m terribly sorry…” HR’s expression was priceless, but I was in no mood to enjoy it. His icy pine scent consumed me again, making my body weak and hot. My wolf let out a soft purr, urging me to lean into him. But before I could even move, he let go. A pang of disappointment hit me in the chest. “Come,” he said shortly, striding toward the private elevator. I shot HR and the stunned security guards a smug look, then hurried after him. He swiped his card and the elevator doors closed. We started going up to the 58th floor. It was dead silent. My heart was beating so wildly that I was afraid he’d hear it. I snuck a glance at him—he just stared straight ahead, emotionless, keeping a distance, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Unease twisted my stomach. “So, um… what brings you here today?” I broke the silence. He sighed softly. “I owe this company.” “Oh, Oh…Right.” I wanted to punch myself in the face. The awkward silence lingered until the elevator dinged open. The 58th floor was a wide-open space with no cubicles or dividers—just massive floor-to-ceiling windows and a sweeping view of the entire city. “Wow,” I whispered under my breath. Grayson was already walking ahead. I jogged to catch up as he led me into an office at the far end of the floor. A stunning female assistant closed the door behind us, and once again, it was just the two of us. My heart rocketed back into my throat. He casually unbuttoned his jacket. It was amazing how he made even that look sexy. “So you insisted on seeing me?” he asked. He didn’t ask me to sit. He didn’t even move closer. That distance stung a little. “I worked here till a week ago when I found out I was let go for no reason…” I quickly told him the story of how I was fired. “This is clearly illegal in so many ways… can you help me get my job back?” “Unfortunately, no,” he replied, barely hesitating. My heart dropped like a stone. “Why not?” “I’ll have the hiring department look into whether your termination followed proper protocol. But this isn’t something a CEO handles directly. Anything else?” The hiring department? That could take weeks—and I didn’t have weeks. “No… you don’t get it,” I stepped forward, my voice trembling. “My grandma’s in the hospital. Her bills are getting insane every month. And I’m already deep in debt… If I can’t make money, I don’t even know— I really, REALLY need this job.” I knew we came from two different worlds, but laying out the most desperate parts of my life in front of him still made me feel horribly exposed. I just hoped—begged—that he’d understand. But he didn’t. His gray eyes stayed emotionless. “I’m sorry, Miss Collins,” he said quietly. Tears rushed into my eyes. I couldn’t even breathe. All I could think about were the bills, the debt, the mountain of shit waiting for me the second I left this building. “If there’s nothing else, my assistant will show you out.” he said, reaching for the intercom. I rushed forward and pressed my hand down on his before he could call anyone in. His whole body stiffened—but he didn’t pull away. He just stared down at me. I stepped in closer, tilting my head up. His gray eyes darkened like a storm brewing in the distance. His pine scent wrapped around me again, thick and intoxicating. As werewolves, our scent only spikes during a fight or sexual arousal. It was damn obvious which case this was. “You clearly feel something for me,” I whispered. He said nothing. I placed my hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat. It was racing as well. His breathing had also turned shallow. “What are you doing, Miss Collins?” he asked tightly. “Trying to seduce your way into a job?” “You can do whatever you want,” I locked eyes with him. “I won’t stop you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. God, I wanted to lick it. And… well, I did. I leaned up and pressed my lips to it. He let out a growl. The next second, I was pinned on his desk. He stood between my spread legs, one hand by my head. I whimpered, clamping my thighs together—the heat between them was almost unbearable. Just like in the backseat of his car. His hand slid from the desk to my throat. It was so big, he could probably snap my neck if he wanted. “You shouldn’t keep tempting me, Miss Collins.” His body was pressed against my thighs—I definitely felt the effect I was having on him. “Why?” I whispered, licking my lips. “Because your self-control isn’t as strong as you thought?” “Because I don’t fuck virgins.” What the actual hell The next second, he had pulled away. I scrambled off the desk, face red, eyes wide. “What did you just say?!” I snapped. “Why—How the hell do you even know—?” “I know who you are. And I know about your relationship with my sister’s husband.” And just like that, everything clicked. It was Jace. That bastard didn’t just dump me—he ran his mouth about my virginity to everyone, including Grayson. Humiliation crashed over me like a wave. “Jace is a fucking asshole,” I snapped shakily. Grayson shrugged. “Obviously. But Brielle likes him. And he’s family now. I’m sorry but I just can’t get involved in this.” I climbed off his desk with my whole body red and shaking. He didn’t want me. And he was taking his sister and Jace’s side. I was so damn stupid to think that one kiss in the car actually meant anything. But this was Grayson Hart for Christ’s sake. He could have anyone he wanted. “I’m sure you’re a very capable employee, Miss Collins. But seducing me won’t help your career. I wish you all the best.” He finally pressed the intercom button. His assistant appeared at the door, waiting for me to leave. “Bye,” I whispered without even look back. I didn’t want him to notice my falling tears. I walked out of that office, numb, and rode the elevator down like a ghost. My mind was a storm of bills, debt, and Grayson’s ice-cold stare. Now I desperately needed a new job. “Miss Collins!” I turned and saw his assistant come rushing out again, holding an envelope. “Alpha Grayson asked me to give you this,” she said, handing it over. “What is it?” Why didn’t he give it to me earlier? “He didn’t say. Maybe you’ll know once you open it.” She gave me a mysterious smile and walked away. I opened the envelope. A blank check slid out first—I held my breath in shock. Then I found a crumpled note. His handwriting, rushed and messy. Haven’t repaid you for the shirt. Hope everything works out for you Aria. Stay strong. —Grayson Chapter 5 Getting My Attention Aria’s POV “That check clearly means something,” May insisted. “Come on. We’re not doing this again,” I sighed. “If he’s not into you, then why did he let his assistant come after you with a check? He probably saw you crying and couldn’t stand it. You should definitely go back and see him again.” “Nope,” I shut it down immediately. “I had one perfect, fairytale encounter with a rich bachelor. That’s enough. I’m not about to go back there and humiliate myself all over again.” “But—” “Hey, you two!” our manager yelled from the other end of the aisle. “Less talking, more working!” We rolled our eyes at each other and got back to inventory. May had helped me land this supermarket job. It was part of a chain under a big corporation, so the pay and benefits weren’t bad. May still thought it was beneath someone with my degree, but honestly, I was just grateful to be employed. Once we finished our section, the manager wandered off to shout at someone else, and May scooted back over to me. “Just imagine it,” she grinned. “You could write a couple million on that blank check and boom! Instant rich girl life.” “I’m not gonna do that.” “Sure you won’t. You’re too nice,” she muttered, half-admiring, half-scolding. “So? What are you gonna write?” I hesitated. At first, I actually considered writing the price of a shirt. 19.99 that was. Because apparently, my dignity still thinks it matters. But let’s be real, if Grayson was just trying to pay me back for a ripped tee, he would’ve handed his assistant a $20 bill, not a blank check. Maybe… he felt bad I lost my job too. “I’m going to write the amount I should’ve gotten in severance,” I admitted eventually. May's eyes bulged. “That’s it?!” “I know it’s not much, but it’s what I actually deserve. And it’ll help me cover two months of bills.” She sighed like I was letting go of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But my mind was made up. This was my chance to walk away from the mess. I still wanted to rip Jace’s smug face off, but the best revenge right now was surviving. 6 hours later, we finished our shift exhausted and aching. Everyone else got to clock out, but not me—I’d volunteered for night shift and closing duties. The staffs left one by one, yawning, including May. Finally I was alone in this big market. Now here’s the big secret— I actually lived here now. Nobody knew this, not even May. She thought I’d found a new apartment and moved out, but I just couldn’t keep bothering her anymore—her roommates were getting irritated with me hogging the living room and utilities. And renting my own place seemed way out of budget now. So I stayed in this supermarket instead. I closed up the store at night and opened it early in the morning. For the 5 or 6 hours in between, I made a bed out of my coat and slept on the floor near the refrigerated section. Now don’t ask me why I can’t sleep in the staff’s break room. That room was too hot without AC. At least it was cool by the freezer. Tonight I was extra exhausted. The manager made us girls haul too many heavy crates around. I passed out in seconds. But it felt like I’d only been asleep for five minutes—my alarm hadn’t even gone off yet—when I was jolted awake by someone screaming. “OH MY GOD—what the hell are you doing?!” I shot upright, completely disoriented. And froze. In front of me stood an entire group of people—including the manager and several guys in suits, all staring at me wide eyes. And I was only in a tank top and shorts. Half naked. OH GOD. What the hell—Is it morning already?! Why didn’t I hear my alarm? I scrambled to pull my clothes over my body, my hands shaking. The stares didn’t stop. They got more invasive. “Aria Collins! What the fuck are you doing?!” the manager stormed over and roared. “Napping half-naked in my fucking store?! Are you a fucking sex perv?!” My face went beet red, “No! I—I was just staying here temporarily—” “Temporarily?!” he yelled, eyes bulging. “I hired an employee, not a fucking squatter! How much water and electricity have you used free?! Are you stealing food too?!” “No I swear. I shut everything off when I’m done, I don’t use the water unless I have to. And I paid for everything I’ve eaten.” Tears blurred my vision as I tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening. His spit actually hit my cheek as he snarled. “Of all days—you had to pick the day corporate shows up to camp out in my perfect store. You filthy, disgusting little—” “Aria Collins?” A new voice called my name. It came from one of the suited men. I looked up—and my heart dropped. It was Jonathan. A former coworker from Apex. “Holy shit, it is you,” he grinned, raising his brows. “Almost didn’t recognize you at first.” “You… what are you doing here?” I stammered. “Apex owns this supermarket chain. We’re doing site inspections today,” he said with a smirk, his eyes trailing down to my bare legs. “Man! Most people hit rock bottom after getting fired from Apex, but you fall faster than anyone.” “I’m working. Making a decent living,” I said in shaky voice. “There’s no shame with that.” “Oh really?” he sneered. “Does your job include lying around half-naked on the floor? What is this, a new hooker gimmick?” The suits burst out laughing. My furious tears were on the verge of falling. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll fire her right away.” The manager groaned. “Hold up,” Jonathan drawled with a smirk. “This chick got fired from Apex for messing up a seven-figure deal. You might wanna check your inventory. She could be stealing.” “You know that’s a lie. Jace got me fired out of spite! I never made a mistake—” “Oh please,” he cut me off. “Everyone in the industry knows how you fucked up. Jace was so embarrassed that he had to apologize for you.” The manager grabbed my wrist. “Then you’re definitely stealing from this market as well. That’s it you are going to jail. When I figure out what you’ve taken, you must pay back everything!” My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t doubt for a second that the manager would come up with something that I didn’t steal, just like how Jace framed me before. It wasn’t hard for guys like them. But I couldn’t go to jail. My grandma had no one to count on but me. I can’t leave her. The wolf in me surfaced up the next second—I snarled at the manager, yanked my arm free, and ran. “Stop her!” someone shouted behind me. I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I had to escape. I bolted out of the store, desperate and horrified—and slammed right into a solid chest. “Get away from Alpha!” a bodyguard barked. But he pulled me in instead. “Aria?” I was still shaking involuntarily. He unbuttoned the front and wrapped me in, covering my half-naked body. “It’s OK.” his voice was deep with clear hint of rage. I clutched his shirt, gasping for air. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to breathe at all. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Yet I couldn’t make a sound. “She’s having a panic attack,” a woman said nearby. “Alpha, if I may—” I silently prayed him not to hand me over. And he didn’t. “It’s fine, Nova,” he refused. “Aria, you’re safe now. Breathe.” Panicked footsteps echoed behind us. Jonathan’s voice rang out, stunned: “Alpha Grayson! Oh God—w-what’s going on here?!” “Nova,” Grayson said in a cold, dangerous voice, “stay here. Don’t let anyone leave.” “Yes, Alpha.” He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, one arm under my legs, the other around my back. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. Then he carried me through the crowd, into the store, and into a private room. When he set me down in a chair, I was still trembling and sobbing. He finally took off his coat and draped it over my legs, then crouched down in front of me. “You’re safe here,” he said. That’s when I broke down. Crying out loud. Everything—fear, shame, panic—everything spilled out in a messy, helpless flood. I clutched his wrist like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and for once… he didn’t pull away. He said nothing the whole time. Just stayed there with me until the sobs quieted. “Th-thank you…I’m better now.” I sniffled. He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. I trembled at the way he touched my skin. His voice was low, rough, and a little strained. “You’re starting to make me wonder, Miss Collins. If all these run-ins are just your way of getting my attention.”