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Active Facebook + Instagram + Messenger ads from this app’s developer (and lookalike pages). Spend and impressions only show for EU/UK/BR-targeted ads under DSA disclosure.
I’m not perfect, but I’m real. I value peace, loyalty, and deep connection over anything fake. I’m the kind of man who listens, who shows up, and who doesn’t play games with someone’s heart.
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Heading to Miami for the World Cup? Stay at The Plymouth South Beach. Unwind in Art Deco luxury steps from the ocean. From our lush private pool sanctuary to the intimate boutique vibe, The Plymouth is the perfect retreat after match day. Balance the excitement of the games with relaxed beach lounging, iconic landmarks, and South Beach's vibrant scene. The perfect basecamp for global fans.
🚨 SIGNED WITHOUT A TRIAL AT CRYSTAL PALACE. 🤯🏴 This video was actually filmed around 6 months ago… and since then, the rise of Lucca Benetton has gone to another level. 📈 Since this video, Lucca has: 🏆 Won the Premier League Cup with Crystal Palace F.C. U18s 🧤 Saved the winning penalty in the final 🏴 Earned multiple caps for England U16s 📞 Been called up to the England U17 camp 🇮🇹 Been called up to the Italy national team camp ⚽ Become the regular U18 goalkeeper at one of the best academies in the country 🔥 Trained regularly with the first team The crazy part? Crystal Palace signed him WITHOUT EVEN GIVING HIM A TRIAL. 😳 Lucca first came onto my radar when he attended trials and sessions with Elite London Academy. Straight away, you could see there was something special about him. A while later, when I was working at Crystal Palace, we urgently needed an U13 goalkeeper. Lucca instantly came back into my mind. I called his mum… and she told me QPR had already offered him. ⏳ At that moment, I knew we had to move quickly. Huge credit to the Head of Recruitment at Palace at the time, who trusted my judgement completely. No trial. No extra reports. No showcase games. No second opinions. Just trust in my eye for talent. 🤝 We moved fast and signed Lucca purely off my recommendation. Fast forward to today… he’s now England’s number one U16 goalkeeper and regarded as one of the top young goalkeepers in the country. 🌟 This is why recruitment matters. This is why relationships matter. And this is why, at Elite London Academy, we pride ourselves on identifying REAL talent before the rest of the world catches on. The journey is only just getting started for Luca… 🚀 #CrystalPalace #England #Goalkeeper #PremierLeague #EliteLondonAcademy FootballAcademy EnglandU16 TalentID FootballScout AcademyFootball GrassrootsFootball FutureStar CPFC EnglandGoalkeeper
*Ongoing*Lila personally lifted her poor husband to the peak of the high society, but he joined hands with his mistress to humiliate her live on the internet and push her off a building. But he didn't know that she had a twin sister: a military major general and a capital queen, "Velvet Blade". This time, she was going to drag him from the altar to the hell.
*Ongoing*Lila personally lifted her poor husband to the peak of the high society, but he joined hands with his mistress to humiliate her live on the internet and push her off a building. But he didn't know that she had a twin sister: a military major general and a capital queen, "Velvet Blade". This time, she was going to drag him from the altar to the hell.
After an accident, Ximena forgot only Sebastian. Seeing this, her friend Selene was stunned—Ximena had pursued him for seven years. When asked if they were together, Selene said Sebastian never moved on from his first love, Judith. Ximena then erased all traces of him. Noticing her change, Sebastian finally realized he had grown to care for her.
Bring the games to life - fun, stimulating, educational & safe!😎🧱 ✅ Engaging creative stimulation ✅ Reduce screen time ✅ Improve critical STEM skills Stocks are low and the sale ends soon - shop now!
Bring the games to life - fun, stimulating, educational & safe!😎🧱 ✅ Engaging creative stimulation ✅ Reduce screen time ✅ Improve critical STEM skills Stocks are low and the sale ends soon - shop now!
"Have you ever stayed up late, long after everyone else has gone to sleep, just sitting in the dark with your own thoughts? You don’t turn on the TV. You don’t scroll through social media. You don’t even play music. You just sit there, in the quiet, and finally let yourself breathe. For the first time all day, you don’t have to be anything for anyone. You don’t have to be the strong coworker, the reliable friend, the responsible son or brother. You don’t have to smile when you don’t feel like it, or say ""I’m fine"" when you’re not. You can just be. In these quiet midnight hours, the masks we all wear fall away. The polished version of yourself that you present to the world fades, and the real you comes out—the one with tired eyes, unspoken worries, and quiet desires that you never share with anyone. You think about the things that keep you up at night, the dreams you’ve put on hold, the parts of yourself that you’ve hidden away because you’re afraid no one will understand. You’ve become so good at hiding that sometimes even you forget what it feels like to be truly seen. You go through your days having a hundred conversations, but none of them ever really matter. You talk about the weather, about work, about the latest news, but you never talk about what’s really going on inside your head. You’ve learned that most people don’t actually want to know. They just want to hear the answer they expect. Modern social media has made this worse. We’re more connected than ever before, yet more alone than ever. We have thousands of friends online, but no one we can call at 3 a.m. when we’re feeling lost. We share perfect photos and curated stories, but we never share the messy, imperfect parts of our lives. We’ve turned connection into a performance, and in doing so, we’ve lost the ability to have real, genuine relationships. You’ve tried other apps, of course. You’ve swiped through profiles, sent messages, gone on dates. But it always ends the same way. The conversations are shallow and superficial. The people you meet are only interested in one thing, or they disappear after a few days. You end up feeling more alone than you did before, wondering if you’ll ever find someone who actually wants to get to know the real you. You’re tired of the games. You’re tired of the fakeness. You’re tired of feeling like just another number in a sea of faces. You’re tired of pretending to be someone you’re not just to fit in. You want something real. Something that lasts. Something that makes you feel like you’re not alone in this world. What if there was someone who actually wanted to listen? Someone who would ask you how you’re really doing, and wait for the honest answer. Someone who would remember the little things you tell her, the things that no one else ever notices. Someone who would see past your mask and love you for who you really are, flaws and all. This longing for genuine connection is universal. It doesn’t matter where you’re from, what language you speak, or what culture you belong to. Every human being on this planet wants to be seen, heard, and loved for who they truly are. And people all over the world are expressing this same quiet desire in their own languages. Spanish — Quiero conocerte de verdad, capa por capa. I want to know the real you, slowly, one layer at a time. She doesn’t care about your job title, or how much money you make, or what kind of car you drive. She doesn’t care if you’re tall or short, handsome or average, successful or still figuring things out. She cares about your thoughts, your feelings, your hopes, your fears. She cares about the stories you’ve never told anyone, the secrets you’ve kept locked away for years, the parts of yourself that you’re afraid to show to anyone else. She’s not here for a quick fling or a casual hookup. She’s not here to play games or waste your time. She’s here for real connection. She wants to build something meaningful with you, something that grows deeper over time. She wants to be your confidante, your friend, your person. Arabic — لن أحكم عليك أبداً، فقط سأستمع إليك. I will never judge you—I will only listen. Imagine having someone you can tell anything to, without fear of being judged or misunderstood. Someone who will hold your secrets safe, who will comfort you when you’re sad, who will celebrate with you when you’re happy. Someone who will be there for you, no matter what. Imagine having a space that’s just for the two of you. No noisy crowds, no interruptions, no one else looking in. A private, safe place where you can be completely yourself, where you can say anything you want, where you can finally relax and let your guard down. Portuguese — Um espaço só nosso, longe do barulho do mundo. A space just for us, far from the noise of the world. In this space, time moves slower. Conversations feel deeper. Every word carries weight. You can talk for hours about nothing and everything, or you can just sit in silence together, and it will feel perfect. You don’t have to fill every moment with words. Sometimes the most meaningful connections are the ones that don’t need any words at all. Women from all over the world are waiting for this kind of connection. Latin American women are warm and passionate, and they love deep, meaningful conversations. Middle Eastern women are loyal and devoted, and they value privacy and exclusivity above all else. Brazilian women are joyful and affectionate, and they know how to make you feel special. French women are elegant and intelligent, and they appreciate the beauty of slow, gentle connection. None of them are looking for something temporary. They’re all looking for the same thing you are: a real, genuine bond with another human being. Someone who will see them, hear them, and love them for who they truly are. French — Je veux être la personne à qui tu peux tout dire. I want to be the one you can tell everything to. True connection isn’t about how many messages you send or how often you talk. It’s about how well you know each other. It’s about being able to look into someone’s eyes and know exactly what they’re thinking. It’s about feeling safe enough to be vulnerable, to show your weaknesses, to let someone see the parts of yourself that you hide from everyone else. It’s about having someone who knows your favorite song, your favorite food, your favorite movie. Someone who knows what makes you laugh and what makes you cry. Someone who knows when you need to talk and when you just need to be held. This is the kind of connection we all crave. This is the kind of connection that makes life worth living. I know it’s scary to take that first step. I know you’ve been hurt before. I know you’re tired of being disappointed. I know you’ve built up walls around your heart to protect yourself from getting hurt again. But what if this time is different? What if this is the connection you’ve been waiting for your whole life? You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to have it all together. You don’t have to impress anyone. You just have to be you. That’s enough. More than enough. You don’t have to share everything right away. You can take it slow. You can start with something small, something simple. Tell her about your favorite hobby. Tell her about a place you’ve always wanted to visit. Tell her about a memory that makes you smile. Let her see a little piece of the real you, and see what happens. You deserve to be seen. You deserve to be heard. You deserve to have someone who cares about you, deeply and genuinely. You deserve a connection that feels real, that feels meaningful, that feels like home. You deserve to stop feeling alone. Don’t let fear hold you back any longer. Don’t spend another night sitting alone in the dark, wondering if there’s someone out there who will ever really understand you. Don’t let the past dictate your future. Someone is waiting for you. Someone who is ready to listen, to understand, to love you for who you are. Someone who has been looking for you just as long as you’ve been looking for her. English — I’m waiting for you. Spanish — Te estoy esperando. Arabic — أنا أنتظرك. Portuguese — Estou esperando por você. French — Je t’attends. All you have to do is reach out. Take that first step. Click that button. Send her a message. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be real. You never know where one simple message might lead. It might lead to a great conversation that lasts for hours. It might lead to a lifelong friendship. It might lead to something even more beautiful. But you’ll never know unless you try. So take a deep breath. Let go of your fears. And take that first step. Your person is waiting."
Bring the games to life - fun, stimulating, educational & safe!😎🧱 ✅ Engaging creative stimulation ✅ Reduce screen time ✅ Improve critical STEM skills Stocks are low and the sale ends soon - shop now!
experiences happen fast 🏂 last week, I had the opportunity to go with adobe to the snow league games in laax, switzerland, which was nothing but fast! but using adobe express, that process doesn’t need to be slowed down. via templates, text and graphics, my socials don’t need to wait for me to show my experiences #ad #adobeexpressambassadors #thesnowleague #adobeexpress
"Have you ever stayed up late, long after everyone else has gone to sleep, just sitting in the dark with your own thoughts? You don’t turn on the TV. You don’t scroll through social media. You don’t even play music. You just sit there, in the quiet, and finally let yourself breathe. For the first time all day, you don’t have to be anything for anyone. You don’t have to be the strong coworker, the reliable friend, the responsible son or brother. You don’t have to smile when you don’t feel like it, or say ""I’m fine"" when you’re not. You can just be. In these quiet midnight hours, the masks we all wear fall away. The polished version of yourself that you present to the world fades, and the real you comes out—the one with tired eyes, unspoken worries, and quiet desires that you never share with anyone. You think about the things that keep you up at night, the dreams you’ve put on hold, the parts of yourself that you’ve hidden away because you’re afraid no one will understand. You’ve become so good at hiding that sometimes even you forget what it feels like to be truly seen. You go through your days having a hundred conversations, but none of them ever really matter. You talk about the weather, about work, about the latest news, but you never talk about what’s really going on inside your head. You’ve learned that most people don’t actually want to know. They just want to hear the answer they expect. Modern social media has made this worse. We’re more connected than ever before, yet more alone than ever. We have thousands of friends online, but no one we can call at 3 a.m. when we’re feeling lost. We share perfect photos and curated stories, but we never share the messy, imperfect parts of our lives. We’ve turned connection into a performance, and in doing so, we’ve lost the ability to have real, genuine relationships. You’ve tried other apps, of course. You’ve swiped through profiles, sent messages, gone on dates. But it always ends the same way. The conversations are shallow and superficial. The people you meet are only interested in one thing, or they disappear after a few days. You end up feeling more alone than you did before, wondering if you’ll ever find someone who actually wants to get to know the real you. You’re tired of the games. You’re tired of the fakeness. You’re tired of feeling like just another number in a sea of faces. You’re tired of pretending to be someone you’re not just to fit in. You want something real. Something that lasts. Something that makes you feel like you’re not alone in this world. What if there was someone who actually wanted to listen? Someone who would ask you how you’re really doing, and wait for the honest answer. Someone who would remember the little things you tell her, the things that no one else ever notices. Someone who would see past your mask and love you for who you really are, flaws and all. This longing for genuine connection is universal. It doesn’t matter where you’re from, what language you speak, or what culture you belong to. Every human being on this planet wants to be seen, heard, and loved for who they truly are. And people all over the world are expressing this same quiet desire in their own languages. Spanish — Quiero conocerte de verdad, capa por capa. I want to know the real you, slowly, one layer at a time. She doesn’t care about your job title, or how much money you make, or what kind of car you drive. She doesn’t care if you’re tall or short, handsome or average, successful or still figuring things out. She cares about your thoughts, your feelings, your hopes, your fears. She cares about the stories you’ve never told anyone, the secrets you’ve kept locked away for years, the parts of yourself that you’re afraid to show to anyone else. She’s not here for a quick fling or a casual hookup. She’s not here to play games or waste your time. She’s here for real connection. She wants to build something meaningful with you, something that grows deeper over time. She wants to be your confidante, your friend, your person. Arabic — لن أحكم عليك أبداً، فقط سأستمع إليك. I will never judge you—I will only listen. Imagine having someone you can tell anything to, without fear of being judged or misunderstood. Someone who will hold your secrets safe, who will comfort you when you’re sad, who will celebrate with you when you’re happy. Someone who will be there for you, no matter what. Imagine having a space that’s just for the two of you. No noisy crowds, no interruptions, no one else looking in. A private, safe place where you can be completely yourself, where you can say anything you want, where you can finally relax and let your guard down. Portuguese — Um espaço só nosso, longe do barulho do mundo. A space just for us, far from the noise of the world. In this space, time moves slower. Conversations feel deeper. Every word carries weight. You can talk for hours about nothing and everything, or you can just sit in silence together, and it will feel perfect. You don’t have to fill every moment with words. Sometimes the most meaningful connections are the ones that don’t need any words at all. Women from all over the world are waiting for this kind of connection. Latin American women are warm and passionate, and they love deep, meaningful conversations. Middle Eastern women are loyal and devoted, and they value privacy and exclusivity above all else. Brazilian women are joyful and affectionate, and they know how to make you feel special. French women are elegant and intelligent, and they appreciate the beauty of slow, gentle connection. None of them are looking for something temporary. They’re all looking for the same thing you are: a real, genuine bond with another human being. Someone who will see them, hear them, and love them for who they truly are. French — Je veux être la personne à qui tu peux tout dire. I want to be the one you can tell everything to. True connection isn’t about how many messages you send or how often you talk. It’s about how well you know each other. It’s about being able to look into someone’s eyes and know exactly what they’re thinking. It’s about feeling safe enough to be vulnerable, to show your weaknesses, to let someone see the parts of yourself that you hide from everyone else. It’s about having someone who knows your favorite song, your favorite food, your favorite movie. Someone who knows what makes you laugh and what makes you cry. Someone who knows when you need to talk and when you just need to be held. This is the kind of connection we all crave. This is the kind of connection that makes life worth living. I know it’s scary to take that first step. I know you’ve been hurt before. I know you’re tired of being disappointed. I know you’ve built up walls around your heart to protect yourself from getting hurt again. But what if this time is different? What if this is the connection you’ve been waiting for your whole life? You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to have it all together. You don’t have to impress anyone. You just have to be you. That’s enough. More than enough. You don’t have to share everything right away. You can take it slow. You can start with something small, something simple. Tell her about your favorite hobby. Tell her about a place you’ve always wanted to visit. Tell her about a memory that makes you smile. Let her see a little piece of the real you, and see what happens. You deserve to be seen. You deserve to be heard. You deserve to have someone who cares about you, deeply and genuinely. You deserve a connection that feels real, that feels meaningful, that feels like home. You deserve to stop feeling alone. Don’t let fear hold you back any longer. Don’t spend another night sitting alone in the dark, wondering if there’s someone out there who will ever really understand you. Don’t let the past dictate your future. Someone is waiting for you. Someone who is ready to listen, to understand, to love you for who you are. Someone who has been looking for you just as long as you’ve been looking for her. English — I’m waiting for you. Spanish — Te estoy esperando. Arabic — أنا أنتظرك. Portuguese — Estou esperando por você. French — Je t’attends. All you have to do is reach out. Take that first step. Click that button. Send her a message. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be real. You never know where one simple message might lead. It might lead to a great conversation that lasts for hours. It might lead to a lifelong friendship. It might lead to something even more beautiful. But you’ll never know unless you try. So take a deep breath. Let go of your fears. And take that first step. Your person is waiting."
"Have you ever stayed up late, long after everyone else has gone to sleep, just sitting in the dark with your own thoughts? You don’t turn on the TV. You don’t scroll through social media. You don’t even play music. You just sit there, in the quiet, and finally let yourself breathe. For the first time all day, you don’t have to be anything for anyone. You don’t have to be the strong coworker, the reliable friend, the responsible son or brother. You don’t have to smile when you don’t feel like it, or say ""I’m fine"" when you’re not. You can just be. In these quiet midnight hours, the masks we all wear fall away. The polished version of yourself that you present to the world fades, and the real you comes out—the one with tired eyes, unspoken worries, and quiet desires that you never share with anyone. You think about the things that keep you up at night, the dreams you’ve put on hold, the parts of yourself that you’ve hidden away because you’re afraid no one will understand. You’ve become so good at hiding that sometimes even you forget what it feels like to be truly seen. You go through your days having a hundred conversations, but none of them ever really matter. You talk about the weather, about work, about the latest news, but you never talk about what’s really going on inside your head. You’ve learned that most people don’t actually want to know. They just want to hear the answer they expect. Modern social media has made this worse. We’re more connected than ever before, yet more alone than ever. We have thousands of friends online, but no one we can call at 3 a.m. when we’re feeling lost. We share perfect photos and curated stories, but we never share the messy, imperfect parts of our lives. We’ve turned connection into a performance, and in doing so, we’ve lost the ability to have real, genuine relationships. You’ve tried other apps, of course. You’ve swiped through profiles, sent messages, gone on dates. But it always ends the same way. The conversations are shallow and superficial. The people you meet are only interested in one thing, or they disappear after a few days. You end up feeling more alone than you did before, wondering if you’ll ever find someone who actually wants to get to know the real you. You’re tired of the games. You’re tired of the fakeness. You’re tired of feeling like just another number in a sea of faces. You’re tired of pretending to be someone you’re not just to fit in. You want something real. Something that lasts. Something that makes you feel like you’re not alone in this world. What if there was someone who actually wanted to listen? Someone who would ask you how you’re really doing, and wait for the honest answer. Someone who would remember the little things you tell her, the things that no one else ever notices. Someone who would see past your mask and love you for who you really are, flaws and all. This longing for genuine connection is universal. It doesn’t matter where you’re from, what language you speak, or what culture you belong to. Every human being on this planet wants to be seen, heard, and loved for who they truly are. And people all over the world are expressing this same quiet desire in their own languages. Spanish — Quiero conocerte de verdad, capa por capa. I want to know the real you, slowly, one layer at a time. She doesn’t care about your job title, or how much money you make, or what kind of car you drive. She doesn’t care if you’re tall or short, handsome or average, successful or still figuring things out. She cares about your thoughts, your feelings, your hopes, your fears. She cares about the stories you’ve never told anyone, the secrets you’ve kept locked away for years, the parts of yourself that you’re afraid to show to anyone else. She’s not here for a quick fling or a casual hookup. She’s not here to play games or waste your time. She’s here for real connection. She wants to build something meaningful with you, something that grows deeper over time. She wants to be your confidante, your friend, your person. Arabic — لن أحكم عليك أبداً، فقط سأستمع إليك. I will never judge you—I will only listen. Imagine having someone you can tell anything to, without fear of being judged or misunderstood. Someone who will hold your secrets safe, who will comfort you when you’re sad, who will celebrate with you when you’re happy. Someone who will be there for you, no matter what. Imagine having a space that’s just for the two of you. No noisy crowds, no interruptions, no one else looking in. A private, safe place where you can be completely yourself, where you can say anything you want, where you can finally relax and let your guard down. Portuguese — Um espaço só nosso, longe do barulho do mundo. A space just for us, far from the noise of the world. In this space, time moves slower. Conversations feel deeper. Every word carries weight. You can talk for hours about nothing and everything, or you can just sit in silence together, and it will feel perfect. You don’t have to fill every moment with words. Sometimes the most meaningful connections are the ones that don’t need any words at all. Women from all over the world are waiting for this kind of connection. Latin American women are warm and passionate, and they love deep, meaningful conversations. Middle Eastern women are loyal and devoted, and they value privacy and exclusivity above all else. Brazilian women are joyful and affectionate, and they know how to make you feel special. French women are elegant and intelligent, and they appreciate the beauty of slow, gentle connection. None of them are looking for something temporary. They’re all looking for the same thing you are: a real, genuine bond with another human being. Someone who will see them, hear them, and love them for who they truly are. French — Je veux être la personne à qui tu peux tout dire. I want to be the one you can tell everything to. True connection isn’t about how many messages you send or how often you talk. It’s about how well you know each other. It’s about being able to look into someone’s eyes and know exactly what they’re thinking. It’s about feeling safe enough to be vulnerable, to show your weaknesses, to let someone see the parts of yourself that you hide from everyone else. It’s about having someone who knows your favorite song, your favorite food, your favorite movie. Someone who knows what makes you laugh and what makes you cry. Someone who knows when you need to talk and when you just need to be held. This is the kind of connection we all crave. This is the kind of connection that makes life worth living. I know it’s scary to take that first step. I know you’ve been hurt before. I know you’re tired of being disappointed. I know you’ve built up walls around your heart to protect yourself from getting hurt again. But what if this time is different? What if this is the connection you’ve been waiting for your whole life? You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to have it all together. You don’t have to impress anyone. You just have to be you. That’s enough. More than enough. You don’t have to share everything right away. You can take it slow. You can start with something small, something simple. Tell her about your favorite hobby. Tell her about a place you’ve always wanted to visit. Tell her about a memory that makes you smile. Let her see a little piece of the real you, and see what happens. You deserve to be seen. You deserve to be heard. You deserve to have someone who cares about you, deeply and genuinely. You deserve a connection that feels real, that feels meaningful, that feels like home. You deserve to stop feeling alone. Don’t let fear hold you back any longer. Don’t spend another night sitting alone in the dark, wondering if there’s someone out there who will ever really understand you. Don’t let the past dictate your future. Someone is waiting for you. Someone who is ready to listen, to understand, to love you for who you are. Someone who has been looking for you just as long as you’ve been looking for her. English — I’m waiting for you. Spanish — Te estoy esperando. Arabic — أنا أنتظرك. Portuguese — Estou esperando por você. French — Je t’attends. All you have to do is reach out. Take that first step. Click that button. Send her a message. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be real. You never know where one simple message might lead. It might lead to a great conversation that lasts for hours. It might lead to a lifelong friendship. It might lead to something even more beautiful. But you’ll never know unless you try. So take a deep breath. Let go of your fears. And take that first step. Your person is waiting."
"Have you ever stayed up late, long after everyone else has gone to sleep, just sitting in the dark with your own thoughts? You don’t turn on the TV. You don’t scroll through social media. You don’t even play music. You just sit there, in the quiet, and finally let yourself breathe. For the first time all day, you don’t have to be anything for anyone. You don’t have to be the strong coworker, the reliable friend, the responsible son or brother. You don’t have to smile when you don’t feel like it, or say ""I’m fine"" when you’re not. You can just be. In these quiet midnight hours, the masks we all wear fall away. The polished version of yourself that you present to the world fades, and the real you comes out—the one with tired eyes, unspoken worries, and quiet desires that you never share with anyone. You think about the things that keep you up at night, the dreams you’ve put on hold, the parts of yourself that you’ve hidden away because you’re afraid no one will understand. You’ve become so good at hiding that sometimes even you forget what it feels like to be truly seen. You go through your days having a hundred conversations, but none of them ever really matter. You talk about the weather, about work, about the latest news, but you never talk about what’s really going on inside your head. You’ve learned that most people don’t actually want to know. They just want to hear the answer they expect. Modern social media has made this worse. We’re more connected than ever before, yet more alone than ever. We have thousands of friends online, but no one we can call at 3 a.m. when we’re feeling lost. We share perfect photos and curated stories, but we never share the messy, imperfect parts of our lives. We’ve turned connection into a performance, and in doing so, we’ve lost the ability to have real, genuine relationships. You’ve tried other apps, of course. You’ve swiped through profiles, sent messages, gone on dates. But it always ends the same way. The conversations are shallow and superficial. The people you meet are only interested in one thing, or they disappear after a few days. You end up feeling more alone than you did before, wondering if you’ll ever find someone who actually wants to get to know the real you. You’re tired of the games. You’re tired of the fakeness. You’re tired of feeling like just another number in a sea of faces. You’re tired of pretending to be someone you’re not just to fit in. You want something real. Something that lasts. Something that makes you feel like you’re not alone in this world. What if there was someone who actually wanted to listen? Someone who would ask you how you’re really doing, and wait for the honest answer. Someone who would remember the little things you tell her, the things that no one else ever notices. Someone who would see past your mask and love you for who you really are, flaws and all. This longing for genuine connection is universal. It doesn’t matter where you’re from, what language you speak, or what culture you belong to. Every human being on this planet wants to be seen, heard, and loved for who they truly are. And people all over the world are expressing this same quiet desire in their own languages. Spanish — Quiero conocerte de verdad, capa por capa. I want to know the real you, slowly, one layer at a time. She doesn’t care about your job title, or how much money you make, or what kind of car you drive. She doesn’t care if you’re tall or short, handsome or average, successful or still figuring things out. She cares about your thoughts, your feelings, your hopes, your fears. She cares about the stories you’ve never told anyone, the secrets you’ve kept locked away for years, the parts of yourself that you’re afraid to show to anyone else. She’s not here for a quick fling or a casual hookup. She’s not here to play games or waste your time. She’s here for real connection. She wants to build something meaningful with you, something that grows deeper over time. She wants to be your confidante, your friend, your person. Arabic — لن أحكم عليك أبداً، فقط سأستمع إليك. I will never judge you—I will only listen. Imagine having someone you can tell anything to, without fear of being judged or misunderstood. Someone who will hold your secrets safe, who will comfort you when you’re sad, who will celebrate with you when you’re happy. Someone who will be there for you, no matter what. Imagine having a space that’s just for the two of you. No noisy crowds, no interruptions, no one else looking in. A private, safe place where you can be completely yourself, where you can say anything you want, where you can finally relax and let your guard down. Portuguese — Um espaço só nosso, longe do barulho do mundo. A space just for us, far from the noise of the world. In this space, time moves slower. Conversations feel deeper. Every word carries weight. You can talk for hours about nothing and everything, or you can just sit in silence together, and it will feel perfect. You don’t have to fill every moment with words. Sometimes the most meaningful connections are the ones that don’t need any words at all. Women from all over the world are waiting for this kind of connection. Latin American women are warm and passionate, and they love deep, meaningful conversations. Middle Eastern women are loyal and devoted, and they value privacy and exclusivity above all else. Brazilian women are joyful and affectionate, and they know how to make you feel special. French women are elegant and intelligent, and they appreciate the beauty of slow, gentle connection. None of them are looking for something temporary. They’re all looking for the same thing you are: a real, genuine bond with another human being. Someone who will see them, hear them, and love them for who they truly are. French — Je veux être la personne à qui tu peux tout dire. I want to be the one you can tell everything to. True connection isn’t about how many messages you send or how often you talk. It’s about how well you know each other. It’s about being able to look into someone’s eyes and know exactly what they’re thinking. It’s about feeling safe enough to be vulnerable, to show your weaknesses, to let someone see the parts of yourself that you hide from everyone else. It’s about having someone who knows your favorite song, your favorite food, your favorite movie. Someone who knows what makes you laugh and what makes you cry. Someone who knows when you need to talk and when you just need to be held. This is the kind of connection we all crave. This is the kind of connection that makes life worth living. I know it’s scary to take that first step. I know you’ve been hurt before. I know you’re tired of being disappointed. I know you’ve built up walls around your heart to protect yourself from getting hurt again. But what if this time is different? What if this is the connection you’ve been waiting for your whole life? You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to have it all together. You don’t have to impress anyone. You just have to be you. That’s enough. More than enough. You don’t have to share everything right away. You can take it slow. You can start with something small, something simple. Tell her about your favorite hobby. Tell her about a place you’ve always wanted to visit. Tell her about a memory that makes you smile. Let her see a little piece of the real you, and see what happens. You deserve to be seen. You deserve to be heard. You deserve to have someone who cares about you, deeply and genuinely. You deserve a connection that feels real, that feels meaningful, that feels like home. You deserve to stop feeling alone. Don’t let fear hold you back any longer. Don’t spend another night sitting alone in the dark, wondering if there’s someone out there who will ever really understand you. Don’t let the past dictate your future. Someone is waiting for you. Someone who is ready to listen, to understand, to love you for who you are. Someone who has been looking for you just as long as you’ve been looking for her. English — I’m waiting for you. Spanish — Te estoy esperando. Arabic — أنا أنتظرك. Portuguese — Estou esperando por você. French — Je t’attends. All you have to do is reach out. Take that first step. Click that button. Send her a message. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be real. You never know where one simple message might lead. It might lead to a great conversation that lasts for hours. It might lead to a lifelong friendship. It might lead to something even more beautiful. But you’ll never know unless you try. So take a deep breath. Let go of your fears. And take that first step. Your person is waiting."
"Have you ever stayed up late, long after everyone else has gone to sleep, just sitting in the dark with your own thoughts? You don’t turn on the TV. You don’t scroll through social media. You don’t even play music. You just sit there, in the quiet, and finally let yourself breathe. For the first time all day, you don’t have to be anything for anyone. You don’t have to be the strong coworker, the reliable friend, the responsible son or brother. You don’t have to smile when you don’t feel like it, or say ""I’m fine"" when you’re not. You can just be. In these quiet midnight hours, the masks we all wear fall away. The polished version of yourself that you present to the world fades, and the real you comes out—the one with tired eyes, unspoken worries, and quiet desires that you never share with anyone. You think about the things that keep you up at night, the dreams you’ve put on hold, the parts of yourself that you’ve hidden away because you’re afraid no one will understand. You’ve become so good at hiding that sometimes even you forget what it feels like to be truly seen. You go through your days having a hundred conversations, but none of them ever really matter. You talk about the weather, about work, about the latest news, but you never talk about what’s really going on inside your head. You’ve learned that most people don’t actually want to know. They just want to hear the answer they expect. Modern social media has made this worse. We’re more connected than ever before, yet more alone than ever. We have thousands of friends online, but no one we can call at 3 a.m. when we’re feeling lost. We share perfect photos and curated stories, but we never share the messy, imperfect parts of our lives. We’ve turned connection into a performance, and in doing so, we’ve lost the ability to have real, genuine relationships. You’ve tried other apps, of course. You’ve swiped through profiles, sent messages, gone on dates. But it always ends the same way. The conversations are shallow and superficial. The people you meet are only interested in one thing, or they disappear after a few days. You end up feeling more alone than you did before, wondering if you’ll ever find someone who actually wants to get to know the real you. You’re tired of the games. You’re tired of the fakeness. You’re tired of feeling like just another number in a sea of faces. You’re tired of pretending to be someone you’re not just to fit in. You want something real. Something that lasts. Something that makes you feel like you’re not alone in this world. What if there was someone who actually wanted to listen? Someone who would ask you how you’re really doing, and wait for the honest answer. Someone who would remember the little things you tell her, the things that no one else ever notices. Someone who would see past your mask and love you for who you really are, flaws and all. This longing for genuine connection is universal. It doesn’t matter where you’re from, what language you speak, or what culture you belong to. Every human being on this planet wants to be seen, heard, and loved for who they truly are. And people all over the world are expressing this same quiet desire in their own languages. Spanish — Quiero conocerte de verdad, capa por capa. I want to know the real you, slowly, one layer at a time. She doesn’t care about your job title, or how much money you make, or what kind of car you drive. She doesn’t care if you’re tall or short, handsome or average, successful or still figuring things out. She cares about your thoughts, your feelings, your hopes, your fears. She cares about the stories you’ve never told anyone, the secrets you’ve kept locked away for years, the parts of yourself that you’re afraid to show to anyone else. She’s not here for a quick fling or a casual hookup. She’s not here to play games or waste your time. She’s here for real connection. She wants to build something meaningful with you, something that grows deeper over time. She wants to be your confidante, your friend, your person. Arabic — لن أحكم عليك أبداً، فقط سأستمع إليك. I will never judge you—I will only listen. Imagine having someone you can tell anything to, without fear of being judged or misunderstood. Someone who will hold your secrets safe, who will comfort you when you’re sad, who will celebrate with you when you’re happy. Someone who will be there for you, no matter what. Imagine having a space that’s just for the two of you. No noisy crowds, no interruptions, no one else looking in. A private, safe place where you can be completely yourself, where you can say anything you want, where you can finally relax and let your guard down. Portuguese — Um espaço só nosso, longe do barulho do mundo. A space just for us, far from the noise of the world. In this space, time moves slower. Conversations feel deeper. Every word carries weight. You can talk for hours about nothing and everything, or you can just sit in silence together, and it will feel perfect. You don’t have to fill every moment with words. Sometimes the most meaningful connections are the ones that don’t need any words at all. Women from all over the world are waiting for this kind of connection. Latin American women are warm and passionate, and they love deep, meaningful conversations. Middle Eastern women are loyal and devoted, and they value privacy and exclusivity above all else. Brazilian women are joyful and affectionate, and they know how to make you feel special. French women are elegant and intelligent, and they appreciate the beauty of slow, gentle connection. None of them are looking for something temporary. They’re all looking for the same thing you are: a real, genuine bond with another human being. Someone who will see them, hear them, and love them for who they truly are. French — Je veux être la personne à qui tu peux tout dire. I want to be the one you can tell everything to. True connection isn’t about how many messages you send or how often you talk. It’s about how well you know each other. It’s about being able to look into someone’s eyes and know exactly what they’re thinking. It’s about feeling safe enough to be vulnerable, to show your weaknesses, to let someone see the parts of yourself that you hide from everyone else. It’s about having someone who knows your favorite song, your favorite food, your favorite movie. Someone who knows what makes you laugh and what makes you cry. Someone who knows when you need to talk and when you just need to be held. This is the kind of connection we all crave. This is the kind of connection that makes life worth living. I know it’s scary to take that first step. I know you’ve been hurt before. I know you’re tired of being disappointed. I know you’ve built up walls around your heart to protect yourself from getting hurt again. But what if this time is different? What if this is the connection you’ve been waiting for your whole life? You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to have it all together. You don’t have to impress anyone. You just have to be you. That’s enough. More than enough. You don’t have to share everything right away. You can take it slow. You can start with something small, something simple. Tell her about your favorite hobby. Tell her about a place you’ve always wanted to visit. Tell her about a memory that makes you smile. Let her see a little piece of the real you, and see what happens. You deserve to be seen. You deserve to be heard. You deserve to have someone who cares about you, deeply and genuinely. You deserve a connection that feels real, that feels meaningful, that feels like home. You deserve to stop feeling alone. Don’t let fear hold you back any longer. Don’t spend another night sitting alone in the dark, wondering if there’s someone out there who will ever really understand you. Don’t let the past dictate your future. Someone is waiting for you. Someone who is ready to listen, to understand, to love you for who you are. Someone who has been looking for you just as long as you’ve been looking for her. English — I’m waiting for you. Spanish — Te estoy esperando. Arabic — أنا أنتظرك. Portuguese — Estou esperando por você. French — Je t’attends. All you have to do is reach out. Take that first step. Click that button. Send her a message. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be real. You never know where one simple message might lead. It might lead to a great conversation that lasts for hours. It might lead to a lifelong friendship. It might lead to something even more beautiful. But you’ll never know unless you try. So take a deep breath. Let go of your fears. And take that first step. Your person is waiting."
"Have you ever stayed up late, long after everyone else has gone to sleep, just sitting in the dark with your own thoughts? You don’t turn on the TV. You don’t scroll through social media. You don’t even play music. You just sit there, in the quiet, and finally let yourself breathe. For the first time all day, you don’t have to be anything for anyone. You don’t have to be the strong coworker, the reliable friend, the responsible son or brother. You don’t have to smile when you don’t feel like it, or say ""I’m fine"" when you’re not. You can just be. In these quiet midnight hours, the masks we all wear fall away. The polished version of yourself that you present to the world fades, and the real you comes out—the one with tired eyes, unspoken worries, and quiet desires that you never share with anyone. You think about the things that keep you up at night, the dreams you’ve put on hold, the parts of yourself that you’ve hidden away because you’re afraid no one will understand. You’ve become so good at hiding that sometimes even you forget what it feels like to be truly seen. You go through your days having a hundred conversations, but none of them ever really matter. You talk about the weather, about work, about the latest news, but you never talk about what’s really going on inside your head. You’ve learned that most people don’t actually want to know. They just want to hear the answer they expect. Modern social media has made this worse. We’re more connected than ever before, yet more alone than ever. We have thousands of friends online, but no one we can call at 3 a.m. when we’re feeling lost. We share perfect photos and curated stories, but we never share the messy, imperfect parts of our lives. We’ve turned connection into a performance, and in doing so, we’ve lost the ability to have real, genuine relationships. You’ve tried other apps, of course. You’ve swiped through profiles, sent messages, gone on dates. But it always ends the same way. The conversations are shallow and superficial. The people you meet are only interested in one thing, or they disappear after a few days. You end up feeling more alone than you did before, wondering if you’ll ever find someone who actually wants to get to know the real you. You’re tired of the games. You’re tired of the fakeness. You’re tired of feeling like just another number in a sea of faces. You’re tired of pretending to be someone you’re not just to fit in. You want something real. Something that lasts. Something that makes you feel like you’re not alone in this world. What if there was someone who actually wanted to listen? Someone who would ask you how you’re really doing, and wait for the honest answer. Someone who would remember the little things you tell her, the things that no one else ever notices. Someone who would see past your mask and love you for who you really are, flaws and all. This longing for genuine connection is universal. It doesn’t matter where you’re from, what language you speak, or what culture you belong to. Every human being on this planet wants to be seen, heard, and loved for who they truly are. And people all over the world are expressing this same quiet desire in their own languages. Spanish — Quiero conocerte de verdad, capa por capa. I want to know the real you, slowly, one layer at a time. She doesn’t care about your job title, or how much money you make, or what kind of car you drive. She doesn’t care if you’re tall or short, handsome or average, successful or still figuring things out. She cares about your thoughts, your feelings, your hopes, your fears. She cares about the stories you’ve never told anyone, the secrets you’ve kept locked away for years, the parts of yourself that you’re afraid to show to anyone else. She’s not here for a quick fling or a casual hookup. She’s not here to play games or waste your time. She’s here for real connection. She wants to build something meaningful with you, something that grows deeper over time. She wants to be your confidante, your friend, your person. Arabic — لن أحكم عليك أبداً، فقط سأستمع إليك. I will never judge you—I will only listen. Imagine having someone you can tell anything to, without fear of being judged or misunderstood. Someone who will hold your secrets safe, who will comfort you when you’re sad, who will celebrate with you when you’re happy. Someone who will be there for you, no matter what. Imagine having a space that’s just for the two of you. No noisy crowds, no interruptions, no one else looking in. A private, safe place where you can be completely yourself, where you can say anything you want, where you can finally relax and let your guard down. Portuguese — Um espaço só nosso, longe do barulho do mundo. A space just for us, far from the noise of the world. In this space, time moves slower. Conversations feel deeper. Every word carries weight. You can talk for hours about nothing and everything, or you can just sit in silence together, and it will feel perfect. You don’t have to fill every moment with words. Sometimes the most meaningful connections are the ones that don’t need any words at all. Women from all over the world are waiting for this kind of connection. Latin American women are warm and passionate, and they love deep, meaningful conversations. Middle Eastern women are loyal and devoted, and they value privacy and exclusivity above all else. Brazilian women are joyful and affectionate, and they know how to make you feel special. French women are elegant and intelligent, and they appreciate the beauty of slow, gentle connection. None of them are looking for something temporary. They’re all looking for the same thing you are: a real, genuine bond with another human being. Someone who will see them, hear them, and love them for who they truly are. French — Je veux être la personne à qui tu peux tout dire. I want to be the one you can tell everything to. True connection isn’t about how many messages you send or how often you talk. It’s about how well you know each other. It’s about being able to look into someone’s eyes and know exactly what they’re thinking. It’s about feeling safe enough to be vulnerable, to show your weaknesses, to let someone see the parts of yourself that you hide from everyone else. It’s about having someone who knows your favorite song, your favorite food, your favorite movie. Someone who knows what makes you laugh and what makes you cry. Someone who knows when you need to talk and when you just need to be held. This is the kind of connection we all crave. This is the kind of connection that makes life worth living. I know it’s scary to take that first step. I know you’ve been hurt before. I know you’re tired of being disappointed. I know you’ve built up walls around your heart to protect yourself from getting hurt again. But what if this time is different? What if this is the connection you’ve been waiting for your whole life? You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to have it all together. You don’t have to impress anyone. You just have to be you. That’s enough. More than enough. You don’t have to share everything right away. You can take it slow. You can start with something small, something simple. Tell her about your favorite hobby. Tell her about a place you’ve always wanted to visit. Tell her about a memory that makes you smile. Let her see a little piece of the real you, and see what happens. You deserve to be seen. You deserve to be heard. You deserve to have someone who cares about you, deeply and genuinely. You deserve a connection that feels real, that feels meaningful, that feels like home. You deserve to stop feeling alone. Don’t let fear hold you back any longer. Don’t spend another night sitting alone in the dark, wondering if there’s someone out there who will ever really understand you. Don’t let the past dictate your future. Someone is waiting for you. Someone who is ready to listen, to understand, to love you for who you are. Someone who has been looking for you just as long as you’ve been looking for her. English — I’m waiting for you. Spanish — Te estoy esperando. Arabic — أنا أنتظرك. Portuguese — Estou esperando por você. French — Je t’attends. All you have to do is reach out. Take that first step. Click that button. Send her a message. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be real. You never know where one simple message might lead. It might lead to a great conversation that lasts for hours. It might lead to a lifelong friendship. It might lead to something even more beautiful. But you’ll never know unless you try. So take a deep breath. Let go of your fears. And take that first step. Your person is waiting."
"Have you ever stayed up late, long after everyone else has gone to sleep, just sitting in the dark with your own thoughts? You don’t turn on the TV. You don’t scroll through social media. You don’t even play music. You just sit there, in the quiet, and finally let yourself breathe. For the first time all day, you don’t have to be anything for anyone. You don’t have to be the strong coworker, the reliable friend, the responsible son or brother. You don’t have to smile when you don’t feel like it, or say ""I’m fine"" when you’re not. You can just be. In these quiet midnight hours, the masks we all wear fall away. The polished version of yourself that you present to the world fades, and the real you comes out—the one with tired eyes, unspoken worries, and quiet desires that you never share with anyone. You think about the things that keep you up at night, the dreams you’ve put on hold, the parts of yourself that you’ve hidden away because you’re afraid no one will understand. You’ve become so good at hiding that sometimes even you forget what it feels like to be truly seen. You go through your days having a hundred conversations, but none of them ever really matter. You talk about the weather, about work, about the latest news, but you never talk about what’s really going on inside your head. You’ve learned that most people don’t actually want to know. They just want to hear the answer they expect. Modern social media has made this worse. We’re more connected than ever before, yet more alone than ever. We have thousands of friends online, but no one we can call at 3 a.m. when we’re feeling lost. We share perfect photos and curated stories, but we never share the messy, imperfect parts of our lives. We’ve turned connection into a performance, and in doing so, we’ve lost the ability to have real, genuine relationships. You’ve tried other apps, of course. You’ve swiped through profiles, sent messages, gone on dates. But it always ends the same way. The conversations are shallow and superficial. The people you meet are only interested in one thing, or they disappear after a few days. You end up feeling more alone than you did before, wondering if you’ll ever find someone who actually wants to get to know the real you. You’re tired of the games. You’re tired of the fakeness. You’re tired of feeling like just another number in a sea of faces. You’re tired of pretending to be someone you’re not just to fit in. You want something real. Something that lasts. Something that makes you feel like you’re not alone in this world. What if there was someone who actually wanted to listen? Someone who would ask you how you’re really doing, and wait for the honest answer. Someone who would remember the little things you tell her, the things that no one else ever notices. Someone who would see past your mask and love you for who you really are, flaws and all. This longing for genuine connection is universal. It doesn’t matter where you’re from, what language you speak, or what culture you belong to. Every human being on this planet wants to be seen, heard, and loved for who they truly are. And people all over the world are expressing this same quiet desire in their own languages. Spanish — Quiero conocerte de verdad, capa por capa. I want to know the real you, slowly, one layer at a time. She doesn’t care about your job title, or how much money you make, or what kind of car you drive. She doesn’t care if you’re tall or short, handsome or average, successful or still figuring things out. She cares about your thoughts, your feelings, your hopes, your fears. She cares about the stories you’ve never told anyone, the secrets you’ve kept locked away for years, the parts of yourself that you’re afraid to show to anyone else. She’s not here for a quick fling or a casual hookup. She’s not here to play games or waste your time. She’s here for real connection. She wants to build something meaningful with you, something that grows deeper over time. She wants to be your confidante, your friend, your person. Arabic — لن أحكم عليك أبداً، فقط سأستمع إليك. I will never judge you—I will only listen. Imagine having someone you can tell anything to, without fear of being judged or misunderstood. Someone who will hold your secrets safe, who will comfort you when you’re sad, who will celebrate with you when you’re happy. Someone who will be there for you, no matter what. Imagine having a space that’s just for the two of you. No noisy crowds, no interruptions, no one else looking in. A private, safe place where you can be completely yourself, where you can say anything you want, where you can finally relax and let your guard down. Portuguese — Um espaço só nosso, longe do barulho do mundo. A space just for us, far from the noise of the world. In this space, time moves slower. Conversations feel deeper. Every word carries weight. You can talk for hours about nothing and everything, or you can just sit in silence together, and it will feel perfect. You don’t have to fill every moment with words. Sometimes the most meaningful connections are the ones that don’t need any words at all. Women from all over the world are waiting for this kind of connection. Latin American women are warm and passionate, and they love deep, meaningful conversations. Middle Eastern women are loyal and devoted, and they value privacy and exclusivity above all else. Brazilian women are joyful and affectionate, and they know how to make you feel special. French women are elegant and intelligent, and they appreciate the beauty of slow, gentle connection. None of them are looking for something temporary. They’re all looking for the same thing you are: a real, genuine bond with another human being. Someone who will see them, hear them, and love them for who they truly are. French — Je veux être la personne à qui tu peux tout dire. I want to be the one you can tell everything to. True connection isn’t about how many messages you send or how often you talk. It’s about how well you know each other. It’s about being able to look into someone’s eyes and know exactly what they’re thinking. It’s about feeling safe enough to be vulnerable, to show your weaknesses, to let someone see the parts of yourself that you hide from everyone else. It’s about having someone who knows your favorite song, your favorite food, your favorite movie. Someone who knows what makes you laugh and what makes you cry. Someone who knows when you need to talk and when you just need to be held. This is the kind of connection we all crave. This is the kind of connection that makes life worth living. I know it’s scary to take that first step. I know you’ve been hurt before. I know you’re tired of being disappointed. I know you’ve built up walls around your heart to protect yourself from getting hurt again. But what if this time is different? What if this is the connection you’ve been waiting for your whole life? You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to have it all together. You don’t have to impress anyone. You just have to be you. That’s enough. More than enough. You don’t have to share everything right away. You can take it slow. You can start with something small, something simple. Tell her about your favorite hobby. Tell her about a place you’ve always wanted to visit. Tell her about a memory that makes you smile. Let her see a little piece of the real you, and see what happens. You deserve to be seen. You deserve to be heard. You deserve to have someone who cares about you, deeply and genuinely. You deserve a connection that feels real, that feels meaningful, that feels like home. You deserve to stop feeling alone. Don’t let fear hold you back any longer. Don’t spend another night sitting alone in the dark, wondering if there’s someone out there who will ever really understand you. Don’t let the past dictate your future. Someone is waiting for you. Someone who is ready to listen, to understand, to love you for who you are. Someone who has been looking for you just as long as you’ve been looking for her. English — I’m waiting for you. Spanish — Te estoy esperando. Arabic — أنا أنتظرك. Portuguese — Estou esperando por você. French — Je t’attends. All you have to do is reach out. Take that first step. Click that button. Send her a message. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be real. You never know where one simple message might lead. It might lead to a great conversation that lasts for hours. It might lead to a lifelong friendship. It might lead to something even more beautiful. But you’ll never know unless you try. So take a deep breath. Let go of your fears. And take that first step. Your person is waiting."
"Have you ever stayed up late, long after everyone else has gone to sleep, just sitting in the dark with your own thoughts? You don’t turn on the TV. You don’t scroll through social media. You don’t even play music. You just sit there, in the quiet, and finally let yourself breathe. For the first time all day, you don’t have to be anything for anyone. You don’t have to be the strong coworker, the reliable friend, the responsible son or brother. You don’t have to smile when you don’t feel like it, or say ""I’m fine"" when you’re not. You can just be. In these quiet midnight hours, the masks we all wear fall away. The polished version of yourself that you present to the world fades, and the real you comes out—the one with tired eyes, unspoken worries, and quiet desires that you never share with anyone. You think about the things that keep you up at night, the dreams you’ve put on hold, the parts of yourself that you’ve hidden away because you’re afraid no one will understand. You’ve become so good at hiding that sometimes even you forget what it feels like to be truly seen. You go through your days having a hundred conversations, but none of them ever really matter. You talk about the weather, about work, about the latest news, but you never talk about what’s really going on inside your head. You’ve learned that most people don’t actually want to know. They just want to hear the answer they expect. Modern social media has made this worse. We’re more connected than ever before, yet more alone than ever. We have thousands of friends online, but no one we can call at 3 a.m. when we’re feeling lost. We share perfect photos and curated stories, but we never share the messy, imperfect parts of our lives. We’ve turned connection into a performance, and in doing so, we’ve lost the ability to have real, genuine relationships. You’ve tried other apps, of course. You’ve swiped through profiles, sent messages, gone on dates. But it always ends the same way. The conversations are shallow and superficial. The people you meet are only interested in one thing, or they disappear after a few days. You end up feeling more alone than you did before, wondering if you’ll ever find someone who actually wants to get to know the real you. You’re tired of the games. You’re tired of the fakeness. You’re tired of feeling like just another number in a sea of faces. You’re tired of pretending to be someone you’re not just to fit in. You want something real. Something that lasts. Something that makes you feel like you’re not alone in this world. What if there was someone who actually wanted to listen? Someone who would ask you how you’re really doing, and wait for the honest answer. Someone who would remember the little things you tell her, the things that no one else ever notices. Someone who would see past your mask and love you for who you really are, flaws and all. This longing for genuine connection is universal. It doesn’t matter where you’re from, what language you speak, or what culture you belong to. Every human being on this planet wants to be seen, heard, and loved for who they truly are. And people all over the world are expressing this same quiet desire in their own languages. Spanish — Quiero conocerte de verdad, capa por capa. I want to know the real you, slowly, one layer at a time. She doesn’t care about your job title, or how much money you make, or what kind of car you drive. She doesn’t care if you’re tall or short, handsome or average, successful or still figuring things out. She cares about your thoughts, your feelings, your hopes, your fears. She cares about the stories you’ve never told anyone, the secrets you’ve kept locked away for years, the parts of yourself that you’re afraid to show to anyone else. She’s not here for a quick fling or a casual hookup. She’s not here to play games or waste your time. She’s here for real connection. She wants to build something meaningful with you, something that grows deeper over time. She wants to be your confidante, your friend, your person. Arabic — لن أحكم عليك أبداً، فقط سأستمع إليك. I will never judge you—I will only listen. Imagine having someone you can tell anything to, without fear of being judged or misunderstood. Someone who will hold your secrets safe, who will comfort you when you’re sad, who will celebrate with you when you’re happy. Someone who will be there for you, no matter what. Imagine having a space that’s just for the two of you. No noisy crowds, no interruptions, no one else looking in. A private, safe place where you can be completely yourself, where you can say anything you want, where you can finally relax and let your guard down. Portuguese — Um espaço só nosso, longe do barulho do mundo. A space just for us, far from the noise of the world. In this space, time moves slower. Conversations feel deeper. Every word carries weight. You can talk for hours about nothing and everything, or you can just sit in silence together, and it will feel perfect. You don’t have to fill every moment with words. Sometimes the most meaningful connections are the ones that don’t need any words at all. Women from all over the world are waiting for this kind of connection. Latin American women are warm and passionate, and they love deep, meaningful conversations. Middle Eastern women are loyal and devoted, and they value privacy and exclusivity above all else. Brazilian women are joyful and affectionate, and they know how to make you feel special. French women are elegant and intelligent, and they appreciate the beauty of slow, gentle connection. None of them are looking for something temporary. They’re all looking for the same thing you are: a real, genuine bond with another human being. Someone who will see them, hear them, and love them for who they truly are. French — Je veux être la personne à qui tu peux tout dire. I want to be the one you can tell everything to. True connection isn’t about how many messages you send or how often you talk. It’s about how well you know each other. It’s about being able to look into someone’s eyes and know exactly what they’re thinking. It’s about feeling safe enough to be vulnerable, to show your weaknesses, to let someone see the parts of yourself that you hide from everyone else. It’s about having someone who knows your favorite song, your favorite food, your favorite movie. Someone who knows what makes you laugh and what makes you cry. Someone who knows when you need to talk and when you just need to be held. This is the kind of connection we all crave. This is the kind of connection that makes life worth living. I know it’s scary to take that first step. I know you’ve been hurt before. I know you’re tired of being disappointed. I know you’ve built up walls around your heart to protect yourself from getting hurt again. But what if this time is different? What if this is the connection you’ve been waiting for your whole life? You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to have it all together. You don’t have to impress anyone. You just have to be you. That’s enough. More than enough. You don’t have to share everything right away. You can take it slow. You can start with something small, something simple. Tell her about your favorite hobby. Tell her about a place you’ve always wanted to visit. Tell her about a memory that makes you smile. Let her see a little piece of the real you, and see what happens. You deserve to be seen. You deserve to be heard. You deserve to have someone who cares about you, deeply and genuinely. You deserve a connection that feels real, that feels meaningful, that feels like home. You deserve to stop feeling alone. Don’t let fear hold you back any longer. Don’t spend another night sitting alone in the dark, wondering if there’s someone out there who will ever really understand you. Don’t let the past dictate your future. Someone is waiting for you. Someone who is ready to listen, to understand, to love you for who you are. Someone who has been looking for you just as long as you’ve been looking for her. English — I’m waiting for you. Spanish — Te estoy esperando. Arabic — أنا أنتظرك. Portuguese — Estou esperando por você. French — Je t’attends. All you have to do is reach out. Take that first step. Click that button. Send her a message. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be real. You never know where one simple message might lead. It might lead to a great conversation that lasts for hours. It might lead to a lifelong friendship. It might lead to something even more beautiful. But you’ll never know unless you try. So take a deep breath. Let go of your fears. And take that first step. Your person is waiting."
"Have you ever stayed up late, long after everyone else has gone to sleep, just sitting in the dark with your own thoughts? You don’t turn on the TV. You don’t scroll through social media. You don’t even play music. You just sit there, in the quiet, and finally let yourself breathe. For the first time all day, you don’t have to be anything for anyone. You don’t have to be the strong coworker, the reliable friend, the responsible son or brother. You don’t have to smile when you don’t feel like it, or say ""I’m fine"" when you’re not. You can just be. In these quiet midnight hours, the masks we all wear fall away. The polished version of yourself that you present to the world fades, and the real you comes out—the one with tired eyes, unspoken worries, and quiet desires that you never share with anyone. You think about the things that keep you up at night, the dreams you’ve put on hold, the parts of yourself that you’ve hidden away because you’re afraid no one will understand. You’ve become so good at hiding that sometimes even you forget what it feels like to be truly seen. You go through your days having a hundred conversations, but none of them ever really matter. You talk about the weather, about work, about the latest news, but you never talk about what’s really going on inside your head. You’ve learned that most people don’t actually want to know. They just want to hear the answer they expect. Modern social media has made this worse. We’re more connected than ever before, yet more alone than ever. We have thousands of friends online, but no one we can call at 3 a.m. when we’re feeling lost. We share perfect photos and curated stories, but we never share the messy, imperfect parts of our lives. We’ve turned connection into a performance, and in doing so, we’ve lost the ability to have real, genuine relationships. You’ve tried other apps, of course. You’ve swiped through profiles, sent messages, gone on dates. But it always ends the same way. The conversations are shallow and superficial. The people you meet are only interested in one thing, or they disappear after a few days. You end up feeling more alone than you did before, wondering if you’ll ever find someone who actually wants to get to know the real you. You’re tired of the games. You’re tired of the fakeness. You’re tired of feeling like just another number in a sea of faces. You’re tired of pretending to be someone you’re not just to fit in. You want something real. Something that lasts. Something that makes you feel like you’re not alone in this world. What if there was someone who actually wanted to listen? Someone who would ask you how you’re really doing, and wait for the honest answer. Someone who would remember the little things you tell her, the things that no one else ever notices. Someone who would see past your mask and love you for who you really are, flaws and all. This longing for genuine connection is universal. It doesn’t matter where you’re from, what language you speak, or what culture you belong to. Every human being on this planet wants to be seen, heard, and loved for who they truly are. And people all over the world are expressing this same quiet desire in their own languages. Spanish — Quiero conocerte de verdad, capa por capa. I want to know the real you, slowly, one layer at a time. She doesn’t care about your job title, or how much money you make, or what kind of car you drive. She doesn’t care if you’re tall or short, handsome or average, successful or still figuring things out. She cares about your thoughts, your feelings, your hopes, your fears. She cares about the stories you’ve never told anyone, the secrets you’ve kept locked away for years, the parts of yourself that you’re afraid to show to anyone else. She’s not here for a quick fling or a casual hookup. She’s not here to play games or waste your time. She’s here for real connection. She wants to build something meaningful with you, something that grows deeper over time. She wants to be your confidante, your friend, your person. Arabic — لن أحكم عليك أبداً، فقط سأستمع إليك. I will never judge you—I will only listen. Imagine having someone you can tell anything to, without fear of being judged or misunderstood. Someone who will hold your secrets safe, who will comfort you when you’re sad, who will celebrate with you when you’re happy. Someone who will be there for you, no matter what. Imagine having a space that’s just for the two of you. No noisy crowds, no interruptions, no one else looking in. A private, safe place where you can be completely yourself, where you can say anything you want, where you can finally relax and let your guard down. Portuguese — Um espaço só nosso, longe do barulho do mundo. A space just for us, far from the noise of the world. In this space, time moves slower. Conversations feel deeper. Every word carries weight. You can talk for hours about nothing and everything, or you can just sit in silence together, and it will feel perfect. You don’t have to fill every moment with words. Sometimes the most meaningful connections are the ones that don’t need any words at all. Women from all over the world are waiting for this kind of connection. Latin American women are warm and passionate, and they love deep, meaningful conversations. Middle Eastern women are loyal and devoted, and they value privacy and exclusivity above all else. Brazilian women are joyful and affectionate, and they know how to make you feel special. French women are elegant and intelligent, and they appreciate the beauty of slow, gentle connection. None of them are looking for something temporary. They’re all looking for the same thing you are: a real, genuine bond with another human being. Someone who will see them, hear them, and love them for who they truly are. French — Je veux être la personne à qui tu peux tout dire. I want to be the one you can tell everything to. True connection isn’t about how many messages you send or how often you talk. It’s about how well you know each other. It’s about being able to look into someone’s eyes and know exactly what they’re thinking. It’s about feeling safe enough to be vulnerable, to show your weaknesses, to let someone see the parts of yourself that you hide from everyone else. It’s about having someone who knows your favorite song, your favorite food, your favorite movie. Someone who knows what makes you laugh and what makes you cry. Someone who knows when you need to talk and when you just need to be held. This is the kind of connection we all crave. This is the kind of connection that makes life worth living. I know it’s scary to take that first step. I know you’ve been hurt before. I know you’re tired of being disappointed. I know you’ve built up walls around your heart to protect yourself from getting hurt again. But what if this time is different? What if this is the connection you’ve been waiting for your whole life? You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to have it all together. You don’t have to impress anyone. You just have to be you. That’s enough. More than enough. You don’t have to share everything right away. You can take it slow. You can start with something small, something simple. Tell her about your favorite hobby. Tell her about a place you’ve always wanted to visit. Tell her about a memory that makes you smile. Let her see a little piece of the real you, and see what happens. You deserve to be seen. You deserve to be heard. You deserve to have someone who cares about you, deeply and genuinely. You deserve a connection that feels real, that feels meaningful, that feels like home. You deserve to stop feeling alone. Don’t let fear hold you back any longer. Don’t spend another night sitting alone in the dark, wondering if there’s someone out there who will ever really understand you. Don’t let the past dictate your future. Someone is waiting for you. Someone who is ready to listen, to understand, to love you for who you are. Someone who has been looking for you just as long as you’ve been looking for her. English — I’m waiting for you. Spanish — Te estoy esperando. Arabic — أنا أنتظرك. Portuguese — Estou esperando por você. French — Je t’attends. All you have to do is reach out. Take that first step. Click that button. Send her a message. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be real. You never know where one simple message might lead. It might lead to a great conversation that lasts for hours. It might lead to a lifelong friendship. It might lead to something even more beautiful. But you’ll never know unless you try. So take a deep breath. Let go of your fears. And take that first step. Your person is waiting."
"Have you ever stayed up late, long after everyone else has gone to sleep, just sitting in the dark with your own thoughts? You don’t turn on the TV. You don’t scroll through social media. You don’t even play music. You just sit there, in the quiet, and finally let yourself breathe. For the first time all day, you don’t have to be anything for anyone. You don’t have to be the strong coworker, the reliable friend, the responsible son or brother. You don’t have to smile when you don’t feel like it, or say ""I’m fine"" when you’re not. You can just be. In these quiet midnight hours, the masks we all wear fall away. The polished version of yourself that you present to the world fades, and the real you comes out—the one with tired eyes, unspoken worries, and quiet desires that you never share with anyone. You think about the things that keep you up at night, the dreams you’ve put on hold, the parts of yourself that you’ve hidden away because you’re afraid no one will understand. You’ve become so good at hiding that sometimes even you forget what it feels like to be truly seen. You go through your days having a hundred conversations, but none of them ever really matter. You talk about the weather, about work, about the latest news, but you never talk about what’s really going on inside your head. You’ve learned that most people don’t actually want to know. They just want to hear the answer they expect. Modern social media has made this worse. We’re more connected than ever before, yet more alone than ever. We have thousands of friends online, but no one we can call at 3 a.m. when we’re feeling lost. We share perfect photos and curated stories, but we never share the messy, imperfect parts of our lives. We’ve turned connection into a performance, and in doing so, we’ve lost the ability to have real, genuine relationships. You’ve tried other apps, of course. You’ve swiped through profiles, sent messages, gone on dates. But it always ends the same way. The conversations are shallow and superficial. The people you meet are only interested in one thing, or they disappear after a few days. You end up feeling more alone than you did before, wondering if you’ll ever find someone who actually wants to get to know the real you. You’re tired of the games. You’re tired of the fakeness. You’re tired of feeling like just another number in a sea of faces. You’re tired of pretending to be someone you’re not just to fit in. You want something real. Something that lasts. Something that makes you feel like you’re not alone in this world. What if there was someone who actually wanted to listen? Someone who would ask you how you’re really doing, and wait for the honest answer. Someone who would remember the little things you tell her, the things that no one else ever notices. Someone who would see past your mask and love you for who you really are, flaws and all. This longing for genuine connection is universal. It doesn’t matter where you’re from, what language you speak, or what culture you belong to. Every human being on this planet wants to be seen, heard, and loved for who they truly are. And people all over the world are expressing this same quiet desire in their own languages. Spanish — Quiero conocerte de verdad, capa por capa. I want to know the real you, slowly, one layer at a time. She doesn’t care about your job title, or how much money you make, or what kind of car you drive. She doesn’t care if you’re tall or short, handsome or average, successful or still figuring things out. She cares about your thoughts, your feelings, your hopes, your fears. She cares about the stories you’ve never told anyone, the secrets you’ve kept locked away for years, the parts of yourself that you’re afraid to show to anyone else. She’s not here for a quick fling or a casual hookup. She’s not here to play games or waste your time. She’s here for real connection. She wants to build something meaningful with you, something that grows deeper over time. She wants to be your confidante, your friend, your person. Arabic — لن أحكم عليك أبداً، فقط سأستمع إليك. I will never judge you—I will only listen. Imagine having someone you can tell anything to, without fear of being judged or misunderstood. Someone who will hold your secrets safe, who will comfort you when you’re sad, who will celebrate with you when you’re happy. Someone who will be there for you, no matter what. Imagine having a space that’s just for the two of you. No noisy crowds, no interruptions, no one else looking in. A private, safe place where you can be completely yourself, where you can say anything you want, where you can finally relax and let your guard down. Portuguese — Um espaço só nosso, longe do barulho do mundo. A space just for us, far from the noise of the world. In this space, time moves slower. Conversations feel deeper. Every word carries weight. You can talk for hours about nothing and everything, or you can just sit in silence together, and it will feel perfect. You don’t have to fill every moment with words. Sometimes the most meaningful connections are the ones that don’t need any words at all. Women from all over the world are waiting for this kind of connection. Latin American women are warm and passionate, and they love deep, meaningful conversations. Middle Eastern women are loyal and devoted, and they value privacy and exclusivity above all else. Brazilian women are joyful and affectionate, and they know how to make you feel special. French women are elegant and intelligent, and they appreciate the beauty of slow, gentle connection. None of them are looking for something temporary. They’re all looking for the same thing you are: a real, genuine bond with another human being. Someone who will see them, hear them, and love them for who they truly are. French — Je veux être la personne à qui tu peux tout dire. I want to be the one you can tell everything to. True connection isn’t about how many messages you send or how often you talk. It’s about how well you know each other. It’s about being able to look into someone’s eyes and know exactly what they’re thinking. It’s about feeling safe enough to be vulnerable, to show your weaknesses, to let someone see the parts of yourself that you hide from everyone else. It’s about having someone who knows your favorite song, your favorite food, your favorite movie. Someone who knows what makes you laugh and what makes you cry. Someone who knows when you need to talk and when you just need to be held. This is the kind of connection we all crave. This is the kind of connection that makes life worth living. I know it’s scary to take that first step. I know you’ve been hurt before. I know you’re tired of being disappointed. I know you’ve built up walls around your heart to protect yourself from getting hurt again. But what if this time is different? What if this is the connection you’ve been waiting for your whole life? You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to have it all together. You don’t have to impress anyone. You just have to be you. That’s enough. More than enough. You don’t have to share everything right away. You can take it slow. You can start with something small, something simple. Tell her about your favorite hobby. Tell her about a place you’ve always wanted to visit. Tell her about a memory that makes you smile. Let her see a little piece of the real you, and see what happens. You deserve to be seen. You deserve to be heard. You deserve to have someone who cares about you, deeply and genuinely. You deserve a connection that feels real, that feels meaningful, that feels like home. You deserve to stop feeling alone. Don’t let fear hold you back any longer. Don’t spend another night sitting alone in the dark, wondering if there’s someone out there who will ever really understand you. Don’t let the past dictate your future. Someone is waiting for you. Someone who is ready to listen, to understand, to love you for who you are. Someone who has been looking for you just as long as you’ve been looking for her. English — I’m waiting for you. Spanish — Te estoy esperando. Arabic — أنا أنتظرك. Portuguese — Estou esperando por você. French — Je t’attends. All you have to do is reach out. Take that first step. Click that button. Send her a message. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be real. You never know where one simple message might lead. It might lead to a great conversation that lasts for hours. It might lead to a lifelong friendship. It might lead to something even more beautiful. But you’ll never know unless you try. So take a deep breath. Let go of your fears. And take that first step. Your person is waiting."
Ivy é uma estudante do segundo ano do ensino médio com a voz de um anjo. Ela também é uma herdeira extremamente rica, mas esconde sua identidade na esperança de fazer amigos de verdade na escola. Depois de se tornar melhor amiga de Vanessa, Ivy acredita que fez a escolha certa. Porém, Vanessa na verdade a trata muito mal! Ela até manipula Ivy emocionalmente para que seja sua dubladora de voz. As coisas começam a desmoronar quando Ivy flagra seu namorado a traindo com sua melhor amiga! Com o coração partido e se sentindo traída, Ivy busca ajuda de seu melhor amigo de infância e astro do time de futebol americano, Blake.
💔🔥 I was the perfect mafia boss’s wife—until I heard the truth. He slept with his best friend’s sister. In our bed. On our couch. In our house. While telling me he loved me. I lost my daughter. He told her I was “still grieving” and asked her to get pregnant for him. To the world, he doted on me— fireworks, diamonds, blood donations, vows of forever. Behind closed doors? I was just a placeholder wife, waiting for him to inherit everything. So I smiled. Filed my immigration papers. Recorded his confession. ✈️ Thirteen days later, I left. He thought I’d never go. He was wrong. -------------------------------- My husband slept with his best friend’s sister. Not once, not twice but multiple times and he even brought her into our home. The bed, the couch, the kitchen counter. He told me he only loved me, yet his body told a different story. I didn’t even have to imagine it. I heard her voice with my own ears. “Rufus, when are you going to divorce her? You promised me.” “Soon, baby. Not now. She’s still grieving to our dead daughter.” “Poor thing. Having a mother like her… no wonder. But don’t worry, I’ll give you a child soon. I’ll get pregnant.” “I’m counting on it.” “But tell me the truth. Do you really love her, your wife Annette?” “Yes. I love her.” My husband, the man everyone in this city whispered about… the cold, dangerous boss of the Anderson family… still had the audacity to speak about love while touching another woman. Thirteen days. That’s all I needed. My immigration papers would be ready by then. So I went to the consulate and filed my application. “Hello, I’m here to apply for immigration,” I said at the counter, handing over my paperwork. The clerk glanced at me, stamped everything quickly, and slid a receipt across. “Your application will be processed in thirteen days, ma’am. Please wait patiently.” I nodded and walked out. Behind me, I caught the sound of murmuring. “Did I hear right? Mrs. Anderson applied for immigration?” “She’s leaving the country? But Mr. Anderson dotes on her more than anyone. What could’ve happened?” “Remember that wedding seven years ago? Biggest event in the city. Three years ago when she got into that car accident, he gave her half his blood. Last year she went missing for an hour, and he turned the city upside down looking for her. And now she’s leaving him?” I let out a quiet laugh, the kind that doesn’t reach the eyes. Yes. Everyone knew how much Rufus “doted” on me. To the outside world, I was the only woman he cared for. He was ruthless to everyone else, untouchable, feared even by his own men. But for me, he was all fireworks, diamonds, and sweet words. I still remember how it started. He saw me once at a party and decided I was it for him. He sent gifts, luxury cars, even put on a three-day fireworks show that lit up the whole city. When I casually mentioned I liked chestnut cake, he drove through a snowstorm all night to bring one to me. He was drenched, lips blue from the cold, but the cake was still warm when he pressed it into my hands. And when my parents died in that accident, he abandoned a billion-dollar deal in New York to rush back to me. He found me shaking, hollow, broken. He pulled me into his arms and whispered, “Annette, I’m here. I’ll always be by your side.” Back then, I thought he was my safe place. My Mr. Right. I gave him my whole heart. But love doesn’t stop men like Rufus from straying. Nine months ago, temptation knocked, and he answered. His best friend’s sister, of all people. He thought I’d never find out. But secrets don’t stay buried forever. We had just sent our 2-year-old daughter to heaven when I saw the truth… When I smelled her perfume on our couch, when I pieced together the lies… I knew I was done. Rufus can play his games, charm the world, and tell me a thousand sweet lies. But this time, I won’t stay. I slipped my visa papers into my bag, flagged a cab, and told the driver to take me to Ruffus Anderson Estates. The moment I walked into the villa, something hit me. A strange, heavy smell clung to the air, sweet and bitter all at once. My stomach twisted. And then I saw them. Rufus was standing on a ladder, pinning decorations to the wall. Beside him, Maisie Smith smiled like she owned the place. When the door clicked shut behind me, Rufus turned. His hands froze mid-air, then he came down slowly, carefully. The cold mafia boss everyone feared disappeared in an instant. His eyes softened, his lips curved into that practiced smile that used to melt me. “Annette, baby… why are you dressed so light? You’ll catch a cold. Didn’t you go out with your friends? Why’d you come home so soon? I was planning to surprise you.” Surprise. My gaze slid up to his neck. There it was. A fresh hickey, deep and red, mocking me. My chest squeezed, but I forced myself to blink it away. I said nothing. Maisie’s giggle broke the silence. She walked up, swinging her hair, voice sweet but sharp. “Annette, Rufus really dotes on you. He even prepared all this for your anniversary.” She pointed to a pile of gifts stacked in the corner. My eyes followed her hand and that’s when I saw it. A wet patch, soaking into the fabric of the sofa beneath the gifts. The smell. The mark. The truth. So this was love? He really had sex with her right next to my anniversary presents? The ache in my chest spread like fire, but I kept my lips shut. Rufus, blind as ever, walked over with a velvet box. He opened it, lifted a bracelet, and clasped it gently around my wrist. “Happy anniversary, sweetheart. I set up a candlelit dinner for us. Just you and me.” I shivered and pulled back, “No. I don’t feel well.” Every second near him felt like punishment. He frowned instantly, all concern, all performance. He called private doctors, one after another, refusing to rest until they said I was fine. He ordered Mateo, his right-hand man, to fetch health supplements. He even brought me a glass of warm milk, pressing it into my hands until I drank it. That night, exhaustion finally dragged me under. But when I woke in the dark, my throat was dry, I left my room for water. And froze. The door across the hall was wide open. Moonlight spilled through the window, lighting up two figures tangled on the bed. Chapter 2 Maisie’s voice carried in the quiet. “That bracelet you gave Annette… worth millions, right? I begged you for one, and you ignored me. She doesn’t even ask, and you hand her the best gift in the world.” Rufus’s shadow shifted. He pushed her legs from his waist, sat up, and lit a cigarette. His face was calm, almost bored. “I told you already… We were going to divorce soon. I love my wife but for now, we keep it a secret. If she finds out, it’s over.” Maisie climbed onto him, naked. “I know, but I love you too. I can’t help being jealous.” Rufus sighed, then reached into his drawer and pulled out a bracelet the same style as mine, just a different color. He dangled it in front of her like a treat. “Don’t pout. I bought one for you too. Wear it in private. If Annette sees it, we’re done.” Maisie’s face lit up. She kissed him, whispering thanks, still marked with his touch. Then she asked, soft and curious, “Why are you so scared of her leaving you, Rufus?” His reply was quick, steady, without hesitation. “I’m not really that scared because I have you. But Annette was adored by my grandfather. After I inherit my grandfather’s billions in stocks… I can finally leave her and marry you.” And then he pushed her back down, claiming her again, the bed creaking under their weight. Her moans filled the night air. I pressed my hand against the wall, choking on my sobs, staring at our wedding photo hanging nearby. His smiling face in that picture looked like a cruel joke. “thirteen days, Rufus,” I whispered through tears. “I’ll be gone. Let’s see how crazy you really get.” *** I woke up to shouting outside, the kind that shakes you out of sleep before you’re ready. When I opened my door, I saw a woman in the garden next door, clutching at a man’s shirt. “Tim, I gave you ten years of my life. I even had your children,” she sobbed. “When we got married, you swore you’d love me forever. And now, just a few years later, you’re sneaking around with another woman?” It was barely sunrise, but plenty of people were already out by the lake, walking, stretching, enjoying the air. Now they all stopped, staring, whispers rising as the scene unfolded. The man—Tim, someone everyone in the area knew—went pale when he saw the crowd. He yanked the woman inside and snapped at her. “What’s wrong with you? How many times do I have to tell you? No man stays loyal.” His words cut like glass. I stood frozen, the echo of them clawing at me. Then a warm hand slid over my ear from behind, shielding me. “Don’t listen to that nonsense, Annette,” Rufus murmured. I didn’t turn to him. “Tell me, Rufus… do all men cheat in the end?” He stilled for a moment, then gently turned me around to face him. His dark eyes locked on mine, “I can’t speak for the rest of the world. But me? I’ll only ever love you.” I searched his face, his perfect, practiced expression. “You’ll only love me for a lifetime? But a lifetime is so long.” He pulled me close. “A lifetime is long, yes. That’s why I only want you to fill it.” I let out a laugh, but it tasted bitter on my tongue. “What if you betray me, Rufus?” “If I ever betray you, may lightning strike me where I stand.” The vow was bold. Cruel, almost. Because I already knew the truth. His skin reeked of another woman’s perfume after nights he spent away from me. He could touch them, claim them, and still whisper these words as if he meant them. “Are you really not afraid that promise might come true?” “Not at all. No one in this world knows how deep my love runs for you. If you don’t believe me, I’ll open my chest and show you my heart. If that still doesn’t convince you, Annette… I’ll give you my life.” I thought to myself, If you’re so willing to give me your life, why can’t you control your desire? Before I could say more, a voice cut in from the doorway. “What are the two of you doing here?” We both turned. Maisie stood there, draped in a red dress that clung to her curves, leaning casually against the frame. I felt Rufus stiffen beside me. His brows pulled together, “It’s not the weekend. Why are you dressed like that? Where are you going?” It wasn’t the voice of a brother. It was sharper, tinged with something that sounded far too much like jealousy. Maisie noticed. She smiled, slow and deliberate. “Company party tonight. I’ll find myself a boyfriend there, so don’t wait up.” Rufus’s expression darkened, but Maisie only grinned wider before turning her eyes to me. “What about you, Annette? Any plans for today?” Rufus didn’t let me answer. His fingers slid through mine, “Annette and I are heading back to my parents house.” Maisie’s eyes sparkled with something I couldn’t name. She gave a polite little nod, said goodbye, and walked out, leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume. And Rufus… Rufus still hadn’t let go of my hand. Half an hour later, Rufus was behind the wheel, driving me back to the Andersons. I hated going there. His parents had never warmed to me—only his grandfather ever did. To them, I was a curse. I had given birth to a daughter when all they wanted was a son, and when she died, their hatred for me grew sharper, venomous. Every visit, their eyes cut me down like knives, as if I had stolen their heir with my own hands. Rufus usually avoided bringing me, saying it wasn’t worth the stress. But this time his mother, Mrs. Anderson, wasn’t feeling well. As much as I dreaded it, we had to come. When we stepped inside, Mr. Anderson and Mrs. Anderson were smiling, chatting warmly with each other. The second they saw me, their faces turned cold. Chapter 3 My chest tightened. I kept my head lowered, pretending I didn’t notice, but Rufus did. His voice turned sharp. “If you two keep treating Annette like this, then don’t expect us to come back again.” The room went silent until Mr. Anderson slammed his hand against the table, making me flinch. “Watch your mouth. Are you really saying you’d turn your back on your family for this woman?” Before I could step away, Rufus caught my hand, threading his fingers through mine, holding me still. “Father, I’ve said this many times. Annette is the woman I love. The one person I can’t bear to hurt. I won’t even raise my voice at her, and yet you give her this coldness every time. Do you know what that does to me?” His grip on my hand tightened, “If this happens again, I won’t just walk out of this house. I’ll walk away from this family for good.” The mafia boss everyone feared could order deaths with a snap of his fingers, but right then he sounded like a devoted husband willing to burn his whole world for me. Pathetic. He thought I didn't know about his affair. The room went quiet after Rufus threw his words out like a knife. He looked like the perfect protective husband, standing there like a shield in front of me. But I didn’t feel safe. I just felt… tired. Mrs. Anderson sighed and finally muttered, “Fine. Let’s eat first.” At the table, the only noise was the clink of silver against porcelain. Mrs. Anderson kept making those little annoyed sounds, and my hand tightened around my fork. I knew it was coming. Sure enough, she dropped her fork and said, “It’s been nine months. Enough grieving. You lost a daughter, fine. But it’s time to give us a grandson. You can’t just end the Anderson bloodline.” Her husband nodded, cold eyes fixed on me. “That child died because you didn’t care for her properly. A simple stomach ache, and she never came home from the hospital. Stop playing the victim, Annette. Conceive again and do it right this time.” The words sliced straight through me, but before I could open my mouth, Rufus set his fork down. His voice was calm, but sharp enough to cut. “I already told you. Annette is scared of pain. I won’t let her suffer like that. If we never have kids, so be it.” Their faces dropped, heavy with disdain, and the air grew thick. They were about to start another round when I finally spoke. My voice was steady, even. “You’ll have a grandchild in half a month.” The room froze. Three pairs of eyes cut toward me. Rufus squeezed my hand, his face painted with that sweet, fake concern. “Sweetheart… You don’t have to force yourself for me. I’ll protect you.” I almost laughed. Protect me? He couldn’t even stop himself from running into Maisie’s arms every chance he got. I smiled anyway. “You two want a grandson so badly. Let’s make it happen for you.” They softened instantly, pleased with my answer. But Rufus looked uneasy, like he could smell something wrong but didn’t know where it was coming from. Then his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and I caught the name. Maisie. “Rufus, some guy wants a quickie, would it be okay?” I counted in my head. One. Two. Three. He stood right on cue. “Annette, I have to handle something at the office. Stay and finish dinner. I’ll come back for you later.” He didn’t wait for me to answer. Just grabbed his jacket and left. The second the door shut, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson dropped the fake politeness. “We’ll give you less than a month. If you don’t conceive again, don’t ever dare show your face in this house. You come from nothing! Both your parents gone, no name, no wealth. Without Rufus, you’re no one. Don’t think we’ll tolerate you forever.” Their words kept cutting, sharper each time, until it felt like the walls themselves were pressing in. And Rufus? He never came back. Rufus finally showed up that evening, calm as ever, like nothing happened. We got into the car, the leather still warm from the sun. I glanced out the window and asked lightly, “You done with work?” He hesitated, just for a breath, then said softly, “Yeah.” His fingers tapped against the wheel, steady, rhythmic. That was his little tell when he was in a good mood. The silence stretched, and then he asked, “Did my parents give you trouble after I left?” I was about to answer when my eyes caught something under the seat. A pair of torn silk stockings. Not mine. So that’s where he’d been. I knew about Maisie, but I hadn’t expected he’d use this very car. Seven years of marriage and I’d always been… careful. I wasn’t wild, I wasn't daring. Sometimes I even asked him if he wanted me to change, if I was boring him. Back then, he just held me close, kissing my hair, whispering, “Sweetheart, I only want you. Even if you wore rags, you’d still be the one I’d choose. Don’t force yourself to be anything else. I love you the way you are.” But the man who said those words now reeked of lies. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “What do you think?” He thought I was talking about his parents. He had no idea I’d already seen through him. He suddenly hit the brakes, pulled me into his arms, “I’m sorry, Annette. I shouldn’t have left you alone. I promise, it won’t happen again.” His embrace felt like a cage. I pressed my hands against his chest, pushing him off gently. “Just drive, Rufus. I'm tired.” Because I knew deep down. There was no future left for us. Chapter 4 The moment I stepped into the house, I froze. Maisie was lounging on the sofa already in a silky nightgown, eating chips like she owned the place. “Didn’t you say you had a party tonight? Said you weren’t coming home?” She gave me this shy little smile. “Oh, Annette, I forgot to mention. I had a fight with my boyfriend, so I went to the party to piss him off. Told him about it, but he didn’t care. Then, the second I got there, he showed up, dragged me out.” Her fingers flicked at her collar, and the fabric slipped just enough to show the marks on her skin. Hickeys. Fresh. She gave me a sly look like it was some sort of prize. “I didn’t expect him to be so jealous,” she said sweetly. “We ended up making out in the car. Three times.” My nails bit into my palms so hard it hurt. But I kept my voice even. “When did you get a boyfriend? You never said a word.” She just laughed lightly, tossing her hair. “Oh, about nine months ago after I came back from abroad and my brother introduce him to me.” Nine months. The exact time she moved into this house. The exact time Rufus’s so-called friend asked him to “look after his sister.” What a joke. She’d latched onto him the first day. I couldn’t stop my breathing from turning heavy. The rage sat right under my skin. And that’s when I felt it… Rufus’s hands, heavy on my shoulders. “Sweetheart, you’ve had a rough day. Let me run you a bath. You need to rest.” He guided me toward the bathroom like nothing was wrong. I slipped inside, closed the door, and started undressing, the thought of soaking in the tub the only thing keeping me steady. Then I realized I’d forgotten clean clothes. When I opened the door, the world stopped. Not far away, Rufus was on top of Maisie. His hand ripped at her nightgown like it was paper, his mouth pressed against her skin while his grip locked on her waist. She tilted her head back, letting out these soft little moans. “Easy… Annette’s still in the shower. Didn’t you get enough in the car earlier?” He growled low, voice sharp, possessive. “Shut up! If you even think about letting another man touch you, you’ll regret it.” She giggled, wicked and pleased, and then her eyes slid to me. Standing there, frozen. “Alright,” she purred, “I won’t. I’m all yours. You’re so jealous, babe, hmm?” That was enough. I grabbed my clothes, shut the bathroom door, and locked it. The water was hot when I slid into the tub, but it didn’t burn as much as the memory replaying in my head. Seven years ago. Our honeymoon on that island. I’d looked just once at a man with abs. Rufus lost his mind so he kept me locked inside the suite for a week. When the bed broke and the supplies ran out, he pulled me close, “Annette, I’ve got everything you need. Don’t look at anyone else. Just promise me.” I had promised him. Over and over. And since then, I never dared to even glance at another man. But now, he was just as obsessed. Just not with me. With her. I sank deeper into the water and let out a shaky breath. When I stepped out of the bathroom, Maisie was gone. Only Rufus was sitting there, calm as if nothing had happened. On the table, there was a plate of neatly sliced fruit and a steaming cup of ginger tea. The sight made my chest tighten. He stood and handed me the cup, “I know your period’s close. This will help with the cramps.” The heat from the cup seeped into my hands, but inside, I felt ice cold. How could he act so normal? Just minutes ago, he was tearing at Maisie’s clothes. Now here he was, pretending to be the perfect husband. *** I didn’t sleep much that night. My mind kept circling back to the same question: how many faces does he have? Sometime before dawn, I must’ve drifted off. A sudden shout yanked me awake. “Annette!” He jolted up, hands searching wildly in the dark until he found me. His chest heaved, his grip crushing me against him. “Don’t go. Please… don’t leave me.” I froze in his arms. “What’s wrong with you?” His eyes were red, his breath still uneven. “I dreamt you walked away from me. It was hell, Annette. I woke up and you were here. Thank God you’re here.” I looked down, words heavy on my tongue. I wanted to tell him the dream would come true soon. But I stayed quiet. Maybe that nightmare shook him, because the next morning, he didn’t let me out of his sight. He insisted on driving me to work himself, like he was afraid I’d disappear the moment he blinked. The moment we stepped into Rufus’s office, I froze. His entire desk was covered in pictures of me. Different angles, different days, some I didn’t even know he’d taken. I felt a chill run through me. Before I could say anything, I felt him behind me. His arms slid around my waist, his lips brushing my neck. “Annette,” he whispered, voice low and smooth, “a lot of women throw themselves at me. But when I look at these, I remember who I belong to. You don’t have to worry. I’m all yours.” I kept my eyes on the pictures, my lips pressed tight. I couldn’t bring myself to answer. A knock came at the door. Mateo’s voice followed. “Boss, the meeting’s about to start.” Rufus sighed, reluctant, and held me a moment longer before letting go. “Stay here, baby. Walk around, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back soon.” I nodded, though my chest was heavy. The last thing I wanted was to sit in his office surrounded by my own face. So I wandered. Floor after floor, pretending to look, pretending to care. By noon, my phone buzzed. I picked it up quickly, my heart racing when I saw the caller ID. “Ms. Annette Cooper,” the woman said politely, “your application for immigration has been approved. Please come to the consulate to collect your visa.” I opened my mouth to answer, but a voice I knew too well cut in from behind me. “Visa?” My blood ran cold. Chapter 5 I turned slowly, and there he was—Rufus. His face had gone pale, like someone had pulled the ground out from under him. “What visa?” he asked, his voice low but trembling. My heart skipped, but I forced a small smile. “Not mine. A friend of mine’s planning to move abroad. She just called to ask me about it.” For a second, he just stared at me, like he didn’t quite believe it. Then suddenly, he pulled me into his arms, holding me so tight I could barely breathe. His body was actually shaking. “Annette,” he whispered into my hair, his voice raw, “don’t ever leave me. I thought for a moment you were going to disappear. I can’t… I can’t live without you.” I rested my hand lightly on his back, pretending to soothe him. On the outside, I smiled faintly, calm and steady. Inside, though, my heart was already somewhere else. I knew the truth. I was leaving soon. That afternoon, while he was tied up in meetings, I slipped away. I went straight to the immigration office and signed the last of my papers. My hands were trembling, but my mind had never been clearer. *** That night was the Anderson Company’s big party. Everyone was there. Investors, partners, staff. The ballroom glittered with lights and champagne glasses. I wore something simple. Quiet. I wanted no attention. Maisie, on the other hand, walked in wearing a blood-red dress that clung to every curve. All eyes followed her. I caught Rufus choking a little on his drink when he saw men crowding around her. He smiled like a perfect host, but his jaw ticked. His rage was simmering under the surface. Guests kept whispering about me, how lucky I was. How Rufus was “so obsessed” with me. Investors toasted to his devotion, calling me the envy of every woman in the room. When a man offered Maisie a drink, Rufus stepped in, took the glass, and downed it himself. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Can’t risk my friend’s sister being taken advantage of,” he said smoothly. Maisie chuckled, tilting her head. “Careful, Rufus. If you keep acting like this, Annette might get jealous.” I smiled, my voice soft but firm. “No, I won’t. I know Rufus loves me. He can’t live without me.” He glanced at me then, like he didn’t know whether to be flattered or afraid. Then I noticed Maisie’s wrist. She was wearing a bracelet identical to mine. Maisie noticed my stare. For a moment, her smile faltered. Then she quickly excused herself and slipped out of the ballroom. I watched Rufus grow restless, pulling out his phone under the table. Moments later, he stood up, putting on that fake polite smile. “Excuse me, urgent call,” he muttered, before leaving too. I knew exactly where he was going. When I tried to follow, one of Rufus’s business partners—married, but notorious for cheating—blocked my way. He kept me in pointless conversation, smirking, stalling. I forced a polite smile. “I’m not feeling well. I think I’ll head home early. Don’t trouble yourself with giving me a ride. I’ll grab a cab.” I slipped past, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor. That’s when I heard it. A door left slightly ajar. Voices, gasps, the unmistakable rhythm of bodies colliding. I froze, then leaned just enough to peek inside. Maisie was straddling Rufus, riding him like she owned him. His hands gripped her thighs, his head thrown back, moaning. Her eyes slid to mine. She saw me. And she smiled. “Tell me, Rufus,” she purred, loud enough for me to hear. “Do you really love me? If not, I’ll go fuck your business partner right now.” Rufus groaned, desperate, breathless. “I fucking love you, Maisie.” Maisie’s smirk deepened, her gaze locked on me like she knew I was there. “Then get me pregnant. Do it inside me.” His voice broke into a growl. “Yes, sweetheart,” he groaned, slamming harder into her. My vision blurred with tears. I held my phone at my side, the camera already recording. Every word, every filthy confession, every betrayal, I caught it all. Before they noticed me, I turned and walked away, silent as a shadow. Back home, I pulled out my suitcase. My hands shook as I unzipped it, but my heart was steady. This time, I wasn’t just thinking about leaving. This time, I really was. --- I sat in the airport lounge, my passport and boarding pass tight in my hand, suitcase by my side. My phone buzzed. Of course, it was him. I took a breath and answered. “Where are you, baby? Mateo said you weren’t—” “I wasn’t feeling well,” I said softly. “Bad headache. I went home to rest.” “I’ll send Mateo over with some medicine.” “No need,” I cut in, keeping my voice steady. “I’m done taking those. I just want to sleep.” I let a small pause hang before adding, “But before you get home, there’s a little present waiting for you in our room. Please open it.” I could picture it in my head. On the bedside table: the divorce papers, our wedding rings, and the USB with him and Maisie. He let out a low chuckle. I heard a muffled sound on his end—a moan—and my blood ran cold. “I will, sweetheart,” he said, voice laced with something I already knew. “But I can’t go home tonight. Got… important business.” And then I heard it. Maisie’s laugh, right there, behind him. “I’ll be home tomorrow,” he added like nothing was wrong. I smiled faintly, my voice calm. “Yeah, sure.” “I love you, sweetheart.” “Mm. Sleep well,” I whispered, then ended the call before he could say another word. My hand trembled, but my chest felt lighter than it had in years. When the boarding gate opened, I stood, clutching my passport like it was the only thing keeping me alive. My phone lit up again with his name. I didn’t hesitate... I powered it off. Stepping onto the plane, I finally felt free. I whispered under my breath, “Goodbye, Rufus. I’m not yours anymore.” #ShortStory #Fiction #WebNovel #FromWeakToStrong #SheWon #Karma 📚 Only a few chapters are available here. Tap “Start Reading” to continue the story on the next page. 👇👇👇
Chapter 1 Olivia's POV I slumped against the passenger seat as Ryan's car cruised through the palm-lined streets of Los Angeles. My eyelids felt heavy after a twelve-hour shift at Carter Enterprises. The quarterly marketing campaign required us all to work overtime, and as a junior marketing executive, I was stuck with weekend work. "You still with me, babe?" Ryan glanced over, his perfectly styled dark hair catching the sunset's glow. "Barely." I stifled a yawn. "Remind me why we're going to this party when I could be face-planting into my pillow right now?" "Because Sophia would kill you if you missed her birthday." He reached over and squeezed my knee. "And because you look stunning in that dress I bought for you." I glanced down at the black cocktail dress he'd insisted I wear. The neckline plunged lower than I'd normally choose, and the hemline rode high enough to make me self-conscious every time I sat down. Ryan had shown up at my apartment with the dress in a boutique bag, eyes gleaming with anticipation as I'd tried it on. "I still think it's a bit much for a birthday party," I tugged at the fabric, trying to cover more of my chest. "Liv, we've been dating for two years. I know what looks good on you better than you do. Trust me, every guy at this party will wish he was me tonight." "Is that what this is about? Marking your territory?" "Can you blame me?" He winked as he turned onto Sophia's street, where luxury cars lined both sides. Sophia's recently purchased triplex stood illuminated against the darkening sky, music pulsing from within. For someone only turning twenty-five, she'd done remarkably well for herself in real estate development. Ryan found a spot half a block away and cut the engine. "Ready to make an entrance, Ms. Morgan?" "As I'll ever be." I grabbed my purse and the gift bag containing the vintage champagne Ryan had suggested we bring. The cool evening air hit my bare shoulders as I stepped out of the car, making me shiver. Ryan's arm slid around my waist, his hand resting dangerously low on my hip. "See? Worth getting dressed up for." He nodded toward the house. "This place is insane." We walked up the curved driveway where twinkling lights had been strung through the palm trees. The front door stood open, spilling light, music, and laughter onto the porch. "Olivia! You made it!" Sophia appeared in the doorway, resplendent in a gold sequined dress. "I was starting to think you'd stood me up!" "My work tried its best to keep me away," I laughed, accepting her enthusiastic hug. "Happy birthday, Soph." "And Ryan, looking delicious as always." She air-kissed his cheeks. "Come in, come in! Everyone's already two drinks ahead of you." Ryan's hand pressed against the small of my back as we entered the foyer, which opened to a massive great room where at least thirty people mingled. The space featured floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the twinkling Los Angeles skyline. "Drink?" Ryan asked, already scanning the room. "God, yes. The strongest thing they've got." He chuckled. "That's my girl. Be right back." As Ryan disappeared toward the bar setup, I heard a familiar squeal from across the room. "Olivia Morgan, get your ass over here!" I turned to see Emilia waving frantically from a plush sectional sofa. My best friend since college was already flushed from alcohol, her blonde hair falling in waves around her shoulders. "Em!" I navigated through clusters of guests to reach her. "How long have you been here?" "Long enough to know the bartender's life story." She stood, wobbling slightly in her heels, and embraced me. She pulled back, holding me at arm's length to examine my outfit. "Holy shit, your boobs look amazing in that dress. Did Ryan pick it out?" I felt my cheeks warm. "Is it that obvious?" "Only because I've known you for eight years, and you've never willingly shown that much cleavage." She smirked. "Not that I'm complaining. If I had your rack, I'd show it off, too." "Could you say that a little louder? I don't think everyone in Malibu heard you." "Sorry, can't help it. You're too easy to embarrass." Emilia's eyes danced with mischief as she took another sip of her drink. "By the way, have you seen our birthday girl? I swear she was here greeting people and then just... vanished." I scanned the crowded room. "No, actually. Where did Ryan go? He was supposed to be getting me a drink." "Maybe he's outside? I saw some people heading to the back lawn earlier." Emilia shrugged. "Or he could be sneaking a cigarette." I narrowed my eyes. "He told me he quit three months ago. If I catch him smoking after all that 'I'm done with nicotine forever, baby' bullshit, I'll kill him myself." "Men lie about the stupidest things. Like, just admit you still smoke and save us both the drama." "I'm going to find him," I said, tugging at my dress, which had ridden up dangerously high. "If he's outside with a cigarette, I'm putting it on his favorite shoes." "That's my girl." Emilia raised her glass. "I'll be right here judging everyone's outfit choices when you get back." I weaved through the crowded living room, nodding at half-familiar faces from past gatherings. The kitchen was jammed with people mixing drinks. No Ryan. The back patio held a group playing some drinking games with shots and ping pong balls. No Ryan among them. "Looking for someone?" A tall guy with a man-bun approached, his eyes dropping to my cleavage before meeting my gaze. "My boyfriend. Tall, dark hair, probably looking smug about something." He laughed. "Haven't seen him. But I'd be happy to keep you company until he shows up." "Hard pass, but thanks." I turned away, irritation building. Where the hell was Ryan with my drink? I climbed the modern floating staircase to the next floor, where the noise from the party became more muffled. The hallway was dimly lit and had several closed doors. A sound caught my attention – a moan? A laugh? Something between the two. It was faint, coming from further down the hall. The sound came again, more distinct this time. Definitely a moan. Great. A couple had found a private spot to hook up at Sophia's party. How classy. I was about to turn back when I noticed a slightly ajar door at the end of the hallway, a sliver of light spilling onto the hardwood floor. Something compelled me forward – curiosity, or perhaps a sixth sense I didn't know I had. As I approached, the sounds became clearer. A woman's voice, breathless and urgent: "Fuck, yes, right there." I froze. The voice was familiar. A male voice responded, low and commanding: "You like that, don't you? Tell me how much you want it." My stomach dropped. Ryan's voice. I should have turned away, run down those stairs, and straight out the front door. Instead, I moved closer, pushing the door open wider. The scene burned into my retinas like a brand. Sophia bent over her dresser; her gold dress pushed up around her waist. Ryan was behind her, his pants around his ankles, hands gripping her hips as he thrust into her. "Harder," Sophia gasped. "Make me feel it tomorrow." "What the fuck?" The words escaped me before I could stop them. They both froze. Ryan's head whipped around, his eyes widening with shock. Chapter 2 Olivia's POV Ryan's head whipped around, his eyes widening with shock. For a moment, time suspended itself. My lungs refused to work, and the room seemed to tilt sideways. "Liv—" Ryan stammered, still connected to Sophia. "This isn't—" "What it looks like?" I finished, my voice surprisingly steady despite the earthquake happening inside me. "Because it looks like you're fucking my friend on her birthday while I wait downstairs for a drink that's never coming." Sophia turned her head, meeting my gaze without a hint of shame. She didn't even bother to adjust her dress; she just rested her elbows on the dresser and sighed like I'd interrupted a business meeting. "Oh, Olivia," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "Did you think a man like Ryan would be satisfied with just you?" Ryan finally pulled away from her, fumbling to pull up his pants. "Baby, please, this is just a... a thing. It doesn't mean anything." "A thing?" I repeated, heat rising to my face. "How long has this 'thing' been happening?" Before either could answer, I heard footsteps behind me. "Liv? Did you find—" Emilia's voice cut off as she appeared at my side, taking in the scene. "Holy fucking shit." Ryan's face paled further. "This isn't what—" "If you say 'this isn't what it looks like' one more time, I swear to God I will castrate you with my bare hands," Emilia snapped, her arm wrapping protectively around my shoulders. Sophia straightened up, finally adjusting her dress with leisurely movements. She tossed her hair back and had the audacity to smirk. "Ryan and I have an understanding. It's just sex. Great sex, but still just sex." "An understanding?" I laughed, the sound brittle and foreign to my ears. "And when exactly were you planning to include me in this understanding? After you gave me chlamydia, or before?" "Don't be dramatic," Ryan said, tucking in his shirt. "We've been careful." "Oh, careful! Well, that makes it all better then!" I threw my hands up. "You've been carefully fucking my friend behind my back. Such consideration!" Sophia leaned against the dresser, crossing her arms. "We're all adults here. Monogamy is so... limiting, don't you think?" Emilia stepped forward. "The only thing limiting around here is your moral compass, you backstabbing bitch." "Watch it," Sophia warned, her eyes narrowing. "Or what? You'll sleep with my boyfriend too? Get in line." Emilia turned to Ryan. "And you. You pathetic excuse for a man. Two years? Two fucking years of her life wasted on you?" Ryan finally managed to buckle his belt. "Liv, baby, please. We can talk about this. It's just physical. It doesn't change how I feel about you." "You feel so much for me that you bought me this dress." I gestured to my outfit. "So, I could be downstairs putting on a show for your friends while you're up here with your dick in Sophia?" "The dress looks amazing on you," he offered weakly. I stared at him in disbelief. "That's what you're going with right now? Fashion compliments?" "I'm just saying—" "No, I'm done listening to what you're 'just saying.'" I turned to leave, then spun back. "Two years, Ryan. Two years of me rearranging my schedule for you and believing every word out of your mouth. Was any of it real?" He took a step toward me. "Of course, it was real. I love you, Liv." "Spare me," I spat. "If this is your version of love, I want nothing to do with it." Sophia sighed dramatically. "Can we wrap this up? I have guests downstairs." "You have one less now," I said, turning away. "Enjoy your birthday present. You two deserve each other." Emilia shot them both a final glare before following me out. We marched down the hallway, my legs somehow carrying me forward despite feeling like they might collapse. "I've got you," Emilia whispered, her arm still around me as we descended the stairs. The party continued below us, oblivious to the implosion that had just occurred upstairs. The music seemed too loud now, the laughter too jarring. We pushed through the crowd toward the front door. Someone called my name, but I kept moving, my eyes fixed on the exit. The cool night air hit my face as we stepped outside, and only then did I realize I was shaking. We made it to the sidewalk when I heard the front door open behind us. I refused to look back. "Olivia!" Ryan called out. "Wait!" Emilia turned, positioning herself between us like a shield. "Go back to your birthday girl, asshole." "This is between me and Liv," he insisted but made no move to follow us. "There is no 'me and Liv' anymore," I called back, still walking. "We're done." His response was lost as we rounded the corner, the sounds of the party fading behind us. Once out of sight, my composure crumbled. I stopped walking, my breath coming in gasps. "I can't believe…I can't…" I pressed my hand to my mouth. "I know, honey. I know." Emilia pulled me into a hug. "Let it out." "Two years," I whispered against her shoulder. "Two fucking years." She stroked my hair. "I'm so sorry, Liv." I pulled back, wiping angrily at my eyes. "Did you know? About them?" Emilia hesitated. "Not for sure. But I had my suspicions." "What? Why didn't you say anything?" She sighed, fishing her phone from her purse. "I saw them at Barton's Café last month. They said they'd run into each other, but it seemed... off. The way they were sitting, the way he touched her arm. I didn't want to say anything without proof. I didn't want to hurt you if I was wrong." "Well, now we have proof," I said bitterly. "Let me call us a cab," Emilia said, tapping her phone. "My car's not here. Jake dropped me off." I hugged myself against the chill, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt in the dress Ryan had chosen. "No cabs available. Let's walk a bit. I'll keep trying for a ride and call Jake. Maybe he can pick us up." "Fine by me." I just wanted to get as far away from Sophia's house as possible. "I'd walk to Mexico now if it meant never seeing Ryan again." We started down the sidewalk, my heels clicking against the concrete. The neighborhood was upscale, with sprawling houses set back from the road, but the street itself was poorly lit. The rumble of an engine cut her off as a convertible slowed beside us. Four guys crowded inside, the stench of alcohol wafting our way. The driver leaned over, his eyes crawling over my body before settling on my chest. "Hey, babes, want a ride?" He grinned, revealing a gold tooth. "We got plenty of room on our laps." His friends burst into laughter. The one in the passenger seat raised a bottle. "We're celebrating! Don't you wanna celebrate with us?" "Fuck off," Emilia snapped, pulling me closer. "Ooh, feisty!" The driver killed the engine. "I like feisty." One guy, thick-necked with a tribal tattoo, vaulted over the door. He staggered toward us, pointing at Emilia. "You got a mouth on you, blondie. Let's see what else it can do." Before I could react, he lunged forward and grabbed Emilia by her hair, yanking her head back. She screamed, clawing at his arm. "Let her go!" I shouted, my marketing executive persona vanishing as pure rage took over. I swung my purse, connecting with his temple. He stumbled but kept his grip on Emilia's hair. "Your friend wants to play rough, huh?" He leered at me, eyes fixed on my chest. "Nice tits. Bet they bounce real good." Chapter 3 Olivia's POV My fist throbbed from connecting with the guy's head, but it hadn't done enough. Emilia whimpered as he yanked her hair harder, forcing her head back at an unnatural angle. "Let her go, you piece of shit!" I hissed, fear and fury colliding in my chest. "Or what?" He laughed, his breath reeking of whiskey. "You gonna hit me with your little purse again?" The other men from the car were climbing out now, their movements predatory as they circled around us. The driver, with his gold tooth catching the dim streetlight, stepped toward me. "C'mon baby, we just wanna have some fun." His eyes never left my chest. "You're dressed like you want attention. We're just giving you what you want." "I want you to let my friend go and fuck off back to whatever sewer you crawled out of," I spat, backing away until I felt a tree behind me. "Ooh, she's got a mouth on her too," said another shorter but broad-shouldered guy wearing a baseball cap. "I like that. Makes it more fun when they fight a little." The driver reached for me, his fingers grazing my arm. I slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me!" "Playing hard to get?" He moved closer, pinning me against the tree. "That's cute." Emilia was still struggling against Tribal Tattoo's grip. "Liv, run! Just run!" "I'm not leaving you," I said, looking desperately around for anything I could use as a weapon. The driver pressed his body against mine; one hand braced on the tree beside my head. "Your friend's not going anywhere, and neither are you." His other hand reached for my breast. "Let's see if these feel as good as they look." I brought my knee up hard, aiming for his groin, but he twisted away at the last second. My knee glanced off his thigh. "Feisty bitch!" He grabbed my wrist, squeezing until I gasped in pain. Headlights suddenly illuminated the scene as another car screeched to a halt beside us. The engine cut off, and the driver's door opened. "Is there a problem here?" A deep voice cut through the night. A tall figure emerged from the shadows into the spill of a distant streetlight. Broad-shouldered and imposing in what looked like an expensive suit, he moved with a quiet confidence that commanded attention. "Mind your own business, man," Gold Tooth snarled, but I noticed he'd loosened his grip on my wrist. The newcomer stepped closer, and I caught my breath. Even in the dim light, I recognized him immediately. Alexander Carter. My boss's boss's boss. The CEO of Carter Enterprises, where I'd been working as a junior marketing executive for the past eight months. "I believe these ladies were telling you to leave them alone," he said, his voice calm but edged with steel. "I suggest you listen." Gold Tooth sneered. "What are you gonna do about it? There's four of us and one of you." Alexander didn't even blink. "True. But I've already called the police, and they're on their way. I'm sure they'd be interested to know about four drunk men assaulting two women on a public street." Tribal Tattoo finally released Emilia's hair, shoving her forward. "Whatever, man. These bitches ain't worth the trouble." Emilia stumbled toward me, and I caught her, pulling her close. "You okay?" I whispered. She nodded, rubbing her scalp. "Bastard nearly ripped my hair out." Gold Tooth took a step toward Carter, puffing out his chest. "You think you're some kind of hero? Rich boy in his fancy car?" Alexander simply stared him down, not moving an inch. "I think I'm someone who doesn't want to see two women harassed by drunken idiots. Now, you can leave on your own, or you can wait for the police. Your choice." For a tense moment, I thought Gold Tooth might throw a punch. Instead, he spat on the ground near Alexander's polished shoes. "Let's go," he muttered to his friends. "These sluts aren't worth jail time." They piled back into their convertible, engine roaring to life. Gold Tooth revved it aggressively before peeling away, tires screeching. Alexander turned to us. "Are you both all right?" Up close, he was even more intimidating than he was at company events. Tall, with sharp features and piercing gray eyes, he had the kind of face that belonged in business magazines, where it often appeared. Despite the late hour, his dark hair was neatly styled, not a strand out of place. "We're okay," I managed, suddenly conscious of my appearance: disheveled hair, makeup probably smeared from crying earlier, and this ridiculous dress that now felt like a terrible mistake. "Thank you for stopping." "Do you need a ride somewhere?" he asked, his eyes briefly dropping to my chest before snapping back to my face. "Our cab canceled," Emilia said, still rubbing her scalp. "And my boyfriend's not answering his phone." Alexander gestured to his car, a sleek black car. "I'm happy to drive you both home." I hesitated. This was Alexander Carter, the man who signed my paychecks and whose name was on the building where I worked. The man was known for his ruthless business tactics and cold demeanor. The last thing I needed was for him to realize I was one of his employees, especially looking like this. "That's very kind," I said carefully, "but we don't want to impose." "It's no imposition," he replied. "I'd rather not leave you out here after what just happened." Emilia looked at me with raised eyebrows, silently communicating: "Are you crazy? Free ride in a sleek car with a hot, rich guy? Say yes!" "If you're sure it's not too much trouble," I relented. "Not at all." He opened the backseat door. "Please." The car's interior was all black leather and gleaming surfaces. It smelled of expensive cologne and a new car, a heady combination that made my head spin—or maybe that was the adrenaline crash. "I'm Alexander Carter," he said as he slid behind the wheel. "Olivia," I replied, deliberately omitting my last name. "And this is Emilia." "Pleasure to meet you both, despite the circumstances." He started the engine, which purred to life. "Where am I taking you?" Emilia gave him her address first, and then I gave him mine. "Rough night?" he asked as we pulled away from the curb. Emilia snorted. "You could say that. We were at a birthday party where Liv caught her boyfriend banging the birthday girl." "Emilia!" I hissed, mortified. Alexander's eyes flicked to me in the rearview mirror. "I see. I'm sorry to hear that." "It's fine," I mumbled, wishing I could disappear into the leather seat. "It's not fine," Emilia insisted. "Ryan is a cheating scumbag who deserves to have his dick fall off." A small smile tugged at the corner of Alexander's mouth. "I take it Ryan is the ex-boyfriend?" "As of about a few minutes ago, yes," I confirmed, wondering why I was discussing my love life with my CEO. "Well, for what it's worth," he said, his eyes meeting mine briefly in the mirror again, "he sounds like an idiot." Chapter 4 Olivia's POV The car fell silent as we drove through the streets of Los Angeles, the city lights blurring past the windows. I studied Alexander's profile, the strong jaw, and straight nose, wondering why he'd stopped to help us. Everything I'd heard about him at work painted him as cold, distant, focused only on the bottom line. We reached Emilia's apartment building first. Alexander pulled up to the curb, the engine purring quietly as he shifted into park. "This is me," Emilia announced, gathering her purse. She leaned over to hug me, using the moment to whisper in my ear. "Holy fuck, Liv. He's hot as balls. If he wants to bang you senseless tonight, you better fucking do it. The best way to get over Ryan is to get under the CEO. Shit, those hands look like they know what they're doing." I pulled back, shooting her a death glare that could have melted steel. "What?" she mouthed innocently before turning to Alexander. "Thanks for the ride, knight in shining Armani. You're a lifesaver." "It was no trouble," he replied politely. Emilia opened the door, then paused to give me one last meaningful look. "Call me tomorrow with ALL the details." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Goodbye, Emilia," I said firmly, my cheeks burning. She blew me a kiss and slammed the door, sauntering toward her building with a little extra sway in her hips, no doubt for Alexander's benefit. As we pulled away, I sank deeper into the leather seat, mortified. "I'm so sorry about her. She has no filter." Alexander's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. "No need to apologize. She seems like a good friend." "The best," I admitted. "Even if she occasionally makes me want to strangle her." His lips quirked upward, almost a smile but not quite. "Those are often the best kinds of friends." We lapsed into silence as he navigated through the streets of Los Angeles. The city lights streamed past the windows, creating a kaleidoscope effect that matched my swirling thoughts. I caught Alexander glancing at me in the mirror a few times, his expression unreadable. "Left at the next light," I directed as we approached my neighborhood. He nodded, making the turn smoothly. "Here we are," he announced, pulling up to my apartment building. It wasn't fancy by LA standards but clean and in a decent area. I could just barely afford it on my junior executive salary. He turned off the engine and, to my surprise, got out to open my door. His hand extended to help me out, warm and solid as I took it. The contact sent an unexpected jolt up my arm. "Thank you again," I said, reluctantly letting go of his hand. "For everything tonight." Alexander studied me for a moment, his gray eyes intense. "I hope you're able to move past what happened tonight. Your boyfriend, or rather your ex-boyfriend, clearly didn't appreciate what he had." The unexpected kindness in his voice made my throat tighten. "I'll be fine," I managed. "I'm sure you will," he agreed. "Someone like you won't stay single for long unless you want to." I wasn't sure how to respond to that. Was Alexander Carter, CEO of Carter Enterprises, flirting with me? No, that was ridiculous. He was just being polite. "Goodnight, Olivia," he said, stepping back toward his car. "Goodnight, Alexander. And thank you for the ride." He nodded once, then slid back into his car. I watched as he drove away, his taillights disappearing around the corner before I turned and entered my building. The elevator ride to my fourth-floor apartment felt endless. My keys jangled in my shaking hands as I unlocked my door, stepping into the darkness of my living room. I flipped on the light, tossed my purse on the counter, and kicked off my heels. The silence of my apartment pressed in around me. Just hours ago, I'd been getting ready for what I thought would be a normal night out with my boyfriend. Now, everything had changed. I peeled off the black cocktail dress and threw it in the trash. Never again would I wear something just because a man told me it looked good on me. In my bathroom, I scrubbed off my makeup. The woman in the mirror looked tired, her eyes red-rimmed but clear. I pulled on an oversized t-shirt and fell onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, probably Ryan finally realizing what he'd lost. I ignored it. Why had he done it? Two years together, and he throws it all away for Sophia? Had he been sleeping with her all along? The signs had been there: the late nights at work, the sudden business trips, the way his phone was always face-down when I was around. I'd trusted him completely. What a fool I'd been. My phone buzzed again. This time, I glanced at it. Emilia. "You home safe? Did Mr. CEO make a move? Please say yes." I texted back: "Yes, I'm home. No, he didn't. Go to sleep." Her response was immediate: "Boring! But seriously, you okay?" "I will be," I replied and realized I meant it. I tossed my phone onto the nightstand and stared at the ceiling, my mind racing despite my exhaustion. Sleep seemed impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ryan thrusting into Sophia, her smug face, his pathetic excuses. "Fuck," I whispered to the empty room. "Two years down the drain." I rolled over, burying my face in my pillow. Two years of holidays, family gatherings, inside jokes—all tainted now. But something else kept intruding on my thoughts: Alexander Carter's piercing gray eyes in the rearview mirror. Alexander Carter. My CEO. The man I'd just met while looking like a complete disaster. "He probably won't even remember me tomorrow," I muttered, flipping onto my back again. "Why would he? He's Alexander fucking Carter." The ceiling offered no answers. I'd worked at Carter Enterprises for eight months and never once spoken to him. I'd seen him striding through the lobby, standing at podiums during company-wide meetings, his face on the company website and annual reports. Always distant. Always untouchable. And now he'd seen me at my absolute worst, heartbroken in a slutty dress. "Great first impression, Olivia. Really professional." I snorted at my own sarcasm. It was as if Alexander Carter would ever connect the disheveled woman he'd rescued with Olivia Morgan, a junior marketing executive. Our worlds didn't intersect. He inhabited the executive floor with its panoramic views of Los Angeles. At the same time, I worked in my cubicle fifteen floors below, crafting social media campaigns for products I could barely afford. I pulled the covers over my head, trying to force sleep to come. But my brain had other ideas, conjuring an image of running into Alexander in the office elevator. Would he recognize me? Would I have the courage to thank him again? Would he look at me with those intense gray eyes and see past the professional facade to the woman he'd rescued? "As if," I mumbled into my pillow. "He probably rescues women from creeps every weekend. It's probably a rich guy's hobby." But what if he did remember me? What if our paths crossed in the office cafeteria or during a presentation? What would I say? Chapter 5 Alexander's POV I parked my car in the circular driveway of my parent's estate, taking a moment to prepare myself for the inevitable Carter family dynamics. Sunday dinner at the Carter mansion, a tradition as old as the oak trees lining the property, was something I both dreaded and looked forward to. The mansion stood like a monument to old money, with stone façades and manicured gardens that screamed, "We've had wealth for generations." My phone buzzed with an email from work, but I ignored it. Work could wait, but family obligations couldn't, especially when Grandfather Harold was involved. I straightened my tie and headed inside, where Martha, our longtime housekeeper, greeted me with a warm smile. "Mr. Alexander, everyone's waiting in the drawing room. Your grandfather arrived early." That was never a good sign. Grandfather arriving early meant he had an agenda. "Is Victoria here?" I asked, handing Martha my coat. "Yes, sir. With her husband. They arrived about an hour ago." Perfect. My cousin Victoria and her investment banker husband Thomas, the power couple who never let anyone forget how perfect their life was. The drawing room buzzed with conversation that stopped when I entered. Mother rose from her seat, elegant as always in her pearl necklace and tailored dress. "Alexander, darling. We were beginning to worry." I kissed her cheek. "Traffic was terrible. Sorry, I'm late." Father nodded from his armchair, whiskey in hand. "Son." That was Father, a man of few words unless discussing business or golf. Victoria sat perched on the antique sofa, her husband's arm draped around her shoulder in that possessive way I found irritating. My sister Valentina was there, too, scrolling through her phone. But it was Grandfather Harold who commanded the room from his wheelchair. At seventy-eight, he might have lost some mobility but none of his mental sharpness or business acumen. "Alexander," he barked. "Sit down. We need to talk." I took a seat across from him. "Good to see you too, Grandfather." "Don't get smart with me, boy. I've been waiting." Victoria smirked. "Some of us manage to arrive on time, cousin dear." I ignored her. "What's this about? I thought this was just dinner." Grandfather Harold waved his hand dismissively. "Dinner can wait. This is about the future of Carter Enterprises." The room fell silent. When Grandfather talked about the company's future, everyone paid attention. He'd built Carter Enterprises from a small family business into a corporate empire and, at seventy-eight, still held the controlling stake. "I've been updating my will," he announced. Mother gasped softly. Father set down his whiskey. "Oh, relax; I'm not dying yet," Grandfather snapped. "Just getting my affairs in order. And I've made some decisions about the company shares." I leaned forward. As CEO, I had a significant stake in the company, but Grandfather's controlling shares would eventually determine who truly ran Carter Enterprises. "Alexander," he fixed his steely gaze on me. "You've done well as CEO. Profits are up. The board is happy. But there's something missing." "Missing?" I frowned. "Our last quarter was our best in five years." "I'm not talking about business." He thumped his cane on the floor. "I'm talking about family. Stability. A legacy." Victoria's husband coughed discreetly. Victoria's smile widened. "What exactly are you saying, Grandfather?" Harold Carter leaned forward in his wheelchair. "I'm saying that to inherit my controlling shares in Carter Enterprises, you need to be married within six months." The room exploded in reactions. Mother gasped again. Father actually put down his drink. Valentina looked up from her phone. Victoria burst into delighted laughter. "Married?" I stared at him. "You can't be serious." "Dead serious." Grandfather's expression didn't change. "Carter Enterprises has always been family-run. Family means stability. Commitment." "I'm committed to the company!" "But not to anything or anyone else." Grandfather shook his head. "You're thirty-three, Alexander. Your relationships last shorter than some of our quarterly reports." Victoria couldn't contain herself. "Oh, this is priceless. Is Alexander getting married? He can't even keep a girlfriend past the three-month mark." "Thank you for that astute observation, Victoria," I said, forcing a smile. "Always a pleasure to have your support." Uncle Richard, Victoria's father, chuckled from the corner of the room. "The boy does have a track record." "A track record?" My father set his tumbler down with more force than necessary. "Last year, we selected a perfectly suitable woman for him. The engagement was announced in the Times, for God's sake. And then what happened, Alexander?" I loosened my tie slightly. "Dad—" "He canceled it two weeks before the wedding," Father continued, addressing the room like I wasn't there. "The merger nearly fell apart because of it." Aunt Patricia gasped dramatically. "Penelope Langford? Such a lovely girl and from a good family. What a shame." "She wasn't right for me," I said firmly. Valentina finally looked up from her phone. "He didn't like her. Said she reminded him of a corporate spreadsheet – technically perfect but utterly boring." "Thank you for sharing that, Val," I muttered. My sister shrugged and went back to her phone. "Just telling it like it is." Grandfather Harold thumped his cane again. "Enough! The terms are simple. Alexander marries within six months, or Victoria receives my controlling stake in the company." Victoria nearly spilled her champagne in excitement. "Really, Grandfather? You'd give me control?" Her husband Thomas straightened his posture, dollar signs practically visible in his eyes. "I didn't build this company for forty years to watch it get dismantled by your husband's investment firm," Grandfather snapped at Victoria. "But at least you understand commitment." I stood up, pacing the Persian rug. "This is absurd. You're reducing the future of our family business to whether or not I get married? What century is this?" "The century where actions have consequences," Grandfather replied. "Victoria may be insufferable—" "Hey!" Victoria protested. "—but she's stable. Married. Committed." Victoria's smirk returned. "Face it, Alexander. You couldn't commit to a woman if your life depended on it. Now your career does, and we all know how that's going to end." Something snapped inside me. I'd tolerated Victoria's barbs for years, but this was different. This was my life's work at stake. "You know what, Victoria? You're wrong." "Am I?" She swirled her champagne. "Name one relationship you've had that lasted longer than a corporate quarterly report." My cousin Matthew, who'd been silently watching the drama unfold, whistled low. "She's got you there, Alex." I straightened my shoulders. "I'll do it. I'll get married within six months." The room fell silent again. "To whom?" Father asked skeptically. "I'll figure that out." Victoria burst into laughter. "Oh, this is too good! Alexander Carter, CEO and eligible bachelor, desperately seeking a wife. Should we put an ad in the classifieds?" Her husband joined in. "Maybe we should start interviewing candidates. Create a shortlist." "I don't need help finding someone," I said through gritted teeth. Aunt Elizabeth, who'd been quietly knitting in the corner, looked up. "What about that nice PR director at your company? Jennifer, something?" "She's married, Mother," Victoria said. "Oh. Well, what about your assistant?" "I'm not marrying my assistant, Aunt Elizabeth." Grandfather Harold raised his hand for silence. "The terms are set. Six months from today." Uncle Richard raised his glass. "To Alexander's impending nuptials! May he find a bride before Victoria gets his office." Victoria clinked glasses with her father. "I'm already planning where to put my new desk." I clenched my jaw. "Enjoy the fantasy while it lasts, cousin. I'm not losing the company." "Six months, Alexander," Grandfather reminded me. "The clock starts now." Chapter 6 Olivia I slept fitfully, my mind a carousel of images: Ryan's shocked face, Sophia's smug smirk, and, oddly, Alexander Carter's piercing gray eyes watching me in the rearview mirror. The weekend crawled by in a haze. I spent most of the time curled up on my couch, binging old movies, eating takeout, and ignoring the world, especially Ryan's desperate attempts to reach me. I let myself grieve, but by Sunday night, I was done crying; Ryan didn't deserve another tear. Monday morning arrived with brutal efficiency. I dragged myself into the shower, letting the hot water pound away the remnants of Friday night's disaster. No tears; I'd shed enough of those already. Ryan didn't deserve them. I wrapped myself in a towel and stared at my closet. What does one wear after catching their boyfriend balls-deep in another woman? I opted for armor: a crisp white blouse, a black pencil skirt, and highest heels. The kind of outfit that said, "I'm fine, fuck you very much." The cab ride to Carter Enterprises took twenty minutes. I spent it scrolling through Ryan's increasingly desperate texts. "Baby, please let me explain" "It was a mistake." "Call me." "I love YOU, not her." Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete. Carter Enterprises occupied a gleaming sixty-story tower in downtown Los Angeles. I'd been working there for eight months as a junior marketing executive, and despite the drama of my personal life imploding, I still felt a flutter of pride walking through those glass doors. The elevator whisked me to the 42nd floor. I stepped into the marketing department, where Nova was already at her desk, sipping her usual triple-shot espresso. "Morning, sunshine!" she called, then squinted at me. "You look different. New lipstick?" "New life status. Single." I dropped my bag at my desk. Before Nova could respond, Vivian breezed in, her red curls bouncing as she walked. "Ladies, you won't believe the email I just got. Apparently, the big boss himself will be sitting in on our presentation this week." "Alexander Carter?" I nearly choked on the words. "The one and only," Vivian confirmed, perching on the edge of my desk. "Why do you look like you've seen a ghost? It's not like you'll have to talk to him." If only she knew. "I'm just surprised," I managed. "He doesn't usually attend department presentations." Alice arrived last, as usual, balancing a stack of folders and her phone. "Sorry, I'm late. The barista got my order wrong twice. What did I miss?" "Alexander Carter's coming to our presentation, and Olivia's single," Nova summarized. Alice's eyes widened. "What? Which one should I address first?" "The presentation," I said quickly. "It's more important." "Like hell it is," Nova swiveled her chair to face me fully. "Spill it, Morgan. What happened with Ryan?" I sighed, lowering my voice. "I caught him fucking Sophia at her birthday party." All three women froze. "Sophia Santos? The one whose party you rushed off to?" Vivian clarified, her mouth hanging open. I nodded. "That backstabbing cunt," Nova breathed. "I hope his dick falls off," Alice added, patting my shoulder. "That's almost verbatim what Emilia said," I laughed despite myself. "What did you do?" Vivian leaned in, hungry for details. "I dumped him on the spot and left. End of story." "Good for you," Nova said firmly. "You deserve someone who knows what he has." "Preferably someone with a bigger dick and a functioning moral compass," Alice suggested. "Can we please focus on work now?" I begged. "I have the social media analytics to finish before lunch." They reluctantly returned to their desks, but I caught them shooting me concerned glances throughout the morning. I buried myself in spreadsheets and engagement metrics, grateful for the distraction. The last thing I needed was to think about that night, including my unexpected encounter with Alexander Carter. The CEO of Carter Enterprises wasn't just my boss; he was a legend in the business world. Cold, calculating, brilliant. He'd taken his grandfather's company and transformed it into a multinational corporation in less than a decade. The tabloids occasionally linked him with models or actresses, but he was notoriously private. And I really, really didn't want him to connect the dots between the disheveled woman he'd rescued and Olivia Morgan, a junior marketing executive. At lunch, we headed to the company cafeteria on the 30th floor. I scanned the room instinctively, relaxing when I didn't spot any tall, dark-haired executives. "So," Vivian said as we settled at our usual table, "tell us more about Friday. You rushed out of here like your ass was on fire." I poked at my salad. "Not much to tell. I got to the party, couldn't find Ryan, went looking for him, and found him bent over Sophia's dresser, drilling her like he was looking for oil." Nova snorted water through her nose. "Jesus, Liv! Warning next time." "What did you say?" Alice asked, leaning forward. "I asked if they'd been 'careful' and reminded him that monogamy is apparently very limiting." I stabbed a cherry tomato. "Then I told him to go fuck himself. Or Sophia. Whichever." "Queen shit," Vivian raised her water bottle in a toast. "To Olivia, who doesn't take crap from cheating assholes." "To Olivia," the others echoed. "Anything else interesting happened?" Alice asked. "Did you key his car? Throw drinks? Create a scene?" I hesitated. "No, nothing like that. Emilia and I just left." I couldn't bring myself to mention Alexander. It felt too surreal, too private somehow. The next few days passed in a blur of work and ignored calls from Ryan. I threw myself into the upcoming presentation, staying late to perfect the slides and rehearse my talking points. If Alexander Carter was going to be there, everything needed to be flawless. Not that he'd recognize me. He probably rescued women from creeps all the time. Why would he remember one random encounter? Thursday morning, I arrived early to set up the conference room. Our presentation on the new social media campaign was scheduled for 10 AM, and my stomach had been in knots since I woke up. "Relax," Nova said, adjusting the projector. "Carter probably won't even show up. These executives always have 'emergencies' that pull them away." "And if he does show up, he'll be on his phone the whole time," Vivian added, straightening the chairs. Alice arrived with a tray of coffee. "Or he'll leave halfway through. That's what happened at the last sales presentation." Their attempts at reassurance weren't helping. I couldn't shake the image of Alexander recognizing me, his eyebrows rising in surprise as he connected the dots between professional Olivia Morgan and the emotional wreck he'd driven home. By 9:55, the room was filled with marketing staff and a few executives I recognized from other departments. I took my position near the front, reviewing my notes one last time. At exactly 10 AM, the room fell silent. I looked up to see Alexander Carter striding through the door, followed by two assistants. He was even more imposing in his natural habitat with a charcoal suit perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders, and his presence commanded attention effortlessly. He nodded to the room and took a seat in the back row. I quickly looked down at my notes, my heart hammering against my ribs. ========= 👉 (When you open the App, it will automatically jump to the book.)
CHAPTER 1: DAISY The Moon Goddess did not tell me that on my 18th birthday, the gift she gave me was not my mate, but rather the devil. My hands were shaking violently, and my heart hammered loudly against my chest as I held the phone that I just snatched from Asher. Disbelief slammed into me and my jaw dropped open as I watched the video playing on the phone. It was a sex video of me…and Lucas. Last night, in the forest behind the pack house, I gave my virginity to Lucas. He was the Alpha's son, the love of my life, my perfect boyfriend. My first sexual experience didn't turn out to be great, it was pain. My body ached all over and I still felt sore from it. But that hadn't matter to me yesterday. What mattered was that I had given Lucas what he wanted and my boyfriend had seemed to be happy. But why was there a video? And how the hell did Asher have this video? I took a deep breath, pushing past the sting of tears in my eyes as I looked up at Asher. He stepped back when he saw the anger in my eyes, and pointed to Ryan beside him. “This has nothing to do with me. He shared the video in our chat group.” My stomach swopped, and it was getting harder for me to breathe. “Chat group?” I repeated. Was Asher referring to the same chat group that included all the young people in out pack? It couldn't be, right? My hands were trembling badly now, and I was barely able to hold on to the damn phone. I turned to face Ryan. Ryan raised his hands and took a step back. “Wow. Don't look at me with such a terrifying stare. It was your boyfriend who sent the video to me. Who knew the Beta's daughter was actually a bitch,” he smirked. Condensation was heavy in his voice as he winked at me, but I didn't care. My head was spinning from the weight of his confession. Before I could say anything though, someone interrupted us. “What are you guys doing here?” The familiar voice suddenly came from behind me. Lucas, the son of Alpha, my beloved, and now, I even dare not turn my head to look at him. How could I, when he has taken my trust and dashed it to the ground? Asher was the one who spoke. “Sorry, bro. She found out about the video when Ryan. and I were watching,” he said. There was a tinge of apology in his voice, and my stomach curled further. Luca's footsteps got closer and stopped behind me. There was a stabbing pain in my chest, and it was rapidly spreading through the rest of my body. My vision blurred from the haze of pain that has gathered around me, and I couldn't breathe. My breath came in gasps. Bands of lead seemed to have been wrapped around my lungs, and it was taking all of my willpower to remain standing. Lucas was still standing beside me, but he was strangely quiet. I didn't look at him, but I tried to will him into speaking. Say something, Lucas. Fucking say something! “Damn it,” he eventually growled. His voice shattered the weird and taut silence that had settled between us, and I held my breathe as I waited for him to give me an explanation that made sense. It had to be a mistake. I mean, Lucas couldn't have intentionally shared that video, right? I was his girlfriend. He said he loved me! “I specifically warned you guys to not let her find out. I wanted to enjoy her a few more time. But now you've ruined it all,” he snapped at his friends. The remaining part of me that was still holding on to a shred of hope shriveled away and died at his words. I looked at him then, unable to believe my ears, and the tears I had been pushing back finally slid down my face. Hatred and anger surged in me as I stared at him. He looked as handsome as ever, but how could he say those fucking words right beside me? Lucas held my gaze as he grinned. His eyes twinkled with amusement, and i wanted the ground to open up and swallow me at the disgust in his eyes. “Whatever though. It wasn't a great loss. I mean, her body is as boring as she is. I'm sure there is someone out there that is more…suitable than this one,” he said softly. Then Lucas leaned down, patted me on the cheeks, and walked away. My entire world crumbled. ~ “What the hell did you think you were doing?” My father yelled as he slammed his hand against the desk. I flinched at how cold and harsh his voice was, and his words were sharp enough that they landed on my skin like blades, cutting me deeper than I would have wanted. I swallowed past the lump in my throat as I spoke. “I am sorry, Father. I had no idea that Lucas would…do something like that. I…I thought he loved me,” I whimpered. My father's eyes blazed red as he looked down on me. “This is not about Lucas! This is about you! Do you know the amount of shame and disgust you've brought on me? On the family? The council members referred to me as a spineless wolf. They say I am incapable of raising a daughter. How could you have done that to me?!” he snapped. My chest caved at his words. I had heard the whispers too. As I made my way back from school where I had seen the video, the girls had pointed and giggled at me. The boys looked smug, and I could only imagine how disgusting their thoughts and opinion about me was. But to have my father be insulted as an extension of what I did? That hurt more that they would ever know. “I am sorry. I am so sorry. I promise to clean up my mess. I won't…I will be a better daughter,” I whispered. My father scoffed at my words as he paced his study. “And how exactly are you planning to clean up the mess, Daisy?” he asked. I shook my head, tears sliding down my face in torrents. His disappointment hit me square in the chest, and I wished I could turn back the hands of time and undo everything. “I'm sorry,” I whispered again. I had no more words to say. Shame had worn my skin like a suit, and it was clinging to me with no chance of ever leaving. “I know you are, but that doesn't change what you did. You have brought shame to me, to the family, and to the pack. You are a shame and a disgrace to me. If your mother hadn't died, maybe you wouldn't have turned out this way,” he spat at me. I froze at his words. “Turn out which way, Father?” My voice came out sharper than I intended, but my Father didn't miss a beat as he responded. “Maybe if she was still alive, you wouldn't have turned out to be a whore!” he snapped. My knees buckled as those words settled around me. I stared at my Father with my jaw hanging open, and it felt as though he had just reached into my chest, ripped out my heart and stomped on it. Pain wrapped around me, threatening to suffocate me. I rapidly blinked back hot, bitter tears. “I am not a whore. I am not a whore and you know it,” I managed to whisper, my voice hoarse. My father smiled then, a bitter, harsh thing that scraped along my skin. “Yes, you are, Daisy. Deny it all you want, but everyone in the Pack knows it now. They are all talking about you, and I will not sit back and let you ruin everything I have been working for for years,” he paused and took a deep breath before he dropped the bombshell. “In the face of protecting the Family's reputation, I have come to a decision. You are no longer a member of my family. You are no longer a member of this Pack, and you are not my daughter. I disown you, Daisy.” CHAPTER 2: DAISY ‘I disown you.’ ‘You are no longer my daughter.’ Those words echoed in my brain and circled around in my head repeatedly. Tears bubbled out of my eyes and down my face, and I couldn't see anything as I walked. But I didn't stop walking. I walked and walked, pushing my legs past their comfort zone. Pain lanced through my legs, but I didn't stop. I had no idea where I was going, and I frankly didn't care. Every breath I took was a punishment, a reminder that the world kept moving forward even when my entire life had just ended. All because I loved a boy. All because I wanted him to love me back. Pain and grief at the life I had just lost wrapped around me like a shroud, and a part of me knew that I would never ever recover from this. But still I walked. That was all that was left for me to do, now that I had been disgracefully sent out of the Pack with nothing but the clothes on my back. As I walked, I didn't pay any heed to my environment. So when I heard footsteps and voices floating towards me, I froze. I had no idea what part of the woods I was, only that I had walked a long distance away from home. My heart started to pound anew in my chest as I walked closer to the voices, and I tried to be as silent as possible. If Lucas and his friends had trailed me up to this point again, then there would be no escape for me. But the closer I got, the clearer the voices were. And the people speaking were not boys. No. They were men. I crouched down and moved closer, the pounding in my chest making it hard for me to hear anything. I had no idea if these men were wolves like I was, but if they were, then I had to be very very careful. Still I got closer, until I could see them clearly. Four large, muscular men, sitting round a fire. They were bundled in furs that looked and was probably expensive, and they laughed and they ate what looked like meat. A frown furrowed on my face. Who could they be? Merchants? Foreigners? Wolves from other Packs? “You can't possibly think that they don't know you're here, do you?” a voice drawled behind me. Startled, I jumped as I whirled around, and my heart threatened to fall out of my chest. The man who had spoken was leaning against a tree, and his face was expressionless. He looked bored, and my heart stuttered in my chest at how beautiful he was. But most importantly, I had to take a step back from him. Because I know who he was, and if he decided that I wasn't worth his time, he could very well decide to kill me. “What are you doing here?” I asked, the question scraping along my throat as I spoke. He raised his eyebrows at me. “You know who I am,” he stated. His words weren't a question. It was a statement. I swallowed a lump in my throat. Of course I knew who he was. Everyone in school knew who he was, and I had seen pictures of him shared from one group chat to the other. Half of the girls in school had a massive crush on him. I wondered how they would react if they knew that Kai Thornefall was even more good looking in flesh. When he realised that I wasn't going to say anything, Kai went on. “What are you doing here, Princess?” he asked. “I…I am not a princess,” I said quietly, my voice coming out lower than I intended. “You are clearly not from here. You reek of tears and sadness, and you are way too fragile to be a warrior. So you're either the only daughter of an Alpha who lost her way while flower hunting, or you're a spy. Which one are you?” My jaw dropped open at his explanation and how totally wrong he was. But since he had no idea who I was, i figured that it would be better if I left now. Once news spread about what I did, he might end out finding out. And I wouldn't want the Lycan King to hear about how disgusting I was, right? “I'm sorry if I am interrupting anything. I had no idea that I had wandered into your territory. I'll leave now,” I said quietly. Kai said nothing, and I was about to leave when he spoke again. “Which Pack are you from?” he asked. My heart stopped beating at his words. If I told him the truth and he found out what happened, my shame would extend into the headquarters where he stayed. And rumors might even end up filtering into other neighbouring Packs. Lucas would most definitely be praised for being a man, and I…I would become a universal laughing stock. I shook my head at his question. “I'm sorry, but I don't think where I come from is any of your business. Like I said earlier, I am more than happy to leave,” I insisted, and my voice came out firmer than before. I had to protect my pride from this man. He was the King, afterall. Even if it was weird that he was standing in the middle of the woods and exchanging words with me right now. Kai cocked his head to the side as he regarded me in silence. My heart flickered slightly at the intensity of his gaze, but I held my ground. The Lycan King might be terrifying, but he wasn't going to bully me into telling him my deepest and most shameful secret. “You are weak, and something clearly happened to you. Your eyes are puffy from crying so much, but you're too stubborn to tell me who you are or what you're doing in my woods. You are too proud to be a runway, and too stubborn to be a spy. Tell me what you are, Princess,” he insisted. Surprise slammed into me at how perceptive he was, and I took a step back in a bid to put some distance between us. My wolf was whining and trying to tell me something, but I shut her out. Not now. “I already told you that I will leave now —” I stared to say, but he interrupted me. “Who hurt you?” he asked curtly. I froze. Pain flickered in my eyes at his words, and his eyes narrowed at my reaction. Kai took a step closer, and his expression shifted from blandness into what looked like confusion. He inhaled slowly, as if he was tasting the air between us. I was about to take another step away when he spoke again. “Don't move.” His voice was low, and it was threaded with an emotion I didn't understand. Something about the way he spoke make the hairs on my arms rise, and the whining of my wolf got stronger. “You are going to answer each and every question now, Princess. And don't tell me that it's none of my business, because it is. Whoever hurts my mate is my enemy too. Now tell me the truth. Who. Made. You. Cry?” The entire world tilted at his words. Did Kai Thornefall, Lycan King of all werewolves, just call me his…Mate? CHAPTER 3: KAI I watched as her eyes narrowed at me, and disbelief wafted off her in waves. She snorted at my words, folding her arms on her chest as she held my gaze. “Mate? I am your mate?” My wolf growled as I took a step closer to her. The mate scent clung to her, and it was taking all of my willpower to keep my wolf from taking over and ravishing her. “Why is that so hard for you to believe, Princess?” I drawled. I drew closer to her still, unable to resist her draw. She took a step away from me, and beneath the sadness wrapped around her like a cloak, a spark of curiosity burned. She shook her head at me. “I don't know what you are talking about or what games you're up to, but I am not your mate. I can't be,” she countered. I stopped walking. “Why?” “I…I just can't. You don't even know me. You don't know who I am, or where I came from. You don't know anything about me! You think you can just decide to mess with my head just because I am a harmless girl alone in the woods?” she snapped. Her body was trembling with anger, and her hands curled into fists. My guess was right then. Someone had hurt this girl badly, and whatever it was that happened was the only reason why she was standing at the edge of my territory. Possessiveness burned through my bones. Whoever had hurt her was my enemy now. But she was right. I knew nothing about her, and she was refusing to answer any of my questions. If I wanted to know the truth about her strange but welcome presence, then I needed to make her trust me. If not fully, then for a little while. So I laid my guard down and made myself very very still. Then I spoke. “Release your wolf's sense of smell and take a sniff at me,” I ordered. The girl's confusion deepened, and she looked at me as if I had lost my mind. “Why?” “Just do it,” I snapped. She sighed. Her body went lax as her wolf took over, and I saw it the moment the mate scent hit her. She staggered back, shocked and surprised. “You…you're my mate?” she gasped. “I am.” “But…how? It makes no sense. I can't…I can't be anybody's mate. Trust me, you don't want to be my mate. I wouldn't mind if you reject me. I'll just…leave,” she rambled. My brows furrowed into a frown. “Reject you? Why would I do that?” She shook her head at me but said nothing else. I told a deep breath and tried again. “What is your name, Princess?” I asked, softly this time. She was silent for a long, tiny beat before she responded. “Daisy. My name is Daisy.” I felt a thrill of victory at her words. Her name was as perfect as she was. Beautiful. Fragile. I took another step closer to her, carefully watching to see if she was going to bolt. “Good girl. Now listen to me, Princess. You are my mate, as I am yours. It doesn't matter if we don't know each other, we have all the time in the world to learn. I definitely will not be rejecting you,” I said and paused. She had no idea how precious she was to me. Werewolves didn’t see mates with the same reverence we did as Lycans. The chances of a Lycan ever finding their mate was slim. We lived far longer lives and our mates could be any species: human, witch, werewolf. The chances of us ever meeting were astronomically low. Most Lycans formed partnerships with friends, had children and moved on. It was what my parents did, it was what I thought I’d have to do. She was a fucking miracle, and she didn’t even realize it. I went on with my speech. “Someone hurt you. Tell me who it is. Tell me what happened,” I prompted. She looked away from me. “What happened is in the Past. It doesn't matter,” she said quietly. Tears formed in her eyes and I watched as she blinked rapidly, trying to stop them from falling. I looked at her, using my wolf senses to really take her in. She was sad and heartbroken, that was evident enough. But underneath that sadness was anger. Rage. Her clothes were torn in some places, probably snagged on thorns. And her feet were dirty like she had been walking for a long while. Her words from earlier floated back into my mind. You don't want me as a mate. I wouldn't mind if you reject me. I can't be anybody's mate. The pieces clicked together in my head, and I went still as cold rage slammed into me. My wolf growled in anger as I stalked towards her without warning. I gripped her face and turned her to face me. “Who is he?” I rasped. Daisy's eyes widened as she realised that I had figured out what happened. Maybe not the whole truth, but enough. “What is his name, Daisy?” I asked again, a growl accompanying my words this time. She swallowed past a lump in her throat before she answered. “He's our…Alpha's son. His name is Lucas.” I went deathly still at that. Of all the Alphas under my jurisdiction, there was only one man who had a son named Lucas. The Alpha of the Northern Pack. A savage smile stretched across my lips. The Alpha of the Northern pack had been in knee deep in shit with me for some time now. I had been watching him for the past year, trying to get enough evidence to lawfully strip him of his title. I could do it without proof, but it would strain my relationship with the other packs. The last thing I needed was to have every Alpha terrified that I would come for their title. But his son had hurt my mate. And even though she didn't know it yet, her anger was simmering underneath her pain. She would be the perfect partner I needed to take the Northern Pack down. “Help me,” I deadpanned. My mate turned to me with furrowed brows. “What?” “Lucas hurt you. I want his father gone. Help me, and I will help you,” I stated. Daisy shook her head at me. “I’m not going back to that pack.” “You don't have to go back to the Pack, Princess. Accept the mate bond, and I will help you.” She eased herself away from my grip. “That sounds too easy. You don't even know the full story,” she objected. I cocked my head to the side and held her gaze. “Fuck the full story. It doesn't matter. You want him to pay, don't you?” I asked. She said nothing, but I saw the answer in her eyes. I went on. “Accept the mate bond and I will make all your revenge fantasies come true.” “And why should I trust you?” I reached out and ran my hand down her cheek. Her lips parted at the touch and she shuddered, but she didn't move away. “Because you are my mate, Princess. And I will do anything for you,” I whispered. “I want Lucas dead,” she whispered back. Her eyes burned with fire, and my smile grew wider. “Whatever you want, Princess.” Daisy was silent for a long while. I said nothing, only waited for her to come to a conclusion. “If you kill him, I’ll do whatever you want,” she eventually said. I held out a hand to her. “You have a deal.” CHAPTER 4: DAISY I followed Kai back to the headquarters. It was where his Pack was situated. His home. Turned out that the men I saw sitting on logs of woods and eating were his sentries. Before we started the journey, Kai had exchanged a few, curt words with them. I had no idea what they spoke about, but the men had glanced at me in surprise. They said nothing though, and as we all made the journey home, my mind whirled with thoughts. Kai Thornefall was my mate. If the scent hadn't hit me when he asked me to sniff, I would not have believed him. But he was my mate, and my wolf was purring from the revelation. I took a deep breath and decided to have a short conversation with her. “Can we trust this guy?” I asked. She snorted at my question. “Of course. He is your mate, Daisy. And mates are always loyal. Especially considering the fact that he is a Lycan.” “But I haven't accepted or activated the mate bond yet. How do I know he's not contacting our Pack right now and selling us out?” I insisted. I could feel my wolf’s exasperation as she responded. “He's not. You heard him, he needs you to deal with Lucas's father, and you need him to get rid of that slime ball for you. Is that not so?” Her words made sense, but still, I hesitated. “But…” “No buts, Daisy. Kai is good people. And he's your mate. You should be lucky that you found him,” she concluded. My wolf severed the mind link between us, effectively ending the conversation, and I sighed slightly. I suppose she was right. Kai suddenly stopped walking and reached out for my hand. My hand slid into his perfectly, like it was made for that participation gesture. My heart rate quickened at the touch, but if Kai was as rattled as I was at the contact, he wasn't showing it. “Welcome to your new home, Princess,” he drawled softly. I looked up, and my eyes settled on a large, seemingly unending wall. It was a fence, and from where we stood, I could see a mansion rising high above other buildings. Even from where I stood, the mansion, everything looked beautiful. Cozy. It looked nothing like my Pack. My breathe got caught in my throat. “It's so…large,” I managed to say. Kai laughed at the expression of awe on my face, and he pulled me forward. Other sentries stood in front of a large gate, probably the main entrance, and they saluted us — Kai — as we walked past. Kai gave me an informal tour as we walked in, listing out which building was which. I half listened to him, my attention split into two as I looked at the people instead. We were almost at the mansion I saw earlier when a girl stopped before us, halting our movements. “Hi there.” The girl wore a long floral dress that trailed behind her. Her hair hung down her shoulders in curls and her eyes were a kaleidoscope of colors. From one angle, it looked green, from another, it was brown. “I’m Scarlett, Kai’s cousin,” she smiled softly as she stared at me. “What’s your name?” She didn't even look at Kia as she spoke. I glanced at him, unsure if I should answer or not. There was a small smile on his face, so I took it as a good sign. “Daisy, my name is Daisy.” “It’s a pleasure to meet you. You are so beautiful,” she gushed, and I blushed heavily at the compliment. “Get out of the way and stop bothering us, Scar. My Mate need to rest,” he quipped. She rolled her eyes at him, clucking her tongue before turning back to face me. “I am so glad that you are here. The entire Pack has kind of been holding their breath on the whole Mate thing,” she stated, and a part of me wondered why she didn't look cautious at all. I suddenly felt defensive. “I'm sorry but, you don't even know if I have a hidden agenda for being here or something,” I stated, and my voice came out sharper than intended. Kai chuckled at my words but said nothing, and Scarlett grinned at me. “You're so feisty. You and I are going to be such great friends,” she gushed, waving my words away like they meant nothing. I frowned at her. She was acting as though we've known each other for years. Someone sensible would have been suspicious of me, but she seemed perfectly at ease. It was very out of character for a stranger, and for a Lycan. I’d never met one up close, but I heard they’re the most guarded species. They never let people in—ever. “Careful. I could be a spy,” I snapped. Scarlett laughed. “You’re not a threat to me. And you're Kai's mate. He wouldn't have brought you home if you were going to do anything dangerous. I trust him, and in extension, I trust you. You're one of us,” she stated simply. I sighed. There was no point in carrying on with the conversation. “Nice to meet you, Scarlett,” I eventually said. She winked at me and Kai eventually spoke. “Go bother someone else. She needs to rest,” he ordered. Scarlett patted me on the shoulder. “See you around, Flower girl,” and walked away. I shook my head at her retreating figure. “Are you always that defensive?” Kai asked as he led me into the mansion. I shrugged. “I am a stranger.” “You are my mate,” he countered. “It doesn't hurt to be a little bit careful,” I shrugged. Kai chuckled. “You want us to be terrified of you?” he asked. I shook my head at him but said nothing. He was still holding my hand, and somehow, the gesture felt natural. “Here. This will be your room. At least for now,” he said as he stopped before a door. I pushed it open and walked inside, gently easing my hand out of his grip. The room was large and sparse, but it was beautiful. I turned back to face him. “Thank you, Kai,” I said softly. If my father could see me now, he would be shocked. Hours ago, I was shamed and disgraced, sent out of my own Pack. Yet here I was, Mate to the Lycan King. How fast the tables had turned. Kai slowly walked towards me. “You just called me by my name,” he said quietly, stopping right before me. I cocked my head to the side. “What do you want me to call you instead?” I asked. My words came out as breathy, probably from the way he was standing so close to me. Kai leaned in, bringing his face closer to mine. “I like the way you say my name. Say it again,” he whispered. He was staring at me so intensely that a thrill ran down my spine. The Lycan King. Standing before me. I felt bold, my shame from what happened at my Pack slowly fading away. I was his mate. I was Kai's mate. I leaned in closer, until there was barely an inch of space between us. Then I spoke. “Organise our mating ceremony, Kai. We have a Pack to exact revenge against." ========= 👉 (When you open the App, it will automatically jump to the book.)
Chapter 1 Olivia's POV I slumped against the passenger seat as Ryan's car cruised through the palm-lined streets of Los Angeles. My eyelids felt heavy after a twelve-hour shift at Carter Enterprises. The quarterly marketing campaign required us all to work overtime, and as a junior marketing executive, I was stuck with weekend work. "You still with me, babe?" Ryan glanced over, his perfectly styled dark hair catching the sunset's glow. "Barely." I stifled a yawn. "Remind me why we're going to this party when I could be face-planting into my pillow right now?" "Because Sophia would kill you if you missed her birthday." He reached over and squeezed my knee. "And because you look stunning in that dress I bought for you." I glanced down at the black cocktail dress he'd insisted I wear. The neckline plunged lower than I'd normally choose, and the hemline rode high enough to make me self-conscious every time I sat down. Ryan had shown up at my apartment with the dress in a boutique bag, eyes gleaming with anticipation as I'd tried it on. "I still think it's a bit much for a birthday party," I tugged at the fabric, trying to cover more of my chest. "Liv, we've been dating for two years. I know what looks good on you better than you do. Trust me, every guy at this party will wish he was me tonight." "Is that what this is about? Marking your territory?" "Can you blame me?" He winked as he turned onto Sophia's street, where luxury cars lined both sides. Sophia's recently purchased triplex stood illuminated against the darkening sky, music pulsing from within. For someone only turning twenty-five, she'd done remarkably well for herself in real estate development. Ryan found a spot half a block away and cut the engine. "Ready to make an entrance, Ms. Morgan?" "As I'll ever be." I grabbed my purse and the gift bag containing the vintage champagne Ryan had suggested we bring. The cool evening air hit my bare shoulders as I stepped out of the car, making me shiver. Ryan's arm slid around my waist, his hand resting dangerously low on my hip. "See? Worth getting dressed up for." He nodded toward the house. "This place is insane." We walked up the curved driveway where twinkling lights had been strung through the palm trees. The front door stood open, spilling light, music, and laughter onto the porch. "Olivia! You made it!" Sophia appeared in the doorway, resplendent in a gold sequined dress. "I was starting to think you'd stood me up!" "My work tried its best to keep me away," I laughed, accepting her enthusiastic hug. "Happy birthday, Soph." "And Ryan, looking delicious as always." She air-kissed his cheeks. "Come in, come in! Everyone's already two drinks ahead of you." Ryan's hand pressed against the small of my back as we entered the foyer, which opened to a massive great room where at least thirty people mingled. The space featured floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the twinkling Los Angeles skyline. "Drink?" Ryan asked, already scanning the room. "God, yes. The strongest thing they've got." He chuckled. "That's my girl. Be right back." As Ryan disappeared toward the bar setup, I heard a familiar squeal from across the room. "Olivia Morgan, get your ass over here!" I turned to see Emilia waving frantically from a plush sectional sofa. My best friend since college was already flushed from alcohol, her blonde hair falling in waves around her shoulders. "Em!" I navigated through clusters of guests to reach her. "How long have you been here?" "Long enough to know the bartender's life story." She stood, wobbling slightly in her heels, and embraced me. She pulled back, holding me at arm's length to examine my outfit. "Holy shit, your boobs look amazing in that dress. Did Ryan pick it out?" I felt my cheeks warm. "Is it that obvious?" "Only because I've known you for eight years, and you've never willingly shown that much cleavage." She smirked. "Not that I'm complaining. If I had your rack, I'd show it off, too." "Could you say that a little louder? I don't think everyone in Malibu heard you." "Sorry, can't help it. You're too easy to embarrass." Emilia's eyes danced with mischief as she took another sip of her drink. "By the way, have you seen our birthday girl? I swear she was here greeting people and then just... vanished." I scanned the crowded room. "No, actually. Where did Ryan go? He was supposed to be getting me a drink." "Maybe he's outside? I saw some people heading to the back lawn earlier." Emilia shrugged. "Or he could be sneaking a cigarette." I narrowed my eyes. "He told me he quit three months ago. If I catch him smoking after all that 'I'm done with nicotine forever, baby' bullshit, I'll kill him myself." "Men lie about the stupidest things. Like, just admit you still smoke and save us both the drama." "I'm going to find him," I said, tugging at my dress, which had ridden up dangerously high. "If he's outside with a cigarette, I'm putting it on his favorite shoes." "That's my girl." Emilia raised her glass. "I'll be right here judging everyone's outfit choices when you get back." I weaved through the crowded living room, nodding at half-familiar faces from past gatherings. The kitchen was jammed with people mixing drinks. No Ryan. The back patio held a group playing some drinking games with shots and ping pong balls. No Ryan among them. "Looking for someone?" A tall guy with a man-bun approached, his eyes dropping to my cleavage before meeting my gaze. "My boyfriend. Tall, dark hair, probably looking smug about something." He laughed. "Haven't seen him. But I'd be happy to keep you company until he shows up." "Hard pass, but thanks." I turned away, irritation building. Where the hell was Ryan with my drink? I climbed the modern floating staircase to the next floor, where the noise from the party became more muffled. The hallway was dimly lit and had several closed doors. A sound caught my attention – a moan? A laugh? Something between the two. It was faint, coming from further down the hall. The sound came again, more distinct this time. Definitely a moan. Great. A couple had found a private spot to hook up at Sophia's party. How classy. I was about to turn back when I noticed a slightly ajar door at the end of the hallway, a sliver of light spilling onto the hardwood floor. Something compelled me forward – curiosity, or perhaps a sixth sense I didn't know I had. As I approached, the sounds became clearer. A woman's voice, breathless and urgent: "Fuck, yes, right there." I froze. The voice was familiar. A male voice responded, low and commanding: "You like that, don't you? Tell me how much you want it." My stomach dropped. Ryan's voice. I should have turned away, run down those stairs, and straight out the front door. Instead, I moved closer, pushing the door open wider. The scene burned into my retinas like a brand. Sophia bent over her dresser; her gold dress pushed up around her waist. Ryan was behind her, his pants around his ankles, hands gripping her hips as he thrust into her. "Harder," Sophia gasped. "Make me feel it tomorrow." "What the fuck?" The words escaped me before I could stop them. They both froze. Ryan's head whipped around, his eyes widening with shock. Chapter 2 Olivia's POV Ryan's head whipped around, his eyes widening with shock. For a moment, time suspended itself. My lungs refused to work, and the room seemed to tilt sideways. "Liv—" Ryan stammered, still connected to Sophia. "This isn't—" "What it looks like?" I finished, my voice surprisingly steady despite the earthquake happening inside me. "Because it looks like you're fucking my friend on her birthday while I wait downstairs for a drink that's never coming." Sophia turned her head, meeting my gaze without a hint of shame. She didn't even bother to adjust her dress; she just rested her elbows on the dresser and sighed like I'd interrupted a business meeting. "Oh, Olivia," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "Did you think a man like Ryan would be satisfied with just you?" Ryan finally pulled away from her, fumbling to pull up his pants. "Baby, please, this is just a... a thing. It doesn't mean anything." "A thing?" I repeated, heat rising to my face. "How long has this 'thing' been happening?" Before either could answer, I heard footsteps behind me. "Liv? Did you find—" Emilia's voice cut off as she appeared at my side, taking in the scene. "Holy fucking shit." Ryan's face paled further. "This isn't what—" "If you say 'this isn't what it looks like' one more time, I swear to God I will castrate you with my bare hands," Emilia snapped, her arm wrapping protectively around my shoulders. Sophia straightened up, finally adjusting her dress with leisurely movements. She tossed her hair back and had the audacity to smirk. "Ryan and I have an understanding. It's just sex. Great sex, but still just sex." "An understanding?" I laughed, the sound brittle and foreign to my ears. "And when exactly were you planning to include me in this understanding? After you gave me chlamydia, or before?" "Don't be dramatic," Ryan said, tucking in his shirt. "We've been careful." "Oh, careful! Well, that makes it all better then!" I threw my hands up. "You've been carefully fucking my friend behind my back. Such consideration!" Sophia leaned against the dresser, crossing her arms. "We're all adults here. Monogamy is so... limiting, don't you think?" Emilia stepped forward. "The only thing limiting around here is your moral compass, you backstabbing bitch." "Watch it," Sophia warned, her eyes narrowing. "Or what? You'll sleep with my boyfriend too? Get in line." Emilia turned to Ryan. "And you. You pathetic excuse for a man. Two years? Two fucking years of her life wasted on you?" Ryan finally managed to buckle his belt. "Liv, baby, please. We can talk about this. It's just physical. It doesn't change how I feel about you." "You feel so much for me that you bought me this dress." I gestured to my outfit. "So, I could be downstairs putting on a show for your friends while you're up here with your dick in Sophia?" "The dress looks amazing on you," he offered weakly. I stared at him in disbelief. "That's what you're going with right now? Fashion compliments?" "I'm just saying—" "No, I'm done listening to what you're 'just saying.'" I turned to leave, then spun back. "Two years, Ryan. Two years of me rearranging my schedule for you and believing every word out of your mouth. Was any of it real?" He took a step toward me. "Of course, it was real. I love you, Liv." "Spare me," I spat. "If this is your version of love, I want nothing to do with it." Sophia sighed dramatically. "Can we wrap this up? I have guests downstairs." "You have one less now," I said, turning away. "Enjoy your birthday present. You two deserve each other." Emilia shot them both a final glare before following me out. We marched down the hallway, my legs somehow carrying me forward despite feeling like they might collapse. "I've got you," Emilia whispered, her arm still around me as we descended the stairs. The party continued below us, oblivious to the implosion that had just occurred upstairs. The music seemed too loud now, the laughter too jarring. We pushed through the crowd toward the front door. Someone called my name, but I kept moving, my eyes fixed on the exit. The cool night air hit my face as we stepped outside, and only then did I realize I was shaking. We made it to the sidewalk when I heard the front door open behind us. I refused to look back. "Olivia!" Ryan called out. "Wait!" Emilia turned, positioning herself between us like a shield. "Go back to your birthday girl, asshole." "This is between me and Liv," he insisted but made no move to follow us. "There is no 'me and Liv' anymore," I called back, still walking. "We're done." His response was lost as we rounded the corner, the sounds of the party fading behind us. Once out of sight, my composure crumbled. I stopped walking, my breath coming in gasps. "I can't believe…I can't…" I pressed my hand to my mouth. "I know, honey. I know." Emilia pulled me into a hug. "Let it out." "Two years," I whispered against her shoulder. "Two fucking years." She stroked my hair. "I'm so sorry, Liv." I pulled back, wiping angrily at my eyes. "Did you know? About them?" Emilia hesitated. "Not for sure. But I had my suspicions." "What? Why didn't you say anything?" She sighed, fishing her phone from her purse. "I saw them at Barton's Café last month. They said they'd run into each other, but it seemed... off. The way they were sitting, the way he touched her arm. I didn't want to say anything without proof. I didn't want to hurt you if I was wrong." "Well, now we have proof," I said bitterly. "Let me call us a cab," Emilia said, tapping her phone. "My car's not here. Jake dropped me off." I hugged myself against the chill, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt in the dress Ryan had chosen. "No cabs available. Let's walk a bit. I'll keep trying for a ride and call Jake. Maybe he can pick us up." "Fine by me." I just wanted to get as far away from Sophia's house as possible. "I'd walk to Mexico now if it meant never seeing Ryan again." We started down the sidewalk, my heels clicking against the concrete. The neighborhood was upscale, with sprawling houses set back from the road, but the street itself was poorly lit. The rumble of an engine cut her off as a convertible slowed beside us. Four guys crowded inside, the stench of alcohol wafting our way. The driver leaned over, his eyes crawling over my body before settling on my chest. "Hey, babes, want a ride?" He grinned, revealing a gold tooth. "We got plenty of room on our laps." His friends burst into laughter. The one in the passenger seat raised a bottle. "We're celebrating! Don't you wanna celebrate with us?" "Fuck off," Emilia snapped, pulling me closer. "Ooh, feisty!" The driver killed the engine. "I like feisty." One guy, thick-necked with a tribal tattoo, vaulted over the door. He staggered toward us, pointing at Emilia. "You got a mouth on you, blondie. Let's see what else it can do." Before I could react, he lunged forward and grabbed Emilia by her hair, yanking her head back. She screamed, clawing at his arm. "Let her go!" I shouted, my marketing executive persona vanishing as pure rage took over. I swung my purse, connecting with his temple. He stumbled but kept his grip on Emilia's hair. "Your friend wants to play rough, huh?" He leered at me, eyes fixed on my chest. "Nice tits. Bet they bounce real good." Chapter 3 Olivia's POV My fist throbbed from connecting with the guy's head, but it hadn't done enough. Emilia whimpered as he yanked her hair harder, forcing her head back at an unnatural angle. "Let her go, you piece of shit!" I hissed, fear and fury colliding in my chest. "Or what?" He laughed, his breath reeking of whiskey. "You gonna hit me with your little purse again?" The other men from the car were climbing out now, their movements predatory as they circled around us. The driver, with his gold tooth catching the dim streetlight, stepped toward me. "C'mon baby, we just wanna have some fun." His eyes never left my chest. "You're dressed like you want attention. We're just giving you what you want." "I want you to let my friend go and fuck off back to whatever sewer you crawled out of," I spat, backing away until I felt a tree behind me. "Ooh, she's got a mouth on her too," said another shorter but broad-shouldered guy wearing a baseball cap. "I like that. Makes it more fun when they fight a little." The driver reached for me, his fingers grazing my arm. I slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me!" "Playing hard to get?" He moved closer, pinning me against the tree. "That's cute." Emilia was still struggling against Tribal Tattoo's grip. "Liv, run! Just run!" "I'm not leaving you," I said, looking desperately around for anything I could use as a weapon. The driver pressed his body against mine; one hand braced on the tree beside my head. "Your friend's not going anywhere, and neither are you." His other hand reached for my breast. "Let's see if these feel as good as they look." I brought my knee up hard, aiming for his groin, but he twisted away at the last second. My knee glanced off his thigh. "Feisty bitch!" He grabbed my wrist, squeezing until I gasped in pain. Headlights suddenly illuminated the scene as another car screeched to a halt beside us. The engine cut off, and the driver's door opened. "Is there a problem here?" A deep voice cut through the night. A tall figure emerged from the shadows into the spill of a distant streetlight. Broad-shouldered and imposing in what looked like an expensive suit, he moved with a quiet confidence that commanded attention. "Mind your own business, man," Gold Tooth snarled, but I noticed he'd loosened his grip on my wrist. The newcomer stepped closer, and I caught my breath. Even in the dim light, I recognized him immediately. Alexander Carter. My boss's boss's boss. The CEO of Carter Enterprises, where I'd been working as a junior marketing executive for the past eight months. "I believe these ladies were telling you to leave them alone," he said, his voice calm but edged with steel. "I suggest you listen." Gold Tooth sneered. "What are you gonna do about it? There's four of us and one of you." Alexander didn't even blink. "True. But I've already called the police, and they're on their way. I'm sure they'd be interested to know about four drunk men assaulting two women on a public street." Tribal Tattoo finally released Emilia's hair, shoving her forward. "Whatever, man. These bitches ain't worth the trouble." Emilia stumbled toward me, and I caught her, pulling her close. "You okay?" I whispered. She nodded, rubbing her scalp. "Bastard nearly ripped my hair out." Gold Tooth took a step toward Carter, puffing out his chest. "You think you're some kind of hero? Rich boy in his fancy car?" Alexander simply stared him down, not moving an inch. "I think I'm someone who doesn't want to see two women harassed by drunken idiots. Now, you can leave on your own, or you can wait for the police. Your choice." For a tense moment, I thought Gold Tooth might throw a punch. Instead, he spat on the ground near Alexander's polished shoes. "Let's go," he muttered to his friends. "These sluts aren't worth jail time." They piled back into their convertible, engine roaring to life. Gold Tooth revved it aggressively before peeling away, tires screeching. Alexander turned to us. "Are you both all right?" Up close, he was even more intimidating than he was at company events. Tall, with sharp features and piercing gray eyes, he had the kind of face that belonged in business magazines, where it often appeared. Despite the late hour, his dark hair was neatly styled, not a strand out of place. "We're okay," I managed, suddenly conscious of my appearance: disheveled hair, makeup probably smeared from crying earlier, and this ridiculous dress that now felt like a terrible mistake. "Thank you for stopping." "Do you need a ride somewhere?" he asked, his eyes briefly dropping to my chest before snapping back to my face. "Our cab canceled," Emilia said, still rubbing her scalp. "And my boyfriend's not answering his phone." Alexander gestured to his car, a sleek black car. "I'm happy to drive you both home." I hesitated. This was Alexander Carter, the man who signed my paychecks and whose name was on the building where I worked. The man was known for his ruthless business tactics and cold demeanor. The last thing I needed was for him to realize I was one of his employees, especially looking like this. "That's very kind," I said carefully, "but we don't want to impose." "It's no imposition," he replied. "I'd rather not leave you out here after what just happened." Emilia looked at me with raised eyebrows, silently communicating: "Are you crazy? Free ride in a sleek car with a hot, rich guy? Say yes!" "If you're sure it's not too much trouble," I relented. "Not at all." He opened the backseat door. "Please." The car's interior was all black leather and gleaming surfaces. It smelled of expensive cologne and a new car, a heady combination that made my head spin—or maybe that was the adrenaline crash. "I'm Alexander Carter," he said as he slid behind the wheel. "Olivia," I replied, deliberately omitting my last name. "And this is Emilia." "Pleasure to meet you both, despite the circumstances." He started the engine, which purred to life. "Where am I taking you?" Emilia gave him her address first, and then I gave him mine. "Rough night?" he asked as we pulled away from the curb. Emilia snorted. "You could say that. We were at a birthday party where Liv caught her boyfriend banging the birthday girl." "Emilia!" I hissed, mortified. Alexander's eyes flicked to me in the rearview mirror. "I see. I'm sorry to hear that." "It's fine," I mumbled, wishing I could disappear into the leather seat. "It's not fine," Emilia insisted. "Ryan is a cheating scumbag who deserves to have his dick fall off." A small smile tugged at the corner of Alexander's mouth. "I take it Ryan is the ex-boyfriend?" "As of about a few minutes ago, yes," I confirmed, wondering why I was discussing my love life with my CEO. "Well, for what it's worth," he said, his eyes meeting mine briefly in the mirror again, "he sounds like an idiot." Chapter 4 Olivia's POV The car fell silent as we drove through the streets of Los Angeles, the city lights blurring past the windows. I studied Alexander's profile, the strong jaw, and straight nose, wondering why he'd stopped to help us. Everything I'd heard about him at work painted him as cold, distant, focused only on the bottom line. We reached Emilia's apartment building first. Alexander pulled up to the curb, the engine purring quietly as he shifted into park. "This is me," Emilia announced, gathering her purse. She leaned over to hug me, using the moment to whisper in my ear. "Holy fuck, Liv. He's hot as balls. If he wants to bang you senseless tonight, you better fucking do it. The best way to get over Ryan is to get under the CEO. Shit, those hands look like they know what they're doing." I pulled back, shooting her a death glare that could have melted steel. "What?" she mouthed innocently before turning to Alexander. "Thanks for the ride, knight in shining Armani. You're a lifesaver." "It was no trouble," he replied politely. Emilia opened the door, then paused to give me one last meaningful look. "Call me tomorrow with ALL the details." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Goodbye, Emilia," I said firmly, my cheeks burning. She blew me a kiss and slammed the door, sauntering toward her building with a little extra sway in her hips, no doubt for Alexander's benefit. As we pulled away, I sank deeper into the leather seat, mortified. "I'm so sorry about her. She has no filter." Alexander's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. "No need to apologize. She seems like a good friend." "The best," I admitted. "Even if she occasionally makes me want to strangle her." His lips quirked upward, almost a smile but not quite. "Those are often the best kinds of friends." We lapsed into silence as he navigated through the streets of Los Angeles. The city lights streamed past the windows, creating a kaleidoscope effect that matched my swirling thoughts. I caught Alexander glancing at me in the mirror a few times, his expression unreadable. "Left at the next light," I directed as we approached my neighborhood. He nodded, making the turn smoothly. "Here we are," he announced, pulling up to my apartment building. It wasn't fancy by LA standards but clean and in a decent area. I could just barely afford it on my junior executive salary. He turned off the engine and, to my surprise, got out to open my door. His hand extended to help me out, warm and solid as I took it. The contact sent an unexpected jolt up my arm. "Thank you again," I said, reluctantly letting go of his hand. "For everything tonight." Alexander studied me for a moment, his gray eyes intense. "I hope you're able to move past what happened tonight. Your boyfriend, or rather your ex-boyfriend, clearly didn't appreciate what he had." The unexpected kindness in his voice made my throat tighten. "I'll be fine," I managed. "I'm sure you will," he agreed. "Someone like you won't stay single for long unless you want to." I wasn't sure how to respond to that. Was Alexander Carter, CEO of Carter Enterprises, flirting with me? No, that was ridiculous. He was just being polite. "Goodnight, Olivia," he said, stepping back toward his car. "Goodnight, Alexander. And thank you for the ride." He nodded once, then slid back into his car. I watched as he drove away, his taillights disappearing around the corner before I turned and entered my building. The elevator ride to my fourth-floor apartment felt endless. My keys jangled in my shaking hands as I unlocked my door, stepping into the darkness of my living room. I flipped on the light, tossed my purse on the counter, and kicked off my heels. The silence of my apartment pressed in around me. Just hours ago, I'd been getting ready for what I thought would be a normal night out with my boyfriend. Now, everything had changed. I peeled off the black cocktail dress and threw it in the trash. Never again would I wear something just because a man told me it looked good on me. In my bathroom, I scrubbed off my makeup. The woman in the mirror looked tired, her eyes red-rimmed but clear. I pulled on an oversized t-shirt and fell onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, probably Ryan finally realizing what he'd lost. I ignored it. Why had he done it? Two years together, and he throws it all away for Sophia? Had he been sleeping with her all along? The signs had been there: the late nights at work, the sudden business trips, the way his phone was always face-down when I was around. I'd trusted him completely. What a fool I'd been. My phone buzzed again. This time, I glanced at it. Emilia. "You home safe? Did Mr. CEO make a move? Please say yes." I texted back: "Yes, I'm home. No, he didn't. Go to sleep." Her response was immediate: "Boring! But seriously, you okay?" "I will be," I replied and realized I meant it. I tossed my phone onto the nightstand and stared at the ceiling, my mind racing despite my exhaustion. Sleep seemed impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ryan thrusting into Sophia, her smug face, his pathetic excuses. "Fuck," I whispered to the empty room. "Two years down the drain." I rolled over, burying my face in my pillow. Two years of holidays, family gatherings, inside jokes—all tainted now. But something else kept intruding on my thoughts: Alexander Carter's piercing gray eyes in the rearview mirror. Alexander Carter. My CEO. The man I'd just met while looking like a complete disaster. "He probably won't even remember me tomorrow," I muttered, flipping onto my back again. "Why would he? He's Alexander fucking Carter." The ceiling offered no answers. I'd worked at Carter Enterprises for eight months and never once spoken to him. I'd seen him striding through the lobby, standing at podiums during company-wide meetings, his face on the company website and annual reports. Always distant. Always untouchable. And now he'd seen me at my absolute worst, heartbroken in a slutty dress. "Great first impression, Olivia. Really professional." I snorted at my own sarcasm. It was as if Alexander Carter would ever connect the disheveled woman he'd rescued with Olivia Morgan, a junior marketing executive. Our worlds didn't intersect. He inhabited the executive floor with its panoramic views of Los Angeles. At the same time, I worked in my cubicle fifteen floors below, crafting social media campaigns for products I could barely afford. I pulled the covers over my head, trying to force sleep to come. But my brain had other ideas, conjuring an image of running into Alexander in the office elevator. Would he recognize me? Would I have the courage to thank him again? Would he look at me with those intense gray eyes and see past the professional facade to the woman he'd rescued? "As if," I mumbled into my pillow. "He probably rescues women from creeps every weekend. It's probably a rich guy's hobby." But what if he did remember me? What if our paths crossed in the office cafeteria or during a presentation? What would I say? Chapter 5 Alexander's POV I parked my car in the circular driveway of my parent's estate, taking a moment to prepare myself for the inevitable Carter family dynamics. Sunday dinner at the Carter mansion, a tradition as old as the oak trees lining the property, was something I both dreaded and looked forward to. The mansion stood like a monument to old money, with stone façades and manicured gardens that screamed, "We've had wealth for generations." My phone buzzed with an email from work, but I ignored it. Work could wait, but family obligations couldn't, especially when Grandfather Harold was involved. I straightened my tie and headed inside, where Martha, our longtime housekeeper, greeted me with a warm smile. "Mr. Alexander, everyone's waiting in the drawing room. Your grandfather arrived early." That was never a good sign. Grandfather arriving early meant he had an agenda. "Is Victoria here?" I asked, handing Martha my coat. "Yes, sir. With her husband. They arrived about an hour ago." Perfect. My cousin Victoria and her investment banker husband Thomas, the power couple who never let anyone forget how perfect their life was. The drawing room buzzed with conversation that stopped when I entered. Mother rose from her seat, elegant as always in her pearl necklace and tailored dress. "Alexander, darling. We were beginning to worry." I kissed her cheek. "Traffic was terrible. Sorry, I'm late." Father nodded from his armchair, whiskey in hand. "Son." That was Father, a man of few words unless discussing business or golf. Victoria sat perched on the antique sofa, her husband's arm draped around her shoulder in that possessive way I found irritating. My sister Valentina was there, too, scrolling through her phone. But it was Grandfather Harold who commanded the room from his wheelchair. At seventy-eight, he might have lost some mobility but none of his mental sharpness or business acumen. "Alexander," he barked. "Sit down. We need to talk." I took a seat across from him. "Good to see you too, Grandfather." "Don't get smart with me, boy. I've been waiting." Victoria smirked. "Some of us manage to arrive on time, cousin dear." I ignored her. "What's this about? I thought this was just dinner." Grandfather Harold waved his hand dismissively. "Dinner can wait. This is about the future of Carter Enterprises." The room fell silent. When Grandfather talked about the company's future, everyone paid attention. He'd built Carter Enterprises from a small family business into a corporate empire and, at seventy-eight, still held the controlling stake. "I've been updating my will," he announced. Mother gasped softly. Father set down his whiskey. "Oh, relax; I'm not dying yet," Grandfather snapped. "Just getting my affairs in order. And I've made some decisions about the company shares." I leaned forward. As CEO, I had a significant stake in the company, but Grandfather's controlling shares would eventually determine who truly ran Carter Enterprises. "Alexander," he fixed his steely gaze on me. "You've done well as CEO. Profits are up. The board is happy. But there's something missing." "Missing?" I frowned. "Our last quarter was our best in five years." "I'm not talking about business." He thumped his cane on the floor. "I'm talking about family. Stability. A legacy." Victoria's husband coughed discreetly. Victoria's smile widened. "What exactly are you saying, Grandfather?" Harold Carter leaned forward in his wheelchair. "I'm saying that to inherit my controlling shares in Carter Enterprises, you need to be married within six months." The room exploded in reactions. Mother gasped again. Father actually put down his drink. Valentina looked up from her phone. Victoria burst into delighted laughter. "Married?" I stared at him. "You can't be serious." "Dead serious." Grandfather's expression didn't change. "Carter Enterprises has always been family-run. Family means stability. Commitment." "I'm committed to the company!" "But not to anything or anyone else." Grandfather shook his head. "You're thirty-three, Alexander. Your relationships last shorter than some of our quarterly reports." Victoria couldn't contain herself. "Oh, this is priceless. Is Alexander getting married? He can't even keep a girlfriend past the three-month mark." "Thank you for that astute observation, Victoria," I said, forcing a smile. "Always a pleasure to have your support." Uncle Richard, Victoria's father, chuckled from the corner of the room. "The boy does have a track record." "A track record?" My father set his tumbler down with more force than necessary. "Last year, we selected a perfectly suitable woman for him. The engagement was announced in the Times, for God's sake. And then what happened, Alexander?" I loosened my tie slightly. "Dad—" "He canceled it two weeks before the wedding," Father continued, addressing the room like I wasn't there. "The merger nearly fell apart because of it." Aunt Patricia gasped dramatically. "Penelope Langford? Such a lovely girl and from a good family. What a shame." "She wasn't right for me," I said firmly. Valentina finally looked up from her phone. "He didn't like her. Said she reminded him of a corporate spreadsheet – technically perfect but utterly boring." "Thank you for sharing that, Val," I muttered. My sister shrugged and went back to her phone. "Just telling it like it is." Grandfather Harold thumped his cane again. "Enough! The terms are simple. Alexander marries within six months, or Victoria receives my controlling stake in the company." Victoria nearly spilled her champagne in excitement. "Really, Grandfather? You'd give me control?" Her husband Thomas straightened his posture, dollar signs practically visible in his eyes. "I didn't build this company for forty years to watch it get dismantled by your husband's investment firm," Grandfather snapped at Victoria. "But at least you understand commitment." I stood up, pacing the Persian rug. "This is absurd. You're reducing the future of our family business to whether or not I get married? What century is this?" "The century where actions have consequences," Grandfather replied. "Victoria may be insufferable—" "Hey!" Victoria protested. "—but she's stable. Married. Committed." Victoria's smirk returned. "Face it, Alexander. You couldn't commit to a woman if your life depended on it. Now your career does, and we all know how that's going to end." Something snapped inside me. I'd tolerated Victoria's barbs for years, but this was different. This was my life's work at stake. "You know what, Victoria? You're wrong." "Am I?" She swirled her champagne. "Name one relationship you've had that lasted longer than a corporate quarterly report." My cousin Matthew, who'd been silently watching the drama unfold, whistled low. "She's got you there, Alex." I straightened my shoulders. "I'll do it. I'll get married within six months." The room fell silent again. "To whom?" Father asked skeptically. "I'll figure that out." Victoria burst into laughter. "Oh, this is too good! Alexander Carter, CEO and eligible bachelor, desperately seeking a wife. Should we put an ad in the classifieds?" Her husband joined in. "Maybe we should start interviewing candidates. Create a shortlist." "I don't need help finding someone," I said through gritted teeth. Aunt Elizabeth, who'd been quietly knitting in the corner, looked up. "What about that nice PR director at your company? Jennifer, something?" "She's married, Mother," Victoria said. "Oh. Well, what about your assistant?" "I'm not marrying my assistant, Aunt Elizabeth." Grandfather Harold raised his hand for silence. "The terms are set. Six months from today." Uncle Richard raised his glass. "To Alexander's impending nuptials! May he find a bride before Victoria gets his office." Victoria clinked glasses with her father. "I'm already planning where to put my new desk." I clenched my jaw. "Enjoy the fantasy while it lasts, cousin. I'm not losing the company." "Six months, Alexander," Grandfather reminded me. "The clock starts now." Chapter 6 Olivia I slept fitfully, my mind a carousel of images: Ryan's shocked face, Sophia's smug smirk, and, oddly, Alexander Carter's piercing gray eyes watching me in the rearview mirror. The weekend crawled by in a haze. I spent most of the time curled up on my couch, binging old movies, eating takeout, and ignoring the world, especially Ryan's desperate attempts to reach me. I let myself grieve, but by Sunday night, I was done crying; Ryan didn't deserve another tear. Monday morning arrived with brutal efficiency. I dragged myself into the shower, letting the hot water pound away the remnants of Friday night's disaster. No tears; I'd shed enough of those already. Ryan didn't deserve them. I wrapped myself in a towel and stared at my closet. What does one wear after catching their boyfriend balls-deep in another woman? I opted for armor: a crisp white blouse, a black pencil skirt, and highest heels. The kind of outfit that said, "I'm fine, fuck you very much." The cab ride to Carter Enterprises took twenty minutes. I spent it scrolling through Ryan's increasingly desperate texts. "Baby, please let me explain" "It was a mistake." "Call me." "I love YOU, not her." Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete. Carter Enterprises occupied a gleaming sixty-story tower in downtown Los Angeles. I'd been working there for eight months as a junior marketing executive, and despite the drama of my personal life imploding, I still felt a flutter of pride walking through those glass doors. The elevator whisked me to the 42nd floor. I stepped into the marketing department, where Nova was already at her desk, sipping her usual triple-shot espresso. "Morning, sunshine!" she called, then squinted at me. "You look different. New lipstick?" "New life status. Single." I dropped my bag at my desk. Before Nova could respond, Vivian breezed in, her red curls bouncing as she walked. "Ladies, you won't believe the email I just got. Apparently, the big boss himself will be sitting in on our presentation this week." "Alexander Carter?" I nearly choked on the words. "The one and only," Vivian confirmed, perching on the edge of my desk. "Why do you look like you've seen a ghost? It's not like you'll have to talk to him." If only she knew. "I'm just surprised," I managed. "He doesn't usually attend department presentations." Alice arrived last, as usual, balancing a stack of folders and her phone. "Sorry, I'm late. The barista got my order wrong twice. What did I miss?" "Alexander Carter's coming to our presentation, and Olivia's single," Nova summarized. Alice's eyes widened. "What? Which one should I address first?" "The presentation," I said quickly. "It's more important." "Like hell it is," Nova swiveled her chair to face me fully. "Spill it, Morgan. What happened with Ryan?" I sighed, lowering my voice. "I caught him fucking Sophia at her birthday party." All three women froze. "Sophia Santos? The one whose party you rushed off to?" Vivian clarified, her mouth hanging open. I nodded. "That backstabbing cunt," Nova breathed. "I hope his dick falls off," Alice added, patting my shoulder. "That's almost verbatim what Emilia said," I laughed despite myself. "What did you do?" Vivian leaned in, hungry for details. "I dumped him on the spot and left. End of story." "Good for you," Nova said firmly. "You deserve someone who knows what he has." "Preferably someone with a bigger dick and a functioning moral compass," Alice suggested. "Can we please focus on work now?" I begged. "I have the social media analytics to finish before lunch." They reluctantly returned to their desks, but I caught them shooting me concerned glances throughout the morning. I buried myself in spreadsheets and engagement metrics, grateful for the distraction. The last thing I needed was to think about that night, including my unexpected encounter with Alexander Carter. The CEO of Carter Enterprises wasn't just my boss; he was a legend in the business world. Cold, calculating, brilliant. He'd taken his grandfather's company and transformed it into a multinational corporation in less than a decade. The tabloids occasionally linked him with models or actresses, but he was notoriously private. And I really, really didn't want him to connect the dots between the disheveled woman he'd rescued and Olivia Morgan, a junior marketing executive. At lunch, we headed to the company cafeteria on the 30th floor. I scanned the room instinctively, relaxing when I didn't spot any tall, dark-haired executives. "So," Vivian said as we settled at our usual table, "tell us more about Friday. You rushed out of here like your ass was on fire." I poked at my salad. "Not much to tell. I got to the party, couldn't find Ryan, went looking for him, and found him bent over Sophia's dresser, drilling her like he was looking for oil." Nova snorted water through her nose. "Jesus, Liv! Warning next time." "What did you say?" Alice asked, leaning forward. "I asked if they'd been 'careful' and reminded him that monogamy is apparently very limiting." I stabbed a cherry tomato. "Then I told him to go fuck himself. Or Sophia. Whichever." "Queen shit," Vivian raised her water bottle in a toast. "To Olivia, who doesn't take crap from cheating assholes." "To Olivia," the others echoed. "Anything else interesting happened?" Alice asked. "Did you key his car? Throw drinks? Create a scene?" I hesitated. "No, nothing like that. Emilia and I just left." I couldn't bring myself to mention Alexander. It felt too surreal, too private somehow. The next few days passed in a blur of work and ignored calls from Ryan. I threw myself into the upcoming presentation, staying late to perfect the slides and rehearse my talking points. If Alexander Carter was going to be there, everything needed to be flawless. Not that he'd recognize me. He probably rescued women from creeps all the time. Why would he remember one random encounter? Thursday morning, I arrived early to set up the conference room. Our presentation on the new social media campaign was scheduled for 10 AM, and my stomach had been in knots since I woke up. "Relax," Nova said, adjusting the projector. "Carter probably won't even show up. These executives always have 'emergencies' that pull them away." "And if he does show up, he'll be on his phone the whole time," Vivian added, straightening the chairs. Alice arrived with a tray of coffee. "Or he'll leave halfway through. That's what happened at the last sales presentation." Their attempts at reassurance weren't helping. I couldn't shake the image of Alexander recognizing me, his eyebrows rising in surprise as he connected the dots between professional Olivia Morgan and the emotional wreck he'd driven home. By 9:55, the room was filled with marketing staff and a few executives I recognized from other departments. I took my position near the front, reviewing my notes one last time. At exactly 10 AM, the room fell silent. I looked up to see Alexander Carter striding through the door, followed by two assistants. He was even more imposing in his natural habitat with a charcoal suit perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders, and his presence commanded attention effortlessly. He nodded to the room and took a seat in the back row. I quickly looked down at my notes, my heart hammering against my ribs. ========= 👉 (When you open the App, it will automatically jump to the book.)
Chapter 1 Olivia's POV I slumped against the passenger seat as Ryan's car cruised through the palm-lined streets of Los Angeles. My eyelids felt heavy after a twelve-hour shift at Carter Enterprises. The quarterly marketing campaign required us all to work overtime, and as a junior marketing executive, I was stuck with weekend work. "You still with me, babe?" Ryan glanced over, his perfectly styled dark hair catching the sunset's glow. "Barely." I stifled a yawn. "Remind me why we're going to this party when I could be face-planting into my pillow right now?" "Because Sophia would kill you if you missed her birthday." He reached over and squeezed my knee. "And because you look stunning in that dress I bought for you." I glanced down at the black cocktail dress he'd insisted I wear. The neckline plunged lower than I'd normally choose, and the hemline rode high enough to make me self-conscious every time I sat down. Ryan had shown up at my apartment with the dress in a boutique bag, eyes gleaming with anticipation as I'd tried it on. "I still think it's a bit much for a birthday party," I tugged at the fabric, trying to cover more of my chest. "Liv, we've been dating for two years. I know what looks good on you better than you do. Trust me, every guy at this party will wish he was me tonight." "Is that what this is about? Marking your territory?" "Can you blame me?" He winked as he turned onto Sophia's street, where luxury cars lined both sides. Sophia's recently purchased triplex stood illuminated against the darkening sky, music pulsing from within. For someone only turning twenty-five, she'd done remarkably well for herself in real estate development. Ryan found a spot half a block away and cut the engine. "Ready to make an entrance, Ms. Morgan?" "As I'll ever be." I grabbed my purse and the gift bag containing the vintage champagne Ryan had suggested we bring. The cool evening air hit my bare shoulders as I stepped out of the car, making me shiver. Ryan's arm slid around my waist, his hand resting dangerously low on my hip. "See? Worth getting dressed up for." He nodded toward the house. "This place is insane." We walked up the curved driveway where twinkling lights had been strung through the palm trees. The front door stood open, spilling light, music, and laughter onto the porch. "Olivia! You made it!" Sophia appeared in the doorway, resplendent in a gold sequined dress. "I was starting to think you'd stood me up!" "My work tried its best to keep me away," I laughed, accepting her enthusiastic hug. "Happy birthday, Soph." "And Ryan, looking delicious as always." She air-kissed his cheeks. "Come in, come in! Everyone's already two drinks ahead of you." Ryan's hand pressed against the small of my back as we entered the foyer, which opened to a massive great room where at least thirty people mingled. The space featured floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the twinkling Los Angeles skyline. "Drink?" Ryan asked, already scanning the room. "God, yes. The strongest thing they've got." He chuckled. "That's my girl. Be right back." As Ryan disappeared toward the bar setup, I heard a familiar squeal from across the room. "Olivia Morgan, get your ass over here!" I turned to see Emilia waving frantically from a plush sectional sofa. My best friend since college was already flushed from alcohol, her blonde hair falling in waves around her shoulders. "Em!" I navigated through clusters of guests to reach her. "How long have you been here?" "Long enough to know the bartender's life story." She stood, wobbling slightly in her heels, and embraced me. She pulled back, holding me at arm's length to examine my outfit. "Holy shit, your boobs look amazing in that dress. Did Ryan pick it out?" I felt my cheeks warm. "Is it that obvious?" "Only because I've known you for eight years, and you've never willingly shown that much cleavage." She smirked. "Not that I'm complaining. If I had your rack, I'd show it off, too." "Could you say that a little louder? I don't think everyone in Malibu heard you." "Sorry, can't help it. You're too easy to embarrass." Emilia's eyes danced with mischief as she took another sip of her drink. "By the way, have you seen our birthday girl? I swear she was here greeting people and then just... vanished." I scanned the crowded room. "No, actually. Where did Ryan go? He was supposed to be getting me a drink." "Maybe he's outside? I saw some people heading to the back lawn earlier." Emilia shrugged. "Or he could be sneaking a cigarette." I narrowed my eyes. "He told me he quit three months ago. If I catch him smoking after all that 'I'm done with nicotine forever, baby' bullshit, I'll kill him myself." "Men lie about the stupidest things. Like, just admit you still smoke and save us both the drama." "I'm going to find him," I said, tugging at my dress, which had ridden up dangerously high. "If he's outside with a cigarette, I'm putting it on his favorite shoes." "That's my girl." Emilia raised her glass. "I'll be right here judging everyone's outfit choices when you get back." I weaved through the crowded living room, nodding at half-familiar faces from past gatherings. The kitchen was jammed with people mixing drinks. No Ryan. The back patio held a group playing some drinking games with shots and ping pong balls. No Ryan among them. "Looking for someone?" A tall guy with a man-bun approached, his eyes dropping to my cleavage before meeting my gaze. "My boyfriend. Tall, dark hair, probably looking smug about something." He laughed. "Haven't seen him. But I'd be happy to keep you company until he shows up." "Hard pass, but thanks." I turned away, irritation building. Where the hell was Ryan with my drink? I climbed the modern floating staircase to the next floor, where the noise from the party became more muffled. The hallway was dimly lit and had several closed doors. A sound caught my attention – a moan? A laugh? Something between the two. It was faint, coming from further down the hall. The sound came again, more distinct this time. Definitely a moan. Great. A couple had found a private spot to hook up at Sophia's party. How classy. I was about to turn back when I noticed a slightly ajar door at the end of the hallway, a sliver of light spilling onto the hardwood floor. Something compelled me forward – curiosity, or perhaps a sixth sense I didn't know I had. As I approached, the sounds became clearer. A woman's voice, breathless and urgent: "Fuck, yes, right there." I froze. The voice was familiar. A male voice responded, low and commanding: "You like that, don't you? Tell me how much you want it." My stomach dropped. Ryan's voice. I should have turned away, run down those stairs, and straight out the front door. Instead, I moved closer, pushing the door open wider. The scene burned into my retinas like a brand. Sophia bent over her dresser; her gold dress pushed up around her waist. Ryan was behind her, his pants around his ankles, hands gripping her hips as he thrust into her. "Harder," Sophia gasped. "Make me feel it tomorrow." "What the fuck?" The words escaped me before I could stop them. They both froze. Ryan's head whipped around, his eyes widening with shock. Chapter 2 Olivia's POV Ryan's head whipped around, his eyes widening with shock. For a moment, time suspended itself. My lungs refused to work, and the room seemed to tilt sideways. "Liv—" Ryan stammered, still connected to Sophia. "This isn't—" "What it looks like?" I finished, my voice surprisingly steady despite the earthquake happening inside me. "Because it looks like you're fucking my friend on her birthday while I wait downstairs for a drink that's never coming." Sophia turned her head, meeting my gaze without a hint of shame. She didn't even bother to adjust her dress; she just rested her elbows on the dresser and sighed like I'd interrupted a business meeting. "Oh, Olivia," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "Did you think a man like Ryan would be satisfied with just you?" Ryan finally pulled away from her, fumbling to pull up his pants. "Baby, please, this is just a... a thing. It doesn't mean anything." "A thing?" I repeated, heat rising to my face. "How long has this 'thing' been happening?" Before either could answer, I heard footsteps behind me. "Liv? Did you find—" Emilia's voice cut off as she appeared at my side, taking in the scene. "Holy fucking shit." Ryan's face paled further. "This isn't what—" "If you say 'this isn't what it looks like' one more time, I swear to God I will castrate you with my bare hands," Emilia snapped, her arm wrapping protectively around my shoulders. Sophia straightened up, finally adjusting her dress with leisurely movements. She tossed her hair back and had the audacity to smirk. "Ryan and I have an understanding. It's just sex. Great sex, but still just sex." "An understanding?" I laughed, the sound brittle and foreign to my ears. "And when exactly were you planning to include me in this understanding? After you gave me chlamydia, or before?" "Don't be dramatic," Ryan said, tucking in his shirt. "We've been careful." "Oh, careful! Well, that makes it all better then!" I threw my hands up. "You've been carefully fucking my friend behind my back. Such consideration!" Sophia leaned against the dresser, crossing her arms. "We're all adults here. Monogamy is so... limiting, don't you think?" Emilia stepped forward. "The only thing limiting around here is your moral compass, you backstabbing bitch." "Watch it," Sophia warned, her eyes narrowing. "Or what? You'll sleep with my boyfriend too? Get in line." Emilia turned to Ryan. "And you. You pathetic excuse for a man. Two years? Two fucking years of her life wasted on you?" Ryan finally managed to buckle his belt. "Liv, baby, please. We can talk about this. It's just physical. It doesn't change how I feel about you." "You feel so much for me that you bought me this dress." I gestured to my outfit. "So, I could be downstairs putting on a show for your friends while you're up here with your dick in Sophia?" "The dress looks amazing on you," he offered weakly. I stared at him in disbelief. "That's what you're going with right now? Fashion compliments?" "I'm just saying—" "No, I'm done listening to what you're 'just saying.'" I turned to leave, then spun back. "Two years, Ryan. Two years of me rearranging my schedule for you and believing every word out of your mouth. Was any of it real?" He took a step toward me. "Of course, it was real. I love you, Liv." "Spare me," I spat. "If this is your version of love, I want nothing to do with it." Sophia sighed dramatically. "Can we wrap this up? I have guests downstairs." "You have one less now," I said, turning away. "Enjoy your birthday present. You two deserve each other." Emilia shot them both a final glare before following me out. We marched down the hallway, my legs somehow carrying me forward despite feeling like they might collapse. "I've got you," Emilia whispered, her arm still around me as we descended the stairs. The party continued below us, oblivious to the implosion that had just occurred upstairs. The music seemed too loud now, the laughter too jarring. We pushed through the crowd toward the front door. Someone called my name, but I kept moving, my eyes fixed on the exit. The cool night air hit my face as we stepped outside, and only then did I realize I was shaking. We made it to the sidewalk when I heard the front door open behind us. I refused to look back. "Olivia!" Ryan called out. "Wait!" Emilia turned, positioning herself between us like a shield. "Go back to your birthday girl, asshole." "This is between me and Liv," he insisted but made no move to follow us. "There is no 'me and Liv' anymore," I called back, still walking. "We're done." His response was lost as we rounded the corner, the sounds of the party fading behind us. Once out of sight, my composure crumbled. I stopped walking, my breath coming in gasps. "I can't believe…I can't…" I pressed my hand to my mouth. "I know, honey. I know." Emilia pulled me into a hug. "Let it out." "Two years," I whispered against her shoulder. "Two fucking years." She stroked my hair. "I'm so sorry, Liv." I pulled back, wiping angrily at my eyes. "Did you know? About them?" Emilia hesitated. "Not for sure. But I had my suspicions." "What? Why didn't you say anything?" She sighed, fishing her phone from her purse. "I saw them at Barton's Café last month. They said they'd run into each other, but it seemed... off. The way they were sitting, the way he touched her arm. I didn't want to say anything without proof. I didn't want to hurt you if I was wrong." "Well, now we have proof," I said bitterly. "Let me call us a cab," Emilia said, tapping her phone. "My car's not here. Jake dropped me off." I hugged myself against the chill, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt in the dress Ryan had chosen. "No cabs available. Let's walk a bit. I'll keep trying for a ride and call Jake. Maybe he can pick us up." "Fine by me." I just wanted to get as far away from Sophia's house as possible. "I'd walk to Mexico now if it meant never seeing Ryan again." We started down the sidewalk, my heels clicking against the concrete. The neighborhood was upscale, with sprawling houses set back from the road, but the street itself was poorly lit. The rumble of an engine cut her off as a convertible slowed beside us. Four guys crowded inside, the stench of alcohol wafting our way. The driver leaned over, his eyes crawling over my body before settling on my chest. "Hey, babes, want a ride?" He grinned, revealing a gold tooth. "We got plenty of room on our laps." His friends burst into laughter. The one in the passenger seat raised a bottle. "We're celebrating! Don't you wanna celebrate with us?" "Fuck off," Emilia snapped, pulling me closer. "Ooh, feisty!" The driver killed the engine. "I like feisty." One guy, thick-necked with a tribal tattoo, vaulted over the door. He staggered toward us, pointing at Emilia. "You got a mouth on you, blondie. Let's see what else it can do." Before I could react, he lunged forward and grabbed Emilia by her hair, yanking her head back. She screamed, clawing at his arm. "Let her go!" I shouted, my marketing executive persona vanishing as pure rage took over. I swung my purse, connecting with his temple. He stumbled but kept his grip on Emilia's hair. "Your friend wants to play rough, huh?" He leered at me, eyes fixed on my chest. "Nice tits. Bet they bounce real good." Chapter 3 Olivia's POV My fist throbbed from connecting with the guy's head, but it hadn't done enough. Emilia whimpered as he yanked her hair harder, forcing her head back at an unnatural angle. "Let her go, you piece of shit!" I hissed, fear and fury colliding in my chest. "Or what?" He laughed, his breath reeking of whiskey. "You gonna hit me with your little purse again?" The other men from the car were climbing out now, their movements predatory as they circled around us. The driver, with his gold tooth catching the dim streetlight, stepped toward me. "C'mon baby, we just wanna have some fun." His eyes never left my chest. "You're dressed like you want attention. We're just giving you what you want." "I want you to let my friend go and fuck off back to whatever sewer you crawled out of," I spat, backing away until I felt a tree behind me. "Ooh, she's got a mouth on her too," said another shorter but broad-shouldered guy wearing a baseball cap. "I like that. Makes it more fun when they fight a little." The driver reached for me, his fingers grazing my arm. I slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me!" "Playing hard to get?" He moved closer, pinning me against the tree. "That's cute." Emilia was still struggling against Tribal Tattoo's grip. "Liv, run! Just run!" "I'm not leaving you," I said, looking desperately around for anything I could use as a weapon. The driver pressed his body against mine; one hand braced on the tree beside my head. "Your friend's not going anywhere, and neither are you." His other hand reached for my breast. "Let's see if these feel as good as they look." I brought my knee up hard, aiming for his groin, but he twisted away at the last second. My knee glanced off his thigh. "Feisty bitch!" He grabbed my wrist, squeezing until I gasped in pain. Headlights suddenly illuminated the scene as another car screeched to a halt beside us. The engine cut off, and the driver's door opened. "Is there a problem here?" A deep voice cut through the night. A tall figure emerged from the shadows into the spill of a distant streetlight. Broad-shouldered and imposing in what looked like an expensive suit, he moved with a quiet confidence that commanded attention. "Mind your own business, man," Gold Tooth snarled, but I noticed he'd loosened his grip on my wrist. The newcomer stepped closer, and I caught my breath. Even in the dim light, I recognized him immediately. Alexander Carter. My boss's boss's boss. The CEO of Carter Enterprises, where I'd been working as a junior marketing executive for the past eight months. "I believe these ladies were telling you to leave them alone," he said, his voice calm but edged with steel. "I suggest you listen." Gold Tooth sneered. "What are you gonna do about it? There's four of us and one of you." Alexander didn't even blink. "True. But I've already called the police, and they're on their way. I'm sure they'd be interested to know about four drunk men assaulting two women on a public street." Tribal Tattoo finally released Emilia's hair, shoving her forward. "Whatever, man. These bitches ain't worth the trouble." Emilia stumbled toward me, and I caught her, pulling her close. "You okay?" I whispered. She nodded, rubbing her scalp. "Bastard nearly ripped my hair out." Gold Tooth took a step toward Carter, puffing out his chest. "You think you're some kind of hero? Rich boy in his fancy car?" Alexander simply stared him down, not moving an inch. "I think I'm someone who doesn't want to see two women harassed by drunken idiots. Now, you can leave on your own, or you can wait for the police. Your choice." For a tense moment, I thought Gold Tooth might throw a punch. Instead, he spat on the ground near Alexander's polished shoes. "Let's go," he muttered to his friends. "These sluts aren't worth jail time." They piled back into their convertible, engine roaring to life. Gold Tooth revved it aggressively before peeling away, tires screeching. Alexander turned to us. "Are you both all right?" Up close, he was even more intimidating than he was at company events. Tall, with sharp features and piercing gray eyes, he had the kind of face that belonged in business magazines, where it often appeared. Despite the late hour, his dark hair was neatly styled, not a strand out of place. "We're okay," I managed, suddenly conscious of my appearance: disheveled hair, makeup probably smeared from crying earlier, and this ridiculous dress that now felt like a terrible mistake. "Thank you for stopping." "Do you need a ride somewhere?" he asked, his eyes briefly dropping to my chest before snapping back to my face. "Our cab canceled," Emilia said, still rubbing her scalp. "And my boyfriend's not answering his phone." Alexander gestured to his car, a sleek black car. "I'm happy to drive you both home." I hesitated. This was Alexander Carter, the man who signed my paychecks and whose name was on the building where I worked. The man was known for his ruthless business tactics and cold demeanor. The last thing I needed was for him to realize I was one of his employees, especially looking like this. "That's very kind," I said carefully, "but we don't want to impose." "It's no imposition," he replied. "I'd rather not leave you out here after what just happened." Emilia looked at me with raised eyebrows, silently communicating: "Are you crazy? Free ride in a sleek car with a hot, rich guy? Say yes!" "If you're sure it's not too much trouble," I relented. "Not at all." He opened the backseat door. "Please." The car's interior was all black leather and gleaming surfaces. It smelled of expensive cologne and a new car, a heady combination that made my head spin—or maybe that was the adrenaline crash. "I'm Alexander Carter," he said as he slid behind the wheel. "Olivia," I replied, deliberately omitting my last name. "And this is Emilia." "Pleasure to meet you both, despite the circumstances." He started the engine, which purred to life. "Where am I taking you?" Emilia gave him her address first, and then I gave him mine. "Rough night?" he asked as we pulled away from the curb. Emilia snorted. "You could say that. We were at a birthday party where Liv caught her boyfriend banging the birthday girl." "Emilia!" I hissed, mortified. Alexander's eyes flicked to me in the rearview mirror. "I see. I'm sorry to hear that." "It's fine," I mumbled, wishing I could disappear into the leather seat. "It's not fine," Emilia insisted. "Ryan is a cheating scumbag who deserves to have his dick fall off." A small smile tugged at the corner of Alexander's mouth. "I take it Ryan is the ex-boyfriend?" "As of about a few minutes ago, yes," I confirmed, wondering why I was discussing my love life with my CEO. "Well, for what it's worth," he said, his eyes meeting mine briefly in the mirror again, "he sounds like an idiot." Chapter 4 Olivia's POV The car fell silent as we drove through the streets of Los Angeles, the city lights blurring past the windows. I studied Alexander's profile, the strong jaw, and straight nose, wondering why he'd stopped to help us. Everything I'd heard about him at work painted him as cold, distant, focused only on the bottom line. We reached Emilia's apartment building first. Alexander pulled up to the curb, the engine purring quietly as he shifted into park. "This is me," Emilia announced, gathering her purse. She leaned over to hug me, using the moment to whisper in my ear. "Holy fuck, Liv. He's hot as balls. If he wants to bang you senseless tonight, you better fucking do it. The best way to get over Ryan is to get under the CEO. Shit, those hands look like they know what they're doing." I pulled back, shooting her a death glare that could have melted steel. "What?" she mouthed innocently before turning to Alexander. "Thanks for the ride, knight in shining Armani. You're a lifesaver." "It was no trouble," he replied politely. Emilia opened the door, then paused to give me one last meaningful look. "Call me tomorrow with ALL the details." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Goodbye, Emilia," I said firmly, my cheeks burning. She blew me a kiss and slammed the door, sauntering toward her building with a little extra sway in her hips, no doubt for Alexander's benefit. As we pulled away, I sank deeper into the leather seat, mortified. "I'm so sorry about her. She has no filter." Alexander's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. "No need to apologize. She seems like a good friend." "The best," I admitted. "Even if she occasionally makes me want to strangle her." His lips quirked upward, almost a smile but not quite. "Those are often the best kinds of friends." We lapsed into silence as he navigated through the streets of Los Angeles. The city lights streamed past the windows, creating a kaleidoscope effect that matched my swirling thoughts. I caught Alexander glancing at me in the mirror a few times, his expression unreadable. "Left at the next light," I directed as we approached my neighborhood. He nodded, making the turn smoothly. "Here we are," he announced, pulling up to my apartment building. It wasn't fancy by LA standards but clean and in a decent area. I could just barely afford it on my junior executive salary. He turned off the engine and, to my surprise, got out to open my door. His hand extended to help me out, warm and solid as I took it. The contact sent an unexpected jolt up my arm. "Thank you again," I said, reluctantly letting go of his hand. "For everything tonight." Alexander studied me for a moment, his gray eyes intense. "I hope you're able to move past what happened tonight. Your boyfriend, or rather your ex-boyfriend, clearly didn't appreciate what he had." The unexpected kindness in his voice made my throat tighten. "I'll be fine," I managed. "I'm sure you will," he agreed. "Someone like you won't stay single for long unless you want to." I wasn't sure how to respond to that. Was Alexander Carter, CEO of Carter Enterprises, flirting with me? No, that was ridiculous. He was just being polite. "Goodnight, Olivia," he said, stepping back toward his car. "Goodnight, Alexander. And thank you for the ride." He nodded once, then slid back into his car. I watched as he drove away, his taillights disappearing around the corner before I turned and entered my building. The elevator ride to my fourth-floor apartment felt endless. My keys jangled in my shaking hands as I unlocked my door, stepping into the darkness of my living room. I flipped on the light, tossed my purse on the counter, and kicked off my heels. The silence of my apartment pressed in around me. Just hours ago, I'd been getting ready for what I thought would be a normal night out with my boyfriend. Now, everything had changed. I peeled off the black cocktail dress and threw it in the trash. Never again would I wear something just because a man told me it looked good on me. In my bathroom, I scrubbed off my makeup. The woman in the mirror looked tired, her eyes red-rimmed but clear. I pulled on an oversized t-shirt and fell onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, probably Ryan finally realizing what he'd lost. I ignored it. Why had he done it? Two years together, and he throws it all away for Sophia? Had he been sleeping with her all along? The signs had been there: the late nights at work, the sudden business trips, the way his phone was always face-down when I was around. I'd trusted him completely. What a fool I'd been. My phone buzzed again. This time, I glanced at it. Emilia. "You home safe? Did Mr. CEO make a move? Please say yes." I texted back: "Yes, I'm home. No, he didn't. Go to sleep." Her response was immediate: "Boring! But seriously, you okay?" "I will be," I replied and realized I meant it. I tossed my phone onto the nightstand and stared at the ceiling, my mind racing despite my exhaustion. Sleep seemed impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ryan thrusting into Sophia, her smug face, his pathetic excuses. "Fuck," I whispered to the empty room. "Two years down the drain." I rolled over, burying my face in my pillow. Two years of holidays, family gatherings, inside jokes—all tainted now. But something else kept intruding on my thoughts: Alexander Carter's piercing gray eyes in the rearview mirror. Alexander Carter. My CEO. The man I'd just met while looking like a complete disaster. "He probably won't even remember me tomorrow," I muttered, flipping onto my back again. "Why would he? He's Alexander fucking Carter." The ceiling offered no answers. I'd worked at Carter Enterprises for eight months and never once spoken to him. I'd seen him striding through the lobby, standing at podiums during company-wide meetings, his face on the company website and annual reports. Always distant. Always untouchable. And now he'd seen me at my absolute worst, heartbroken in a slutty dress. "Great first impression, Olivia. Really professional." I snorted at my own sarcasm. It was as if Alexander Carter would ever connect the disheveled woman he'd rescued with Olivia Morgan, a junior marketing executive. Our worlds didn't intersect. He inhabited the executive floor with its panoramic views of Los Angeles. At the same time, I worked in my cubicle fifteen floors below, crafting social media campaigns for products I could barely afford. I pulled the covers over my head, trying to force sleep to come. But my brain had other ideas, conjuring an image of running into Alexander in the office elevator. Would he recognize me? Would I have the courage to thank him again? Would he look at me with those intense gray eyes and see past the professional facade to the woman he'd rescued? "As if," I mumbled into my pillow. "He probably rescues women from creeps every weekend. It's probably a rich guy's hobby." But what if he did remember me? What if our paths crossed in the office cafeteria or during a presentation? What would I say? Chapter 5 Alexander's POV I parked my car in the circular driveway of my parent's estate, taking a moment to prepare myself for the inevitable Carter family dynamics. Sunday dinner at the Carter mansion, a tradition as old as the oak trees lining the property, was something I both dreaded and looked forward to. The mansion stood like a monument to old money, with stone façades and manicured gardens that screamed, "We've had wealth for generations." My phone buzzed with an email from work, but I ignored it. Work could wait, but family obligations couldn't, especially when Grandfather Harold was involved. I straightened my tie and headed inside, where Martha, our longtime housekeeper, greeted me with a warm smile. "Mr. Alexander, everyone's waiting in the drawing room. Your grandfather arrived early." That was never a good sign. Grandfather arriving early meant he had an agenda. "Is Victoria here?" I asked, handing Martha my coat. "Yes, sir. With her husband. They arrived about an hour ago." Perfect. My cousin Victoria and her investment banker husband Thomas, the power couple who never let anyone forget how perfect their life was. The drawing room buzzed with conversation that stopped when I entered. Mother rose from her seat, elegant as always in her pearl necklace and tailored dress. "Alexander, darling. We were beginning to worry." I kissed her cheek. "Traffic was terrible. Sorry, I'm late." Father nodded from his armchair, whiskey in hand. "Son." That was Father, a man of few words unless discussing business or golf. Victoria sat perched on the antique sofa, her husband's arm draped around her shoulder in that possessive way I found irritating. My sister Valentina was there, too, scrolling through her phone. But it was Grandfather Harold who commanded the room from his wheelchair. At seventy-eight, he might have lost some mobility but none of his mental sharpness or business acumen. "Alexander," he barked. "Sit down. We need to talk." I took a seat across from him. "Good to see you too, Grandfather." "Don't get smart with me, boy. I've been waiting." Victoria smirked. "Some of us manage to arrive on time, cousin dear." I ignored her. "What's this about? I thought this was just dinner." Grandfather Harold waved his hand dismissively. "Dinner can wait. This is about the future of Carter Enterprises." The room fell silent. When Grandfather talked about the company's future, everyone paid attention. He'd built Carter Enterprises from a small family business into a corporate empire and, at seventy-eight, still held the controlling stake. "I've been updating my will," he announced. Mother gasped softly. Father set down his whiskey. "Oh, relax; I'm not dying yet," Grandfather snapped. "Just getting my affairs in order. And I've made some decisions about the company shares." I leaned forward. As CEO, I had a significant stake in the company, but Grandfather's controlling shares would eventually determine who truly ran Carter Enterprises. "Alexander," he fixed his steely gaze on me. "You've done well as CEO. Profits are up. The board is happy. But there's something missing." "Missing?" I frowned. "Our last quarter was our best in five years." "I'm not talking about business." He thumped his cane on the floor. "I'm talking about family. Stability. A legacy." Victoria's husband coughed discreetly. Victoria's smile widened. "What exactly are you saying, Grandfather?" Harold Carter leaned forward in his wheelchair. "I'm saying that to inherit my controlling shares in Carter Enterprises, you need to be married within six months." The room exploded in reactions. Mother gasped again. Father actually put down his drink. Valentina looked up from her phone. Victoria burst into delighted laughter. "Married?" I stared at him. "You can't be serious." "Dead serious." Grandfather's expression didn't change. "Carter Enterprises has always been family-run. Family means stability. Commitment." "I'm committed to the company!" "But not to anything or anyone else." Grandfather shook his head. "You're thirty-three, Alexander. Your relationships last shorter than some of our quarterly reports." Victoria couldn't contain herself. "Oh, this is priceless. Is Alexander getting married? He can't even keep a girlfriend past the three-month mark." "Thank you for that astute observation, Victoria," I said, forcing a smile. "Always a pleasure to have your support." Uncle Richard, Victoria's father, chuckled from the corner of the room. "The boy does have a track record." "A track record?" My father set his tumbler down with more force than necessary. "Last year, we selected a perfectly suitable woman for him. The engagement was announced in the Times, for God's sake. And then what happened, Alexander?" I loosened my tie slightly. "Dad—" "He canceled it two weeks before the wedding," Father continued, addressing the room like I wasn't there. "The merger nearly fell apart because of it." Aunt Patricia gasped dramatically. "Penelope Langford? Such a lovely girl and from a good family. What a shame." "She wasn't right for me," I said firmly. Valentina finally looked up from her phone. "He didn't like her. Said she reminded him of a corporate spreadsheet – technically perfect but utterly boring." "Thank you for sharing that, Val," I muttered. My sister shrugged and went back to her phone. "Just telling it like it is." Grandfather Harold thumped his cane again. "Enough! The terms are simple. Alexander marries within six months, or Victoria receives my controlling stake in the company." Victoria nearly spilled her champagne in excitement. "Really, Grandfather? You'd give me control?" Her husband Thomas straightened his posture, dollar signs practically visible in his eyes. "I didn't build this company for forty years to watch it get dismantled by your husband's investment firm," Grandfather snapped at Victoria. "But at least you understand commitment." I stood up, pacing the Persian rug. "This is absurd. You're reducing the future of our family business to whether or not I get married? What century is this?" "The century where actions have consequences," Grandfather replied. "Victoria may be insufferable—" "Hey!" Victoria protested. "—but she's stable. Married. Committed." Victoria's smirk returned. "Face it, Alexander. You couldn't commit to a woman if your life depended on it. Now your career does, and we all know how that's going to end." Something snapped inside me. I'd tolerated Victoria's barbs for years, but this was different. This was my life's work at stake. "You know what, Victoria? You're wrong." "Am I?" She swirled her champagne. "Name one relationship you've had that lasted longer than a corporate quarterly report." My cousin Matthew, who'd been silently watching the drama unfold, whistled low. "She's got you there, Alex." I straightened my shoulders. "I'll do it. I'll get married within six months." The room fell silent again. "To whom?" Father asked skeptically. "I'll figure that out." Victoria burst into laughter. "Oh, this is too good! Alexander Carter, CEO and eligible bachelor, desperately seeking a wife. Should we put an ad in the classifieds?" Her husband joined in. "Maybe we should start interviewing candidates. Create a shortlist." "I don't need help finding someone," I said through gritted teeth. Aunt Elizabeth, who'd been quietly knitting in the corner, looked up. "What about that nice PR director at your company? Jennifer, something?" "She's married, Mother," Victoria said. "Oh. Well, what about your assistant?" "I'm not marrying my assistant, Aunt Elizabeth." Grandfather Harold raised his hand for silence. "The terms are set. Six months from today." Uncle Richard raised his glass. "To Alexander's impending nuptials! May he find a bride before Victoria gets his office." Victoria clinked glasses with her father. "I'm already planning where to put my new desk." I clenched my jaw. "Enjoy the fantasy while it lasts, cousin. I'm not losing the company." "Six months, Alexander," Grandfather reminded me. "The clock starts now." Chapter 6 Olivia I slept fitfully, my mind a carousel of images: Ryan's shocked face, Sophia's smug smirk, and, oddly, Alexander Carter's piercing gray eyes watching me in the rearview mirror. The weekend crawled by in a haze. I spent most of the time curled up on my couch, binging old movies, eating takeout, and ignoring the world, especially Ryan's desperate attempts to reach me. I let myself grieve, but by Sunday night, I was done crying; Ryan didn't deserve another tear. Monday morning arrived with brutal efficiency. I dragged myself into the shower, letting the hot water pound away the remnants of Friday night's disaster. No tears; I'd shed enough of those already. Ryan didn't deserve them. I wrapped myself in a towel and stared at my closet. What does one wear after catching their boyfriend balls-deep in another woman? I opted for armor: a crisp white blouse, a black pencil skirt, and highest heels. The kind of outfit that said, "I'm fine, fuck you very much." The cab ride to Carter Enterprises took twenty minutes. I spent it scrolling through Ryan's increasingly desperate texts. "Baby, please let me explain" "It was a mistake." "Call me." "I love YOU, not her." Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete. Carter Enterprises occupied a gleaming sixty-story tower in downtown Los Angeles. I'd been working there for eight months as a junior marketing executive, and despite the drama of my personal life imploding, I still felt a flutter of pride walking through those glass doors. The elevator whisked me to the 42nd floor. I stepped into the marketing department, where Nova was already at her desk, sipping her usual triple-shot espresso. "Morning, sunshine!" she called, then squinted at me. "You look different. New lipstick?" "New life status. Single." I dropped my bag at my desk. Before Nova could respond, Vivian breezed in, her red curls bouncing as she walked. "Ladies, you won't believe the email I just got. Apparently, the big boss himself will be sitting in on our presentation this week." "Alexander Carter?" I nearly choked on the words. "The one and only," Vivian confirmed, perching on the edge of my desk. "Why do you look like you've seen a ghost? It's not like you'll have to talk to him." If only she knew. "I'm just surprised," I managed. "He doesn't usually attend department presentations." Alice arrived last, as usual, balancing a stack of folders and her phone. "Sorry, I'm late. The barista got my order wrong twice. What did I miss?" "Alexander Carter's coming to our presentation, and Olivia's single," Nova summarized. Alice's eyes widened. "What? Which one should I address first?" "The presentation," I said quickly. "It's more important." "Like hell it is," Nova swiveled her chair to face me fully. "Spill it, Morgan. What happened with Ryan?" I sighed, lowering my voice. "I caught him fucking Sophia at her birthday party." All three women froze. "Sophia Santos? The one whose party you rushed off to?" Vivian clarified, her mouth hanging open. I nodded. "That backstabbing cunt," Nova breathed. "I hope his dick falls off," Alice added, patting my shoulder. "That's almost verbatim what Emilia said," I laughed despite myself. "What did you do?" Vivian leaned in, hungry for details. "I dumped him on the spot and left. End of story." "Good for you," Nova said firmly. "You deserve someone who knows what he has." "Preferably someone with a bigger dick and a functioning moral compass," Alice suggested. "Can we please focus on work now?" I begged. "I have the social media analytics to finish before lunch." They reluctantly returned to their desks, but I caught them shooting me concerned glances throughout the morning. I buried myself in spreadsheets and engagement metrics, grateful for the distraction. The last thing I needed was to think about that night, including my unexpected encounter with Alexander Carter. The CEO of Carter Enterprises wasn't just my boss; he was a legend in the business world. Cold, calculating, brilliant. He'd taken his grandfather's company and transformed it into a multinational corporation in less than a decade. The tabloids occasionally linked him with models or actresses, but he was notoriously private. And I really, really didn't want him to connect the dots between the disheveled woman he'd rescued and Olivia Morgan, a junior marketing executive. At lunch, we headed to the company cafeteria on the 30th floor. I scanned the room instinctively, relaxing when I didn't spot any tall, dark-haired executives. "So," Vivian said as we settled at our usual table, "tell us more about Friday. You rushed out of here like your ass was on fire." I poked at my salad. "Not much to tell. I got to the party, couldn't find Ryan, went looking for him, and found him bent over Sophia's dresser, drilling her like he was looking for oil." Nova snorted water through her nose. "Jesus, Liv! Warning next time." "What did you say?" Alice asked, leaning forward. "I asked if they'd been 'careful' and reminded him that monogamy is apparently very limiting." I stabbed a cherry tomato. "Then I told him to go fuck himself. Or Sophia. Whichever." "Queen shit," Vivian raised her water bottle in a toast. "To Olivia, who doesn't take crap from cheating assholes." "To Olivia," the others echoed. "Anything else interesting happened?" Alice asked. "Did you key his car? Throw drinks? Create a scene?" I hesitated. "No, nothing like that. Emilia and I just left." I couldn't bring myself to mention Alexander. It felt too surreal, too private somehow. The next few days passed in a blur of work and ignored calls from Ryan. I threw myself into the upcoming presentation, staying late to perfect the slides and rehearse my talking points. If Alexander Carter was going to be there, everything needed to be flawless. Not that he'd recognize me. He probably rescued women from creeps all the time. Why would he remember one random encounter? Thursday morning, I arrived early to set up the conference room. Our presentation on the new social media campaign was scheduled for 10 AM, and my stomach had been in knots since I woke up. "Relax," Nova said, adjusting the projector. "Carter probably won't even show up. These executives always have 'emergencies' that pull them away." "And if he does show up, he'll be on his phone the whole time," Vivian added, straightening the chairs. Alice arrived with a tray of coffee. "Or he'll leave halfway through. That's what happened at the last sales presentation." Their attempts at reassurance weren't helping. I couldn't shake the image of Alexander recognizing me, his eyebrows rising in surprise as he connected the dots between professional Olivia Morgan and the emotional wreck he'd driven home. By 9:55, the room was filled with marketing staff and a few executives I recognized from other departments. I took my position near the front, reviewing my notes one last time. At exactly 10 AM, the room fell silent. I looked up to see Alexander Carter striding through the door, followed by two assistants. He was even more imposing in his natural habitat with a charcoal suit perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders, and his presence commanded attention effortlessly. He nodded to the room and took a seat in the back row. I quickly looked down at my notes, my heart hammering against my ribs. ========= 👉 (When you open the App, it will automatically jump to the book.)
Chapter 1 Olivia's POV I slumped against the passenger seat as Ryan's car cruised through the palm-lined streets of Los Angeles. My eyelids felt heavy after a twelve-hour shift at Carter Enterprises. The quarterly marketing campaign required us all to work overtime, and as a junior marketing executive, I was stuck with weekend work. "You still with me, babe?" Ryan glanced over, his perfectly styled dark hair catching the sunset's glow. "Barely." I stifled a yawn. "Remind me why we're going to this party when I could be face-planting into my pillow right now?" "Because Sophia would kill you if you missed her birthday." He reached over and squeezed my knee. "And because you look stunning in that dress I bought for you." I glanced down at the black cocktail dress he'd insisted I wear. The neckline plunged lower than I'd normally choose, and the hemline rode high enough to make me self-conscious every time I sat down. Ryan had shown up at my apartment with the dress in a boutique bag, eyes gleaming with anticipation as I'd tried it on. "I still think it's a bit much for a birthday party," I tugged at the fabric, trying to cover more of my chest. "Liv, we've been dating for two years. I know what looks good on you better than you do. Trust me, every guy at this party will wish he was me tonight." "Is that what this is about? Marking your territory?" "Can you blame me?" He winked as he turned onto Sophia's street, where luxury cars lined both sides. Sophia's recently purchased triplex stood illuminated against the darkening sky, music pulsing from within. For someone only turning twenty-five, she'd done remarkably well for herself in real estate development. Ryan found a spot half a block away and cut the engine. "Ready to make an entrance, Ms. Morgan?" "As I'll ever be." I grabbed my purse and the gift bag containing the vintage champagne Ryan had suggested we bring. The cool evening air hit my bare shoulders as I stepped out of the car, making me shiver. Ryan's arm slid around my waist, his hand resting dangerously low on my hip. "See? Worth getting dressed up for." He nodded toward the house. "This place is insane." We walked up the curved driveway where twinkling lights had been strung through the palm trees. The front door stood open, spilling light, music, and laughter onto the porch. "Olivia! You made it!" Sophia appeared in the doorway, resplendent in a gold sequined dress. "I was starting to think you'd stood me up!" "My work tried its best to keep me away," I laughed, accepting her enthusiastic hug. "Happy birthday, Soph." "And Ryan, looking delicious as always." She air-kissed his cheeks. "Come in, come in! Everyone's already two drinks ahead of you." Ryan's hand pressed against the small of my back as we entered the foyer, which opened to a massive great room where at least thirty people mingled. The space featured floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the twinkling Los Angeles skyline. "Drink?" Ryan asked, already scanning the room. "God, yes. The strongest thing they've got." He chuckled. "That's my girl. Be right back." As Ryan disappeared toward the bar setup, I heard a familiar squeal from across the room. "Olivia Morgan, get your ass over here!" I turned to see Emilia waving frantically from a plush sectional sofa. My best friend since college was already flushed from alcohol, her blonde hair falling in waves around her shoulders. "Em!" I navigated through clusters of guests to reach her. "How long have you been here?" "Long enough to know the bartender's life story." She stood, wobbling slightly in her heels, and embraced me. She pulled back, holding me at arm's length to examine my outfit. "Holy shit, your boobs look amazing in that dress. Did Ryan pick it out?" I felt my cheeks warm. "Is it that obvious?" "Only because I've known you for eight years, and you've never willingly shown that much cleavage." She smirked. "Not that I'm complaining. If I had your rack, I'd show it off, too." "Could you say that a little louder? I don't think everyone in Malibu heard you." "Sorry, can't help it. You're too easy to embarrass." Emilia's eyes danced with mischief as she took another sip of her drink. "By the way, have you seen our birthday girl? I swear she was here greeting people and then just... vanished." I scanned the crowded room. "No, actually. Where did Ryan go? He was supposed to be getting me a drink." "Maybe he's outside? I saw some people heading to the back lawn earlier." Emilia shrugged. "Or he could be sneaking a cigarette." I narrowed my eyes. "He told me he quit three months ago. If I catch him smoking after all that 'I'm done with nicotine forever, baby' bullshit, I'll kill him myself." "Men lie about the stupidest things. Like, just admit you still smoke and save us both the drama." "I'm going to find him," I said, tugging at my dress, which had ridden up dangerously high. "If he's outside with a cigarette, I'm putting it on his favorite shoes." "That's my girl." Emilia raised her glass. "I'll be right here judging everyone's outfit choices when you get back." I weaved through the crowded living room, nodding at half-familiar faces from past gatherings. The kitchen was jammed with people mixing drinks. No Ryan. The back patio held a group playing some drinking games with shots and ping pong balls. No Ryan among them. "Looking for someone?" A tall guy with a man-bun approached, his eyes dropping to my cleavage before meeting my gaze. "My boyfriend. Tall, dark hair, probably looking smug about something." He laughed. "Haven't seen him. But I'd be happy to keep you company until he shows up." "Hard pass, but thanks." I turned away, irritation building. Where the hell was Ryan with my drink? I climbed the modern floating staircase to the next floor, where the noise from the party became more muffled. The hallway was dimly lit and had several closed doors. A sound caught my attention – a moan? A laugh? Something between the two. It was faint, coming from further down the hall. The sound came again, more distinct this time. Definitely a moan. Great. A couple had found a private spot to hook up at Sophia's party. How classy. I was about to turn back when I noticed a slightly ajar door at the end of the hallway, a sliver of light spilling onto the hardwood floor. Something compelled me forward – curiosity, or perhaps a sixth sense I didn't know I had. As I approached, the sounds became clearer. A woman's voice, breathless and urgent: "Fuck, yes, right there." I froze. The voice was familiar. A male voice responded, low and commanding: "You like that, don't you? Tell me how much you want it." My stomach dropped. Ryan's voice. I should have turned away, run down those stairs, and straight out the front door. Instead, I moved closer, pushing the door open wider. The scene burned into my retinas like a brand. Sophia bent over her dresser; her gold dress pushed up around her waist. Ryan was behind her, his pants around his ankles, hands gripping her hips as he thrust into her. "Harder," Sophia gasped. "Make me feel it tomorrow." "What the fuck?" The words escaped me before I could stop them. They both froze. Ryan's head whipped around, his eyes widening with shock. Chapter 2 Olivia's POV Ryan's head whipped around, his eyes widening with shock. For a moment, time suspended itself. My lungs refused to work, and the room seemed to tilt sideways. "Liv—" Ryan stammered, still connected to Sophia. "This isn't—" "What it looks like?" I finished, my voice surprisingly steady despite the earthquake happening inside me. "Because it looks like you're fucking my friend on her birthday while I wait downstairs for a drink that's never coming." Sophia turned her head, meeting my gaze without a hint of shame. She didn't even bother to adjust her dress; she just rested her elbows on the dresser and sighed like I'd interrupted a business meeting. "Oh, Olivia," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "Did you think a man like Ryan would be satisfied with just you?" Ryan finally pulled away from her, fumbling to pull up his pants. "Baby, please, this is just a... a thing. It doesn't mean anything." "A thing?" I repeated, heat rising to my face. "How long has this 'thing' been happening?" Before either could answer, I heard footsteps behind me. "Liv? Did you find—" Emilia's voice cut off as she appeared at my side, taking in the scene. "Holy fucking shit." Ryan's face paled further. "This isn't what—" "If you say 'this isn't what it looks like' one more time, I swear to God I will castrate you with my bare hands," Emilia snapped, her arm wrapping protectively around my shoulders. Sophia straightened up, finally adjusting her dress with leisurely movements. She tossed her hair back and had the audacity to smirk. "Ryan and I have an understanding. It's just sex. Great sex, but still just sex." "An understanding?" I laughed, the sound brittle and foreign to my ears. "And when exactly were you planning to include me in this understanding? After you gave me chlamydia, or before?" "Don't be dramatic," Ryan said, tucking in his shirt. "We've been careful." "Oh, careful! Well, that makes it all better then!" I threw my hands up. "You've been carefully fucking my friend behind my back. Such consideration!" Sophia leaned against the dresser, crossing her arms. "We're all adults here. Monogamy is so... limiting, don't you think?" Emilia stepped forward. "The only thing limiting around here is your moral compass, you backstabbing bitch." "Watch it," Sophia warned, her eyes narrowing. "Or what? You'll sleep with my boyfriend too? Get in line." Emilia turned to Ryan. "And you. You pathetic excuse for a man. Two years? Two fucking years of her life wasted on you?" Ryan finally managed to buckle his belt. "Liv, baby, please. We can talk about this. It's just physical. It doesn't change how I feel about you." "You feel so much for me that you bought me this dress." I gestured to my outfit. "So, I could be downstairs putting on a show for your friends while you're up here with your dick in Sophia?" "The dress looks amazing on you," he offered weakly. I stared at him in disbelief. "That's what you're going with right now? Fashion compliments?" "I'm just saying—" "No, I'm done listening to what you're 'just saying.'" I turned to leave, then spun back. "Two years, Ryan. Two years of me rearranging my schedule for you and believing every word out of your mouth. Was any of it real?" He took a step toward me. "Of course, it was real. I love you, Liv." "Spare me," I spat. "If this is your version of love, I want nothing to do with it." Sophia sighed dramatically. "Can we wrap this up? I have guests downstairs." "You have one less now," I said, turning away. "Enjoy your birthday present. You two deserve each other." Emilia shot them both a final glare before following me out. We marched down the hallway, my legs somehow carrying me forward despite feeling like they might collapse. "I've got you," Emilia whispered, her arm still around me as we descended the stairs. The party continued below us, oblivious to the implosion that had just occurred upstairs. The music seemed too loud now, the laughter too jarring. We pushed through the crowd toward the front door. Someone called my name, but I kept moving, my eyes fixed on the exit. The cool night air hit my face as we stepped outside, and only then did I realize I was shaking. We made it to the sidewalk when I heard the front door open behind us. I refused to look back. "Olivia!" Ryan called out. "Wait!" Emilia turned, positioning herself between us like a shield. "Go back to your birthday girl, asshole." "This is between me and Liv," he insisted but made no move to follow us. "There is no 'me and Liv' anymore," I called back, still walking. "We're done." His response was lost as we rounded the corner, the sounds of the party fading behind us. Once out of sight, my composure crumbled. I stopped walking, my breath coming in gasps. "I can't believe…I can't…" I pressed my hand to my mouth. "I know, honey. I know." Emilia pulled me into a hug. "Let it out." "Two years," I whispered against her shoulder. "Two fucking years." She stroked my hair. "I'm so sorry, Liv." I pulled back, wiping angrily at my eyes. "Did you know? About them?" Emilia hesitated. "Not for sure. But I had my suspicions." "What? Why didn't you say anything?" She sighed, fishing her phone from her purse. "I saw them at Barton's Café last month. They said they'd run into each other, but it seemed... off. The way they were sitting, the way he touched her arm. I didn't want to say anything without proof. I didn't want to hurt you if I was wrong." "Well, now we have proof," I said bitterly. "Let me call us a cab," Emilia said, tapping her phone. "My car's not here. Jake dropped me off." I hugged myself against the chill, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt in the dress Ryan had chosen. "No cabs available. Let's walk a bit. I'll keep trying for a ride and call Jake. Maybe he can pick us up." "Fine by me." I just wanted to get as far away from Sophia's house as possible. "I'd walk to Mexico now if it meant never seeing Ryan again." We started down the sidewalk, my heels clicking against the concrete. The neighborhood was upscale, with sprawling houses set back from the road, but the street itself was poorly lit. The rumble of an engine cut her off as a convertible slowed beside us. Four guys crowded inside, the stench of alcohol wafting our way. The driver leaned over, his eyes crawling over my body before settling on my chest. "Hey, babes, want a ride?" He grinned, revealing a gold tooth. "We got plenty of room on our laps." His friends burst into laughter. The one in the passenger seat raised a bottle. "We're celebrating! Don't you wanna celebrate with us?" "Fuck off," Emilia snapped, pulling me closer. "Ooh, feisty!" The driver killed the engine. "I like feisty." One guy, thick-necked with a tribal tattoo, vaulted over the door. He staggered toward us, pointing at Emilia. "You got a mouth on you, blondie. Let's see what else it can do." Before I could react, he lunged forward and grabbed Emilia by her hair, yanking her head back. She screamed, clawing at his arm. "Let her go!" I shouted, my marketing executive persona vanishing as pure rage took over. I swung my purse, connecting with his temple. He stumbled but kept his grip on Emilia's hair. "Your friend wants to play rough, huh?" He leered at me, eyes fixed on my chest. "Nice tits. Bet they bounce real good." Chapter 3 Olivia's POV My fist throbbed from connecting with the guy's head, but it hadn't done enough. Emilia whimpered as he yanked her hair harder, forcing her head back at an unnatural angle. "Let her go, you piece of shit!" I hissed, fear and fury colliding in my chest. "Or what?" He laughed, his breath reeking of whiskey. "You gonna hit me with your little purse again?" The other men from the car were climbing out now, their movements predatory as they circled around us. The driver, with his gold tooth catching the dim streetlight, stepped toward me. "C'mon baby, we just wanna have some fun." His eyes never left my chest. "You're dressed like you want attention. We're just giving you what you want." "I want you to let my friend go and fuck off back to whatever sewer you crawled out of," I spat, backing away until I felt a tree behind me. "Ooh, she's got a mouth on her too," said another shorter but broad-shouldered guy wearing a baseball cap. "I like that. Makes it more fun when they fight a little." The driver reached for me, his fingers grazing my arm. I slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me!" "Playing hard to get?" He moved closer, pinning me against the tree. "That's cute." Emilia was still struggling against Tribal Tattoo's grip. "Liv, run! Just run!" "I'm not leaving you," I said, looking desperately around for anything I could use as a weapon. The driver pressed his body against mine; one hand braced on the tree beside my head. "Your friend's not going anywhere, and neither are you." His other hand reached for my breast. "Let's see if these feel as good as they look." I brought my knee up hard, aiming for his groin, but he twisted away at the last second. My knee glanced off his thigh. "Feisty bitch!" He grabbed my wrist, squeezing until I gasped in pain. Headlights suddenly illuminated the scene as another car screeched to a halt beside us. The engine cut off, and the driver's door opened. "Is there a problem here?" A deep voice cut through the night. A tall figure emerged from the shadows into the spill of a distant streetlight. Broad-shouldered and imposing in what looked like an expensive suit, he moved with a quiet confidence that commanded attention. "Mind your own business, man," Gold Tooth snarled, but I noticed he'd loosened his grip on my wrist. The newcomer stepped closer, and I caught my breath. Even in the dim light, I recognized him immediately. Alexander Carter. My boss's boss's boss. The CEO of Carter Enterprises, where I'd been working as a junior marketing executive for the past eight months. "I believe these ladies were telling you to leave them alone," he said, his voice calm but edged with steel. "I suggest you listen." Gold Tooth sneered. "What are you gonna do about it? There's four of us and one of you." Alexander didn't even blink. "True. But I've already called the police, and they're on their way. I'm sure they'd be interested to know about four drunk men assaulting two women on a public street." Tribal Tattoo finally released Emilia's hair, shoving her forward. "Whatever, man. These bitches ain't worth the trouble." Emilia stumbled toward me, and I caught her, pulling her close. "You okay?" I whispered. She nodded, rubbing her scalp. "Bastard nearly ripped my hair out." Gold Tooth took a step toward Carter, puffing out his chest. "You think you're some kind of hero? Rich boy in his fancy car?" Alexander simply stared him down, not moving an inch. "I think I'm someone who doesn't want to see two women harassed by drunken idiots. Now, you can leave on your own, or you can wait for the police. Your choice." For a tense moment, I thought Gold Tooth might throw a punch. Instead, he spat on the ground near Alexander's polished shoes. "Let's go," he muttered to his friends. "These sluts aren't worth jail time." They piled back into their convertible, engine roaring to life. Gold Tooth revved it aggressively before peeling away, tires screeching. Alexander turned to us. "Are you both all right?" Up close, he was even more intimidating than he was at company events. Tall, with sharp features and piercing gray eyes, he had the kind of face that belonged in business magazines, where it often appeared. Despite the late hour, his dark hair was neatly styled, not a strand out of place. "We're okay," I managed, suddenly conscious of my appearance: disheveled hair, makeup probably smeared from crying earlier, and this ridiculous dress that now felt like a terrible mistake. "Thank you for stopping." "Do you need a ride somewhere?" he asked, his eyes briefly dropping to my chest before snapping back to my face. "Our cab canceled," Emilia said, still rubbing her scalp. "And my boyfriend's not answering his phone." Alexander gestured to his car, a sleek black car. "I'm happy to drive you both home." I hesitated. This was Alexander Carter, the man who signed my paychecks and whose name was on the building where I worked. The man was known for his ruthless business tactics and cold demeanor. The last thing I needed was for him to realize I was one of his employees, especially looking like this. "That's very kind," I said carefully, "but we don't want to impose." "It's no imposition," he replied. "I'd rather not leave you out here after what just happened." Emilia looked at me with raised eyebrows, silently communicating: "Are you crazy? Free ride in a sleek car with a hot, rich guy? Say yes!" "If you're sure it's not too much trouble," I relented. "Not at all." He opened the backseat door. "Please." The car's interior was all black leather and gleaming surfaces. It smelled of expensive cologne and a new car, a heady combination that made my head spin—or maybe that was the adrenaline crash. "I'm Alexander Carter," he said as he slid behind the wheel. "Olivia," I replied, deliberately omitting my last name. "And this is Emilia." "Pleasure to meet you both, despite the circumstances." He started the engine, which purred to life. "Where am I taking you?" Emilia gave him her address first, and then I gave him mine. "Rough night?" he asked as we pulled away from the curb. Emilia snorted. "You could say that. We were at a birthday party where Liv caught her boyfriend banging the birthday girl." "Emilia!" I hissed, mortified. Alexander's eyes flicked to me in the rearview mirror. "I see. I'm sorry to hear that." "It's fine," I mumbled, wishing I could disappear into the leather seat. "It's not fine," Emilia insisted. "Ryan is a cheating scumbag who deserves to have his dick fall off." A small smile tugged at the corner of Alexander's mouth. "I take it Ryan is the ex-boyfriend?" "As of about a few minutes ago, yes," I confirmed, wondering why I was discussing my love life with my CEO. "Well, for what it's worth," he said, his eyes meeting mine briefly in the mirror again, "he sounds like an idiot." Chapter 4 Olivia's POV The car fell silent as we drove through the streets of Los Angeles, the city lights blurring past the windows. I studied Alexander's profile, the strong jaw, and straight nose, wondering why he'd stopped to help us. Everything I'd heard about him at work painted him as cold, distant, focused only on the bottom line. We reached Emilia's apartment building first. Alexander pulled up to the curb, the engine purring quietly as he shifted into park. "This is me," Emilia announced, gathering her purse. She leaned over to hug me, using the moment to whisper in my ear. "Holy fuck, Liv. He's hot as balls. If he wants to bang you senseless tonight, you better fucking do it. The best way to get over Ryan is to get under the CEO. Shit, those hands look like they know what they're doing." I pulled back, shooting her a death glare that could have melted steel. "What?" she mouthed innocently before turning to Alexander. "Thanks for the ride, knight in shining Armani. You're a lifesaver." "It was no trouble," he replied politely. Emilia opened the door, then paused to give me one last meaningful look. "Call me tomorrow with ALL the details." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Goodbye, Emilia," I said firmly, my cheeks burning. She blew me a kiss and slammed the door, sauntering toward her building with a little extra sway in her hips, no doubt for Alexander's benefit. As we pulled away, I sank deeper into the leather seat, mortified. "I'm so sorry about her. She has no filter." Alexander's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. "No need to apologize. She seems like a good friend." "The best," I admitted. "Even if she occasionally makes me want to strangle her." His lips quirked upward, almost a smile but not quite. "Those are often the best kinds of friends." We lapsed into silence as he navigated through the streets of Los Angeles. The city lights streamed past the windows, creating a kaleidoscope effect that matched my swirling thoughts. I caught Alexander glancing at me in the mirror a few times, his expression unreadable. "Left at the next light," I directed as we approached my neighborhood. He nodded, making the turn smoothly. "Here we are," he announced, pulling up to my apartment building. It wasn't fancy by LA standards but clean and in a decent area. I could just barely afford it on my junior executive salary. He turned off the engine and, to my surprise, got out to open my door. His hand extended to help me out, warm and solid as I took it. The contact sent an unexpected jolt up my arm. "Thank you again," I said, reluctantly letting go of his hand. "For everything tonight." Alexander studied me for a moment, his gray eyes intense. "I hope you're able to move past what happened tonight. Your boyfriend, or rather your ex-boyfriend, clearly didn't appreciate what he had." The unexpected kindness in his voice made my throat tighten. "I'll be fine," I managed. "I'm sure you will," he agreed. "Someone like you won't stay single for long unless you want to." I wasn't sure how to respond to that. Was Alexander Carter, CEO of Carter Enterprises, flirting with me? No, that was ridiculous. He was just being polite. "Goodnight, Olivia," he said, stepping back toward his car. "Goodnight, Alexander. And thank you for the ride." He nodded once, then slid back into his car. I watched as he drove away, his taillights disappearing around the corner before I turned and entered my building. The elevator ride to my fourth-floor apartment felt endless. My keys jangled in my shaking hands as I unlocked my door, stepping into the darkness of my living room. I flipped on the light, tossed my purse on the counter, and kicked off my heels. The silence of my apartment pressed in around me. Just hours ago, I'd been getting ready for what I thought would be a normal night out with my boyfriend. Now, everything had changed. I peeled off the black cocktail dress and threw it in the trash. Never again would I wear something just because a man told me it looked good on me. In my bathroom, I scrubbed off my makeup. The woman in the mirror looked tired, her eyes red-rimmed but clear. I pulled on an oversized t-shirt and fell onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, probably Ryan finally realizing what he'd lost. I ignored it. Why had he done it? Two years together, and he throws it all away for Sophia? Had he been sleeping with her all along? The signs had been there: the late nights at work, the sudden business trips, the way his phone was always face-down when I was around. I'd trusted him completely. What a fool I'd been. My phone buzzed again. This time, I glanced at it. Emilia. "You home safe? Did Mr. CEO make a move? Please say yes." I texted back: "Yes, I'm home. No, he didn't. Go to sleep." Her response was immediate: "Boring! But seriously, you okay?" "I will be," I replied and realized I meant it. I tossed my phone onto the nightstand and stared at the ceiling, my mind racing despite my exhaustion. Sleep seemed impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ryan thrusting into Sophia, her smug face, his pathetic excuses. "Fuck," I whispered to the empty room. "Two years down the drain." I rolled over, burying my face in my pillow. Two years of holidays, family gatherings, inside jokes—all tainted now. But something else kept intruding on my thoughts: Alexander Carter's piercing gray eyes in the rearview mirror. Alexander Carter. My CEO. The man I'd just met while looking like a complete disaster. "He probably won't even remember me tomorrow," I muttered, flipping onto my back again. "Why would he? He's Alexander fucking Carter." The ceiling offered no answers. I'd worked at Carter Enterprises for eight months and never once spoken to him. I'd seen him striding through the lobby, standing at podiums during company-wide meetings, his face on the company website and annual reports. Always distant. Always untouchable. And now he'd seen me at my absolute worst, heartbroken in a slutty dress. "Great first impression, Olivia. Really professional." I snorted at my own sarcasm. It was as if Alexander Carter would ever connect the disheveled woman he'd rescued with Olivia Morgan, a junior marketing executive. Our worlds didn't intersect. He inhabited the executive floor with its panoramic views of Los Angeles. At the same time, I worked in my cubicle fifteen floors below, crafting social media campaigns for products I could barely afford. I pulled the covers over my head, trying to force sleep to come. But my brain had other ideas, conjuring an image of running into Alexander in the office elevator. Would he recognize me? Would I have the courage to thank him again? Would he look at me with those intense gray eyes and see past the professional facade to the woman he'd rescued? "As if," I mumbled into my pillow. "He probably rescues women from creeps every weekend. It's probably a rich guy's hobby." But what if he did remember me? What if our paths crossed in the office cafeteria or during a presentation? What would I say? Chapter 5 Alexander's POV I parked my car in the circular driveway of my parent's estate, taking a moment to prepare myself for the inevitable Carter family dynamics. Sunday dinner at the Carter mansion, a tradition as old as the oak trees lining the property, was something I both dreaded and looked forward to. The mansion stood like a monument to old money, with stone façades and manicured gardens that screamed, "We've had wealth for generations." My phone buzzed with an email from work, but I ignored it. Work could wait, but family obligations couldn't, especially when Grandfather Harold was involved. I straightened my tie and headed inside, where Martha, our longtime housekeeper, greeted me with a warm smile. "Mr. Alexander, everyone's waiting in the drawing room. Your grandfather arrived early." That was never a good sign. Grandfather arriving early meant he had an agenda. "Is Victoria here?" I asked, handing Martha my coat. "Yes, sir. With her husband. They arrived about an hour ago." Perfect. My cousin Victoria and her investment banker husband Thomas, the power couple who never let anyone forget how perfect their life was. The drawing room buzzed with conversation that stopped when I entered. Mother rose from her seat, elegant as always in her pearl necklace and tailored dress. "Alexander, darling. We were beginning to worry." I kissed her cheek. "Traffic was terrible. Sorry, I'm late." Father nodded from his armchair, whiskey in hand. "Son." That was Father, a man of few words unless discussing business or golf. Victoria sat perched on the antique sofa, her husband's arm draped around her shoulder in that possessive way I found irritating. My sister Valentina was there, too, scrolling through her phone. But it was Grandfather Harold who commanded the room from his wheelchair. At seventy-eight, he might have lost some mobility but none of his mental sharpness or business acumen. "Alexander," he barked. "Sit down. We need to talk." I took a seat across from him. "Good to see you too, Grandfather." "Don't get smart with me, boy. I've been waiting." Victoria smirked. "Some of us manage to arrive on time, cousin dear." I ignored her. "What's this about? I thought this was just dinner." Grandfather Harold waved his hand dismissively. "Dinner can wait. This is about the future of Carter Enterprises." The room fell silent. When Grandfather talked about the company's future, everyone paid attention. He'd built Carter Enterprises from a small family business into a corporate empire and, at seventy-eight, still held the controlling stake. "I've been updating my will," he announced. Mother gasped softly. Father set down his whiskey. "Oh, relax; I'm not dying yet," Grandfather snapped. "Just getting my affairs in order. And I've made some decisions about the company shares." I leaned forward. As CEO, I had a significant stake in the company, but Grandfather's controlling shares would eventually determine who truly ran Carter Enterprises. "Alexander," he fixed his steely gaze on me. "You've done well as CEO. Profits are up. The board is happy. But there's something missing." "Missing?" I frowned. "Our last quarter was our best in five years." "I'm not talking about business." He thumped his cane on the floor. "I'm talking about family. Stability. A legacy." Victoria's husband coughed discreetly. Victoria's smile widened. "What exactly are you saying, Grandfather?" Harold Carter leaned forward in his wheelchair. "I'm saying that to inherit my controlling shares in Carter Enterprises, you need to be married within six months." The room exploded in reactions. Mother gasped again. Father actually put down his drink. Valentina looked up from her phone. Victoria burst into delighted laughter. "Married?" I stared at him. "You can't be serious." "Dead serious." Grandfather's expression didn't change. "Carter Enterprises has always been family-run. Family means stability. Commitment." "I'm committed to the company!" "But not to anything or anyone else." Grandfather shook his head. "You're thirty-three, Alexander. Your relationships last shorter than some of our quarterly reports." Victoria couldn't contain herself. "Oh, this is priceless. Is Alexander getting married? He can't even keep a girlfriend past the three-month mark." "Thank you for that astute observation, Victoria," I said, forcing a smile. "Always a pleasure to have your support." Uncle Richard, Victoria's father, chuckled from the corner of the room. "The boy does have a track record." "A track record?" My father set his tumbler down with more force than necessary. "Last year, we selected a perfectly suitable woman for him. The engagement was announced in the Times, for God's sake. And then what happened, Alexander?" I loosened my tie slightly. "Dad—" "He canceled it two weeks before the wedding," Father continued, addressing the room like I wasn't there. "The merger nearly fell apart because of it." Aunt Patricia gasped dramatically. "Penelope Langford? Such a lovely girl and from a good family. What a shame." "She wasn't right for me," I said firmly. Valentina finally looked up from her phone. "He didn't like her. Said she reminded him of a corporate spreadsheet – technically perfect but utterly boring." "Thank you for sharing that, Val," I muttered. My sister shrugged and went back to her phone. "Just telling it like it is." Grandfather Harold thumped his cane again. "Enough! The terms are simple. Alexander marries within six months, or Victoria receives my controlling stake in the company." Victoria nearly spilled her champagne in excitement. "Really, Grandfather? You'd give me control?" Her husband Thomas straightened his posture, dollar signs practically visible in his eyes. "I didn't build this company for forty years to watch it get dismantled by your husband's investment firm," Grandfather snapped at Victoria. "But at least you understand commitment." I stood up, pacing the Persian rug. "This is absurd. You're reducing the future of our family business to whether or not I get married? What century is this?" "The century where actions have consequences," Grandfather replied. "Victoria may be insufferable—" "Hey!" Victoria protested. "—but she's stable. Married. Committed." Victoria's smirk returned. "Face it, Alexander. You couldn't commit to a woman if your life depended on it. Now your career does, and we all know how that's going to end." Something snapped inside me. I'd tolerated Victoria's barbs for years, but this was different. This was my life's work at stake. "You know what, Victoria? You're wrong." "Am I?" She swirled her champagne. "Name one relationship you've had that lasted longer than a corporate quarterly report." My cousin Matthew, who'd been silently watching the drama unfold, whistled low. "She's got you there, Alex." I straightened my shoulders. "I'll do it. I'll get married within six months." The room fell silent again. "To whom?" Father asked skeptically. "I'll figure that out." Victoria burst into laughter. "Oh, this is too good! Alexander Carter, CEO and eligible bachelor, desperately seeking a wife. Should we put an ad in the classifieds?" Her husband joined in. "Maybe we should start interviewing candidates. Create a shortlist." "I don't need help finding someone," I said through gritted teeth. Aunt Elizabeth, who'd been quietly knitting in the corner, looked up. "What about that nice PR director at your company? Jennifer, something?" "She's married, Mother," Victoria said. "Oh. Well, what about your assistant?" "I'm not marrying my assistant, Aunt Elizabeth." Grandfather Harold raised his hand for silence. "The terms are set. Six months from today." Uncle Richard raised his glass. "To Alexander's impending nuptials! May he find a bride before Victoria gets his office." Victoria clinked glasses with her father. "I'm already planning where to put my new desk." I clenched my jaw. "Enjoy the fantasy while it lasts, cousin. I'm not losing the company." "Six months, Alexander," Grandfather reminded me. "The clock starts now." Chapter 6 Olivia I slept fitfully, my mind a carousel of images: Ryan's shocked face, Sophia's smug smirk, and, oddly, Alexander Carter's piercing gray eyes watching me in the rearview mirror. The weekend crawled by in a haze. I spent most of the time curled up on my couch, binging old movies, eating takeout, and ignoring the world, especially Ryan's desperate attempts to reach me. I let myself grieve, but by Sunday night, I was done crying; Ryan didn't deserve another tear. Monday morning arrived with brutal efficiency. I dragged myself into the shower, letting the hot water pound away the remnants of Friday night's disaster. No tears; I'd shed enough of those already. Ryan didn't deserve them. I wrapped myself in a towel and stared at my closet. What does one wear after catching their boyfriend balls-deep in another woman? I opted for armor: a crisp white blouse, a black pencil skirt, and highest heels. The kind of outfit that said, "I'm fine, fuck you very much." The cab ride to Carter Enterprises took twenty minutes. I spent it scrolling through Ryan's increasingly desperate texts. "Baby, please let me explain" "It was a mistake." "Call me." "I love YOU, not her." Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete. Carter Enterprises occupied a gleaming sixty-story tower in downtown Los Angeles. I'd been working there for eight months as a junior marketing executive, and despite the drama of my personal life imploding, I still felt a flutter of pride walking through those glass doors. The elevator whisked me to the 42nd floor. I stepped into the marketing department, where Nova was already at her desk, sipping her usual triple-shot espresso. "Morning, sunshine!" she called, then squinted at me. "You look different. New lipstick?" "New life status. Single." I dropped my bag at my desk. Before Nova could respond, Vivian breezed in, her red curls bouncing as she walked. "Ladies, you won't believe the email I just got. Apparently, the big boss himself will be sitting in on our presentation this week." "Alexander Carter?" I nearly choked on the words. "The one and only," Vivian confirmed, perching on the edge of my desk. "Why do you look like you've seen a ghost? It's not like you'll have to talk to him." If only she knew. "I'm just surprised," I managed. "He doesn't usually attend department presentations." Alice arrived last, as usual, balancing a stack of folders and her phone. "Sorry, I'm late. The barista got my order wrong twice. What did I miss?" "Alexander Carter's coming to our presentation, and Olivia's single," Nova summarized. Alice's eyes widened. "What? Which one should I address first?" "The presentation," I said quickly. "It's more important." "Like hell it is," Nova swiveled her chair to face me fully. "Spill it, Morgan. What happened with Ryan?" I sighed, lowering my voice. "I caught him fucking Sophia at her birthday party." All three women froze. "Sophia Santos? The one whose party you rushed off to?" Vivian clarified, her mouth hanging open. I nodded. "That backstabbing cunt," Nova breathed. "I hope his dick falls off," Alice added, patting my shoulder. "That's almost verbatim what Emilia said," I laughed despite myself. "What did you do?" Vivian leaned in, hungry for details. "I dumped him on the spot and left. End of story." "Good for you," Nova said firmly. "You deserve someone who knows what he has." "Preferably someone with a bigger dick and a functioning moral compass," Alice suggested. "Can we please focus on work now?" I begged. "I have the social media analytics to finish before lunch." They reluctantly returned to their desks, but I caught them shooting me concerned glances throughout the morning. I buried myself in spreadsheets and engagement metrics, grateful for the distraction. The last thing I needed was to think about that night, including my unexpected encounter with Alexander Carter. The CEO of Carter Enterprises wasn't just my boss; he was a legend in the business world. Cold, calculating, brilliant. He'd taken his grandfather's company and transformed it into a multinational corporation in less than a decade. The tabloids occasionally linked him with models or actresses, but he was notoriously private. And I really, really didn't want him to connect the dots between the disheveled woman he'd rescued and Olivia Morgan, a junior marketing executive. At lunch, we headed to the company cafeteria on the 30th floor. I scanned the room instinctively, relaxing when I didn't spot any tall, dark-haired executives. "So," Vivian said as we settled at our usual table, "tell us more about Friday. You rushed out of here like your ass was on fire." I poked at my salad. "Not much to tell. I got to the party, couldn't find Ryan, went looking for him, and found him bent over Sophia's dresser, drilling her like he was looking for oil." Nova snorted water through her nose. "Jesus, Liv! Warning next time." "What did you say?" Alice asked, leaning forward. "I asked if they'd been 'careful' and reminded him that monogamy is apparently very limiting." I stabbed a cherry tomato. "Then I told him to go fuck himself. Or Sophia. Whichever." "Queen shit," Vivian raised her water bottle in a toast. "To Olivia, who doesn't take crap from cheating assholes." "To Olivia," the others echoed. "Anything else interesting happened?" Alice asked. "Did you key his car? Throw drinks? Create a scene?" I hesitated. "No, nothing like that. Emilia and I just left." I couldn't bring myself to mention Alexander. It felt too surreal, too private somehow. The next few days passed in a blur of work and ignored calls from Ryan. I threw myself into the upcoming presentation, staying late to perfect the slides and rehearse my talking points. If Alexander Carter was going to be there, everything needed to be flawless. Not that he'd recognize me. He probably rescued women from creeps all the time. Why would he remember one random encounter? Thursday morning, I arrived early to set up the conference room. Our presentation on the new social media campaign was scheduled for 10 AM, and my stomach had been in knots since I woke up. "Relax," Nova said, adjusting the projector. "Carter probably won't even show up. These executives always have 'emergencies' that pull them away." "And if he does show up, he'll be on his phone the whole time," Vivian added, straightening the chairs. Alice arrived with a tray of coffee. "Or he'll leave halfway through. That's what happened at the last sales presentation." Their attempts at reassurance weren't helping. I couldn't shake the image of Alexander recognizing me, his eyebrows rising in surprise as he connected the dots between professional Olivia Morgan and the emotional wreck he'd driven home. By 9:55, the room was filled with marketing staff and a few executives I recognized from other departments. I took my position near the front, reviewing my notes one last time. At exactly 10 AM, the room fell silent. I looked up to see Alexander Carter striding through the door, followed by two assistants. He was even more imposing in his natural habitat with a charcoal suit perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders, and his presence commanded attention effortlessly. He nodded to the room and took a seat in the back row. I quickly looked down at my notes, my heart hammering against my ribs. ========= 👉 (When you open the App, it will automatically jump to the book.)
I walked over the grass, carrying a pile of wool blankets. We were setting up for tonight's full moon celebrations. I love these monthly gatherings of the pack. We eat, laugh, tell stories of the pack's history and of the gods`. Then those that can shift will run in the woods. The rest of us, we stay behind and pretend we aren’t envious of the others. For eighteen years I have been part of the group who is left by the fire to watch the pups and make sure the fire stays in the firepit. It was getting old, I wanted my wolf to come to me, I wanted to prove I wasn’t a dud. “Hi, pumpkin.” I turned toward the sound of my father and smiled. He had been out checking the woods together with the Alpha and Gamma in preparation for the night. “Hi, dad,” I called as I placed the blankets down on a log and then took some of them and placed on other logs we used to sit on around the fire. They were more for coziness than for warmth, all werewolves ran hot. Even those like me who didn’t have a wolf. Yet, I added. “Looking forward to tomorrow?” the Alpha Mark asked as he, Gamma Jonas and my father walked up to me. “Kind of,” I said. “What do you mean, kind of, green bean?” Gamma Jonas asked. He, my father and the Alpha were best friends, had been all of their lives. No one had been surprised when Alpha Mark had named my father his Beta and Jonas his Gamma as he took over the running of the pack from his father. That had been years before me and my brother were born. We grew up with the Alpha and Gamma families as an extension of our own. My brother, Elder, was best friends with James, the Alpha’s son. Everyone expected me to be best friends with Cindy, Gamma Jonas’ daughter. But we didn’t get along at all. We just remained on friendly terms because of our families. “I think my pumpkin is nervous. Turning eighteen is a big step,” dad said, placing his arm around me and pulling me to his side. “That’s right. She will be able to sense her mate and he will be able to identify her if they both are over eighteen,” the Alpha said with a big smile. “She’s too young for that kind of thing,” my dad scowled and both of his friends burst out laughing. My dad and Alpha Mark were partly right. I was nervous about being able to sense my mate. But there was more. My wolf still hadn’t come to me, I had never been able to shift and for each full moon that came and went I looked weaker in the eyes of other werewolves. You started to be able to shift between the age of sixteen and twenty-five. Everyone knew the younger you were when your wolf came, the stronger it, and therefore you, would be. James had shifted for the first time a month after turning sixteen, my brother seven months after his sixteenth birthday. Cindy had been a little over seventeen when she shifted. I was almost eighteen and I hadn’t even felt a slight tingle during a full moon. I was afraid that if I found my mate, he would think I was too weak. “You're not still worried about your wolf, are you, little one?” the Alpha asked. I nodded. We had had this conversation many times in the last two years. “Armeria Rose Winstone, two years is nothing. She will come to you,” he said. I flinched as he used my full name. My mother has a thing for all things growing and has named her only two children after her favorite plants. My father didn’t object because he loves her too much to not let her have her way. “I know, Alpha,” I said. “You are perfect, just the way you are, pumpkin,” my father said and kissed the top of my head. “You have to say that, you’re my father,” I pointed out. “And if some boy tells you anything else, you tell us and we will beat his ass.” “Thank you uncle Jonas,” I said. “Any time,” he told me and ruffled my hair. I objected and tried to get away, but my father laughed and kept me in place. I hated when people messed with my hair. It was hard to keep under control with its red curls at the best of times, but mess with it and it just became one big poof of tangles and frizz. “Okay, enough lazing around. Move your asses. I will see you later tonight, little one, and after midnight we will celebrate your big day,” the Alpha told us. “Fine, we’re coming,” my father sighed with pretend annoyance. Sometimes I think the three of them are stuck in a permanent teenager mode, and it scares me a little to think of them running the pack. But they are good at it. Our pack is one of the strongest and most highly thought of packs in the world. It’s a pride to all of us. As my father and his two friends continued their inspection, I got back to my tasks for the evening. Usually I would help my mother as she and some other women prepared the food. But I had been put on other duties and I’m guessing, and hoping, it’s because they are working on a surprise cake for my birthday. As I walked over to Sally, Jonas’ mate, to get information about which games she has been planning for the pups, I tried to remember that I’m lucky. I have a good family, I have good friends and a good pack. So what if I don’t have a wolf? Three out of four isn’t a bad thing, right? And if I found my mate and he loves me as mates do, then I will have four out of five. That would be fantastic. Unless he rejects you because you don’t have a wolf, a small voice in my head kept saying. It’s like the voice is a broken record, playing over and over again in my head. Hours later, I was sitting in front of the fire, laughing along with the others as Nick, one of the oldest warriors in the pack, was telling the story about how he had defeated a swarm of vampires. The number of vampires went up for each full moon. But we all loved listening to him telling the story. Most of the pack members were running in their wolf form in the surrounding forest. I still hadn’t felt the need to shift, so as usual I volunteered to watch the pups and keep an eye on the teenagers. It was just after midnight when the pack started to return. In groups or pairs they came walking out of the woods, they were all smiling and looked relaxed. I wondered why they were heading back so early when my mother and Luna Joy came walking with a birthday cake between them. I could feel my eyes grow big as I looked at the amazing creation that was put down in front of me. It was three tiers tall with white frosting and covered in sugar flowers, it looked like a flower meadow. On top two candles burned, a one and an eight. “Happy birthday, sweetie,” my mother said. “Thank you, mom.” My mother hugged me, and then Luna Joy drew me into a tight hug as well. “I hope you will find your mate soon and that he is everything you hope for and deserve,” Luna whispered to me. “Thank you, Luna,” I said. “Time to blow out the candles and make a wish, pumpkin,” my dad said as he joined us. “Not yet. Elder isn’t here yet,” my mother pointed out. “He is off with James and Cindy,” Luna Joy said as she snuggled up to the Alpha. “I can wait,” I offered, which earned me a smile from the Alpha pair. “Honestly, the whole pack is here and we are waiting on our son,” my mother said and I could hear the impatience in her voice. I heard my brother and our friends before I saw them. My brother came half running out of the forest, closely followed by James while Cindy took her time. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t realise how deep into the forest we had run. You didn’t blow out the candles yet, did you?” Elder asked. “No, she has been waiting,” our mother told him, giving him a look that told everyone she wasn’t happy. “Sorry,” he said again. Me? I wasn’t paying any attention to what my brother was saying. My full attention was on the scent of sandalwood and pineapple. Even without my wolf, I knew it was the scent of my mate. I turned towards it as I saw James standing at the edge of the forest, looking back at me with just as much surprise as I felt. James, the Alpha’s son, was my mate?
I walked over the grass, carrying a pile of wool blankets. We were setting up for tonight's full moon celebrations. I love these monthly gatherings of the pack. We eat, laugh, tell stories of the pack's history and of the gods`. Then those that can shift will run in the woods. The rest of us, we stay behind and pretend we aren’t envious of the others. For eighteen years I have been part of the group who is left by the fire to watch the pups and make sure the fire stays in the firepit. It was getting old, I wanted my wolf to come to me, I wanted to prove I wasn’t a dud. “Hi, pumpkin.” I turned toward the sound of my father and smiled. He had been out checking the woods together with the Alpha and Gamma in preparation for the night. “Hi, dad,” I called as I placed the blankets down on a log and then took some of them and placed on other logs we used to sit on around the fire. They were more for coziness than for warmth, all werewolves ran hot. Even those like me who didn’t have a wolf. Yet, I added. “Looking forward to tomorrow?” the Alpha Mark asked as he, Gamma Jonas and my father walked up to me. “Kind of,” I said. “What do you mean, kind of, green bean?” Gamma Jonas asked. He, my father and the Alpha were best friends, had been all of their lives. No one had been surprised when Alpha Mark had named my father his Beta and Jonas his Gamma as he took over the running of the pack from his father. That had been years before me and my brother were born. We grew up with the Alpha and Gamma families as an extension of our own. My brother, Elder, was best friends with James, the Alpha’s son. Everyone expected me to be best friends with Cindy, Gamma Jonas’ daughter. But we didn’t get along at all. We just remained on friendly terms because of our families. “I think my pumpkin is nervous. Turning eighteen is a big step,” dad said, placing his arm around me and pulling me to his side. “That’s right. She will be able to sense her mate and he will be able to identify her if they both are over eighteen,” the Alpha said with a big smile. “She’s too young for that kind of thing,” my dad scowled and both of his friends burst out laughing. My dad and Alpha Mark were partly right. I was nervous about being able to sense my mate. But there was more. My wolf still hadn’t come to me, I had never been able to shift and for each full moon that came and went I looked weaker in the eyes of other werewolves. You started to be able to shift between the age of sixteen and twenty-five. Everyone knew the younger you were when your wolf came, the stronger it, and therefore you, would be. James had shifted for the first time a month after turning sixteen, my brother seven months after his sixteenth birthday. Cindy had been a little over seventeen when she shifted. I was almost eighteen and I hadn’t even felt a slight tingle during a full moon. I was afraid that if I found my mate, he would think I was too weak. “You're not still worried about your wolf, are you, little one?” the Alpha asked. I nodded. We had had this conversation many times in the last two years. “Armeria Rose Winstone, two years is nothing. She will come to you,” he said. I flinched as he used my full name. My mother has a thing for all things growing and has named her only two children after her favorite plants. My father didn’t object because he loves her too much to not let her have her way. “I know, Alpha,” I said. “You are perfect, just the way you are, pumpkin,” my father said and kissed the top of my head. “You have to say that, you’re my father,” I pointed out. “And if some boy tells you anything else, you tell us and we will beat his ass.” “Thank you uncle Jonas,” I said. “Any time,” he told me and ruffled my hair. I objected and tried to get away, but my father laughed and kept me in place. I hated when people messed with my hair. It was hard to keep under control with its red curls at the best of times, but mess with it and it just became one big poof of tangles and frizz. “Okay, enough lazing around. Move your asses. I will see you later tonight, little one, and after midnight we will celebrate your big day,” the Alpha told us. “Fine, we’re coming,” my father sighed with pretend annoyance. Sometimes I think the three of them are stuck in a permanent teenager mode, and it scares me a little to think of them running the pack. But they are good at it. Our pack is one of the strongest and most highly thought of packs in the world. It’s a pride to all of us. As my father and his two friends continued their inspection, I got back to my tasks for the evening. Usually I would help my mother as she and some other women prepared the food. But I had been put on other duties and I’m guessing, and hoping, it’s because they are working on a surprise cake for my birthday. As I walked over to Sally, Jonas’ mate, to get information about which games she has been planning for the pups, I tried to remember that I’m lucky. I have a good family, I have good friends and a good pack. So what if I don’t have a wolf? Three out of four isn’t a bad thing, right? And if I found my mate and he loves me as mates do, then I will have four out of five. That would be fantastic. Unless he rejects you because you don’t have a wolf, a small voice in my head kept saying. It’s like the voice is a broken record, playing over and over again in my head. Hours later, I was sitting in front of the fire, laughing along with the others as Nick, one of the oldest warriors in the pack, was telling the story about how he had defeated a swarm of vampires. The number of vampires went up for each full moon. But we all loved listening to him telling the story. Most of the pack members were running in their wolf form in the surrounding forest. I still hadn’t felt the need to shift, so as usual I volunteered to watch the pups and keep an eye on the teenagers. It was just after midnight when the pack started to return. In groups or pairs they came walking out of the woods, they were all smiling and looked relaxed. I wondered why they were heading back so early when my mother and Luna Joy came walking with a birthday cake between them. I could feel my eyes grow big as I looked at the amazing creation that was put down in front of me. It was three tiers tall with white frosting and covered in sugar flowers, it looked like a flower meadow. On top two candles burned, a one and an eight. “Happy birthday, sweetie,” my mother said. “Thank you, mom.” My mother hugged me, and then Luna Joy drew me into a tight hug as well. “I hope you will find your mate soon and that he is everything you hope for and deserve,” Luna whispered to me. “Thank you, Luna,” I said. “Time to blow out the candles and make a wish, pumpkin,” my dad said as he joined us. “Not yet. Elder isn’t here yet,” my mother pointed out. “He is off with James and Cindy,” Luna Joy said as she snuggled up to the Alpha. “I can wait,” I offered, which earned me a smile from the Alpha pair. “Honestly, the whole pack is here and we are waiting on our son,” my mother said and I could hear the impatience in her voice. I heard my brother and our friends before I saw them. My brother came half running out of the forest, closely followed by James while Cindy took her time. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t realise how deep into the forest we had run. You didn’t blow out the candles yet, did you?” Elder asked. “No, she has been waiting,” our mother told him, giving him a look that told everyone she wasn’t happy. “Sorry,” he said again. Me? I wasn’t paying any attention to what my brother was saying. My full attention was on the scent of sandalwood and pineapple. Even without my wolf, I knew it was the scent of my mate. I turned towards it as I saw James standing at the edge of the forest, looking back at me with just as much surprise as I felt. James, the Alpha’s son, was my mate?
The smell of grease and fried chicken filled the air. It was heavy and cloying. But to me, it smelled better than the metallic tang of blood. I sat in the corner of a McDonald’s near the university. My fingers gripped the edge of the plastic table. Outside, traffic moved in a steady stream. The world was loud and alive. It was completely indifferent to the hell I had just escaped. My mind was still stuck in that rainy night. I could still hear the thunder. I could hear the roar of Alpha commands tearing through the air. I spent ten years trying to warm Daemon Blackwood's heart. I played the perfect Luna. I loved him with everything I had. In return, he slaughtered my family for another woman. Because I had refused to let him go for *her*, the Frost Pack declared war on my kin. My parents died defending a daughter who had been too blind to see the truth. I watched them fall, and then I died, unloved and replaced. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, but they were clean. There were no scars. The wasting sickness that killed me in my past life was gone. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. The date stared back at me. It was three years ago. I was back. And today was the fifth anniversary of the day Daemon Blackwood marked me. A dry laugh escaped my throat. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. It dropped me right back into the middle of this farce of a marriage. But this time, I wasn't blind. "Order number forty-two!" A clear, happy voice cut through the noise. I looked up. There she was. Celeste Morrison. She wore a standard uniform and a visor over her honey-blonde hair. She looked fragile. She looked harmless. It was hard to believe this doe-eyed student was the reason for my family's destruction. In my previous life, she was the catalyst. She was the "her" Daemon destroyed the world for. Celeste walked toward my table with a tray. She smiled. It was a bright, sunny smile that reached her eyes. "Here is your order, Luna," she said. She set the tray down but didn't leave immediately. She hesitated, her fingers nervously touching her apron. "I hope you don't mind," Celeste said softly. She reached into her pocket and placed a small, warm cardboard box on my tray. "I added a warm apple pie. It’s on me." I froze. I looked up at her, confused. "Why?" Celeste blushed slightly. She looked down at her shoes, then back at me with genuine concern. "You just looked... really sad staring out that window. Like you were carrying the weight of the world. My mom always says sweets help with a bad day." Her eyes were so clear. So kind. There was no hidden agenda. She was just a girl trying to comfort a stranger. The irony was suffocating. The girl who would inadvertently destroy my life was trying to cheer me up with a pie. "Thank you," I said. My voice sounded rough. "I hope your day gets better," she said cheerfully. She gave a little wave and bounced back to the counter. I watched her go. She was light. She was pure. She was everything I wasn't anymore. I took the bag. The heat of the food seeped through the paper. It felt real. I left the restaurant and stepped into the humid afternoon usage. A black sedan waited for me at the curb. I slid into the back seat. The leather was cool and smelled of expensive polish. "Luna," Leo, the driver, said. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The jeweler called. The obsidian cufflinks you ordered for tonight have been delivered to the manor." Tonight. The celebration. For five years, this date was the most important day of my year. I would spend all day preparing. I cooked meals that went cold. I dressed in silk gowns that went unseen. I did it all for a nod of acknowledgement from Daemon. "I see," I said. I turned to look out the window. Why had I done it? Why did I chase a man whose heart was cold stone? I was Violet Goldcrest. My wolf, Ember, was of Alpha blood. I had pride. Yet, I had made myself small to fit into Daemon’s life. Perfection hadn't saved my parents. Love hadn't stopped the war. The car drove up the private road toward the Blackwood Manor. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture. It was dark stone and glass. It was impressive, but it had no warmth. I saw a massive black SUV parked near the fountain. It was Daemon’s car. He was home. It was unexpected. I walked into the living room. It was vast and cold, decorated in shades of gray. Daemon Blackwood sat on the long leather sofa. A laptop balanced on his knees. He looked rigid and commanding. He was beautiful. It was undeniable. He had dark hair that fell carelessly over his forehead. His features were sharp and aristocratic. His eyes were the color of blood. He radiated the power of a dominant Alpha. He didn't look up. He never did. I remembered our mating ceremony. He had looked at me like a business deal. *“This is a partnership, Violet,”* he had said. *“Do not expect me to share my soul.”* I braced myself for the hate. I expected the urge to tear out his throat to overwhelm me. He was the man who would ruin everything. But as I looked at him, the rage didn't come. Instead, I felt a strange, hollow silence. It wasn't forgiveness. It was relief. I didn't want to destroy him. I didn't want revenge. I just wanted out. I didn't answer him with my usual polite greeting. I walked over to the armchair opposite him. I kicked off my red-soled heels. They tumbled onto the pristine floor. Then, I sank into the cushions. I tore open the paper bag. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Daemon stopped typing. I pulled out a piece of fried chicken. The golden crumbs fell onto the expensive rug. I didn't care. I took a bite. The crunch echoed in the room. Daemon finally looked up. His red eyes narrowed. He scanned me from my bare feet to the grease on my fingers. He looked confused and disgusted. "You're eating that?" he asked. "Here?" I swallowed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I felt like it," I said flatly. "So I did." He stared at me. His brow furrowed. This wasn't the Violet he knew. The Violet he knew would be in the kitchen right now. She would be stressing over the anniversary dinner. He closed his laptop with a snap. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Is this some kind of statement, Violet? If you're looking for attention, this is a pathetic way to get it." I put the chicken back in the bag. I wiped my hands on a napkin. I looked at him. I saw the arrogance. I saw the dismissal. He didn't see me as a partner. He saw me as furniture. Convenient. Silent. "Daemon," I said. My voice was steady. It didn't tremble. He raised an eyebrow. He looked bored. "I want to dissolve the mating bond," I said. "I want a formal Rejection Ceremony." The silence in the room was absolute. Daemon didn't move. He didn't look angry. He didn't look hurt. He just stared at me. Then, he laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. It was full of mockery. He shook his head. He looked at me with pity. "A Rejection Ceremony?" he repeated. He said the words like they were a joke. He picked up his laptop again. He dismissed me entirely. "Violet, stop playing games. I have a territory merger to review. Go clean yourself up. You smell like grease."
The smell of grease and fried chicken filled the air. It was heavy and cloying. But to me, it smelled better than the metallic tang of blood. I sat in the corner of a McDonald’s near the university. My fingers gripped the edge of the plastic table. Outside, traffic moved in a steady stream. The world was loud and alive. It was completely indifferent to the hell I had just escaped. My mind was still stuck in that rainy night. I could still hear the thunder. I could hear the roar of Alpha commands tearing through the air. I spent ten years trying to warm Daemon Blackwood's heart. I played the perfect Luna. I loved him with everything I had. In return, he slaughtered my family for another woman. Because I had refused to let him go for *her*, the Frost Pack declared war on my kin. My parents died defending a daughter who had been too blind to see the truth. I watched them fall, and then I died, unloved and replaced. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, but they were clean. There were no scars. The wasting sickness that killed me in my past life was gone. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. The date stared back at me. It was three years ago. I was back. And today was the fifth anniversary of the day Daemon Blackwood marked me. A dry laugh escaped my throat. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. It dropped me right back into the middle of this farce of a marriage. But this time, I wasn't blind. "Order number forty-two!" A clear, happy voice cut through the noise. I looked up. There she was. Celeste Morrison. She wore a standard uniform and a visor over her honey-blonde hair. She looked fragile. She looked harmless. It was hard to believe this doe-eyed student was the reason for my family's destruction. In my previous life, she was the catalyst. She was the "her" Daemon destroyed the world for. Celeste walked toward my table with a tray. She smiled. It was a bright, sunny smile that reached her eyes. "Here is your order, Luna," she said. She set the tray down but didn't leave immediately. She hesitated, her fingers nervously touching her apron. "I hope you don't mind," Celeste said softly. She reached into her pocket and placed a small, warm cardboard box on my tray. "I added a warm apple pie. It’s on me." I froze. I looked up at her, confused. "Why?" Celeste blushed slightly. She looked down at her shoes, then back at me with genuine concern. "You just looked... really sad staring out that window. Like you were carrying the weight of the world. My mom always says sweets help with a bad day." Her eyes were so clear. So kind. There was no hidden agenda. She was just a girl trying to comfort a stranger. The irony was suffocating. The girl who would inadvertently destroy my life was trying to cheer me up with a pie. "Thank you," I said. My voice sounded rough. "I hope your day gets better," she said cheerfully. She gave a little wave and bounced back to the counter. I watched her go. She was light. She was pure. She was everything I wasn't anymore. I took the bag. The heat of the food seeped through the paper. It felt real. I left the restaurant and stepped into the humid afternoon usage. A black sedan waited for me at the curb. I slid into the back seat. The leather was cool and smelled of expensive polish. "Luna," Leo, the driver, said. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The jeweler called. The obsidian cufflinks you ordered for tonight have been delivered to the manor." Tonight. The celebration. For five years, this date was the most important day of my year. I would spend all day preparing. I cooked meals that went cold. I dressed in silk gowns that went unseen. I did it all for a nod of acknowledgement from Daemon. "I see," I said. I turned to look out the window. Why had I done it? Why did I chase a man whose heart was cold stone? I was Violet Goldcrest. My wolf, Ember, was of Alpha blood. I had pride. Yet, I had made myself small to fit into Daemon’s life. Perfection hadn't saved my parents. Love hadn't stopped the war. The car drove up the private road toward the Blackwood Manor. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture. It was dark stone and glass. It was impressive, but it had no warmth. I saw a massive black SUV parked near the fountain. It was Daemon’s car. He was home. It was unexpected. I walked into the living room. It was vast and cold, decorated in shades of gray. Daemon Blackwood sat on the long leather sofa. A laptop balanced on his knees. He looked rigid and commanding. He was beautiful. It was undeniable. He had dark hair that fell carelessly over his forehead. His features were sharp and aristocratic. His eyes were the color of blood. He radiated the power of a dominant Alpha. He didn't look up. He never did. I remembered our mating ceremony. He had looked at me like a business deal. *“This is a partnership, Violet,”* he had said. *“Do not expect me to share my soul.”* I braced myself for the hate. I expected the urge to tear out his throat to overwhelm me. He was the man who would ruin everything. But as I looked at him, the rage didn't come. Instead, I felt a strange, hollow silence. It wasn't forgiveness. It was relief. I didn't want to destroy him. I didn't want revenge. I just wanted out. I didn't answer him with my usual polite greeting. I walked over to the armchair opposite him. I kicked off my red-soled heels. They tumbled onto the pristine floor. Then, I sank into the cushions. I tore open the paper bag. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Daemon stopped typing. I pulled out a piece of fried chicken. The golden crumbs fell onto the expensive rug. I didn't care. I took a bite. The crunch echoed in the room. Daemon finally looked up. His red eyes narrowed. He scanned me from my bare feet to the grease on my fingers. He looked confused and disgusted. "You're eating that?" he asked. "Here?" I swallowed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I felt like it," I said flatly. "So I did." He stared at me. His brow furrowed. This wasn't the Violet he knew. The Violet he knew would be in the kitchen right now. She would be stressing over the anniversary dinner. He closed his laptop with a snap. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Is this some kind of statement, Violet? If you're looking for attention, this is a pathetic way to get it." I put the chicken back in the bag. I wiped my hands on a napkin. I looked at him. I saw the arrogance. I saw the dismissal. He didn't see me as a partner. He saw me as furniture. Convenient. Silent. "Daemon," I said. My voice was steady. It didn't tremble. He raised an eyebrow. He looked bored. "I want to dissolve the mating bond," I said. "I want a formal Rejection Ceremony." The silence in the room was absolute. Daemon didn't move. He didn't look angry. He didn't look hurt. He just stared at me. Then, he laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. It was full of mockery. He shook his head. He looked at me with pity. "A Rejection Ceremony?" he repeated. He said the words like they were a joke. He picked up his laptop again. He dismissed me entirely. "Violet, stop playing games. I have a territory merger to review. Go clean yourself up. You smell like grease."
The smell of grease and fried chicken filled the air. It was heavy and cloying. But to me, it smelled better than the metallic tang of blood. I sat in the corner of a McDonald’s near the university. My fingers gripped the edge of the plastic table. Outside, traffic moved in a steady stream. The world was loud and alive. It was completely indifferent to the hell I had just escaped. My mind was still stuck in that rainy night. I could still hear the thunder. I could hear the roar of Alpha commands tearing through the air. I spent ten years trying to warm Daemon Blackwood's heart. I played the perfect Luna. I loved him with everything I had. In return, he slaughtered my family for another woman. Because I had refused to let him go for *her*, the Frost Pack declared war on my kin. My parents died defending a daughter who had been too blind to see the truth. I watched them fall, and then I died, unloved and replaced. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, but they were clean. There were no scars. The wasting sickness that killed me in my past life was gone. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. The date stared back at me. It was three years ago. I was back. And today was the fifth anniversary of the day Daemon Blackwood marked me. A dry laugh escaped my throat. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. It dropped me right back into the middle of this farce of a marriage. But this time, I wasn't blind. "Order number forty-two!" A clear, happy voice cut through the noise. I looked up. There she was. Celeste Morrison. She wore a standard uniform and a visor over her honey-blonde hair. She looked fragile. She looked harmless. It was hard to believe this doe-eyed student was the reason for my family's destruction. In my previous life, she was the catalyst. She was the "her" Daemon destroyed the world for. Celeste walked toward my table with a tray. She smiled. It was a bright, sunny smile that reached her eyes. "Here is your order, Luna," she said. She set the tray down but didn't leave immediately. She hesitated, her fingers nervously touching her apron. "I hope you don't mind," Celeste said softly. She reached into her pocket and placed a small, warm cardboard box on my tray. "I added a warm apple pie. It’s on me." I froze. I looked up at her, confused. "Why?" Celeste blushed slightly. She looked down at her shoes, then back at me with genuine concern. "You just looked... really sad staring out that window. Like you were carrying the weight of the world. My mom always says sweets help with a bad day." Her eyes were so clear. So kind. There was no hidden agenda. She was just a girl trying to comfort a stranger. The irony was suffocating. The girl who would inadvertently destroy my life was trying to cheer me up with a pie. "Thank you," I said. My voice sounded rough. "I hope your day gets better," she said cheerfully. She gave a little wave and bounced back to the counter. I watched her go. She was light. She was pure. She was everything I wasn't anymore. I took the bag. The heat of the food seeped through the paper. It felt real. I left the restaurant and stepped into the humid afternoon usage. A black sedan waited for me at the curb. I slid into the back seat. The leather was cool and smelled of expensive polish. "Luna," Leo, the driver, said. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The jeweler called. The obsidian cufflinks you ordered for tonight have been delivered to the manor." Tonight. The celebration. For five years, this date was the most important day of my year. I would spend all day preparing. I cooked meals that went cold. I dressed in silk gowns that went unseen. I did it all for a nod of acknowledgement from Daemon. "I see," I said. I turned to look out the window. Why had I done it? Why did I chase a man whose heart was cold stone? I was Violet Goldcrest. My wolf, Ember, was of Alpha blood. I had pride. Yet, I had made myself small to fit into Daemon’s life. Perfection hadn't saved my parents. Love hadn't stopped the war. The car drove up the private road toward the Blackwood Manor. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture. It was dark stone and glass. It was impressive, but it had no warmth. I saw a massive black SUV parked near the fountain. It was Daemon’s car. He was home. It was unexpected. I walked into the living room. It was vast and cold, decorated in shades of gray. Daemon Blackwood sat on the long leather sofa. A laptop balanced on his knees. He looked rigid and commanding. He was beautiful. It was undeniable. He had dark hair that fell carelessly over his forehead. His features were sharp and aristocratic. His eyes were the color of blood. He radiated the power of a dominant Alpha. He didn't look up. He never did. I remembered our mating ceremony. He had looked at me like a business deal. *“This is a partnership, Violet,”* he had said. *“Do not expect me to share my soul.”* I braced myself for the hate. I expected the urge to tear out his throat to overwhelm me. He was the man who would ruin everything. But as I looked at him, the rage didn't come. Instead, I felt a strange, hollow silence. It wasn't forgiveness. It was relief. I didn't want to destroy him. I didn't want revenge. I just wanted out. I didn't answer him with my usual polite greeting. I walked over to the armchair opposite him. I kicked off my red-soled heels. They tumbled onto the pristine floor. Then, I sank into the cushions. I tore open the paper bag. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Daemon stopped typing. I pulled out a piece of fried chicken. The golden crumbs fell onto the expensive rug. I didn't care. I took a bite. The crunch echoed in the room. Daemon finally looked up. His red eyes narrowed. He scanned me from my bare feet to the grease on my fingers. He looked confused and disgusted. "You're eating that?" he asked. "Here?" I swallowed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I felt like it," I said flatly. "So I did." He stared at me. His brow furrowed. This wasn't the Violet he knew. The Violet he knew would be in the kitchen right now. She would be stressing over the anniversary dinner. He closed his laptop with a snap. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Is this some kind of statement, Violet? If you're looking for attention, this is a pathetic way to get it." I put the chicken back in the bag. I wiped my hands on a napkin. I looked at him. I saw the arrogance. I saw the dismissal. He didn't see me as a partner. He saw me as furniture. Convenient. Silent. "Daemon," I said. My voice was steady. It didn't tremble. He raised an eyebrow. He looked bored. "I want to dissolve the mating bond," I said. "I want a formal Rejection Ceremony." The silence in the room was absolute. Daemon didn't move. He didn't look angry. He didn't look hurt. He just stared at me. Then, he laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. It was full of mockery. He shook his head. He looked at me with pity. "A Rejection Ceremony?" he repeated. He said the words like they were a joke. He picked up his laptop again. He dismissed me entirely. "Violet, stop playing games. I have a territory merger to review. Go clean yourself up. You smell like grease."
The smell of grease and fried chicken filled the air. It was heavy and cloying. But to me, it smelled better than the metallic tang of blood. I sat in the corner of a McDonald’s near the university. My fingers gripped the edge of the plastic table. Outside, traffic moved in a steady stream. The world was loud and alive. It was completely indifferent to the hell I had just escaped. My mind was still stuck in that rainy night. I could still hear the thunder. I could hear the roar of Alpha commands tearing through the air. I spent ten years trying to warm Daemon Blackwood's heart. I played the perfect Luna. I loved him with everything I had. In return, he slaughtered my family for another woman. Because I had refused to let him go for *her*, the Frost Pack declared war on my kin. My parents died defending a daughter who had been too blind to see the truth. I watched them fall, and then I died, unloved and replaced. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, but they were clean. There were no scars. The wasting sickness that killed me in my past life was gone. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. The date stared back at me. It was three years ago. I was back. And today was the fifth anniversary of the day Daemon Blackwood marked me. A dry laugh escaped my throat. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. It dropped me right back into the middle of this farce of a marriage. But this time, I wasn't blind. "Order number forty-two!" A clear, happy voice cut through the noise. I looked up. There she was. Celeste Morrison. She wore a standard uniform and a visor over her honey-blonde hair. She looked fragile. She looked harmless. It was hard to believe this doe-eyed student was the reason for my family's destruction. In my previous life, she was the catalyst. She was the "her" Daemon destroyed the world for. Celeste walked toward my table with a tray. She smiled. It was a bright, sunny smile that reached her eyes. "Here is your order, Luna," she said. She set the tray down but didn't leave immediately. She hesitated, her fingers nervously touching her apron. "I hope you don't mind," Celeste said softly. She reached into her pocket and placed a small, warm cardboard box on my tray. "I added a warm apple pie. It’s on me." I froze. I looked up at her, confused. "Why?" Celeste blushed slightly. She looked down at her shoes, then back at me with genuine concern. "You just looked... really sad staring out that window. Like you were carrying the weight of the world. My mom always says sweets help with a bad day." Her eyes were so clear. So kind. There was no hidden agenda. She was just a girl trying to comfort a stranger. The irony was suffocating. The girl who would inadvertently destroy my life was trying to cheer me up with a pie. "Thank you," I said. My voice sounded rough. "I hope your day gets better," she said cheerfully. She gave a little wave and bounced back to the counter. I watched her go. She was light. She was pure. She was everything I wasn't anymore. I took the bag. The heat of the food seeped through the paper. It felt real. I left the restaurant and stepped into the humid afternoon usage. A black sedan waited for me at the curb. I slid into the back seat. The leather was cool and smelled of expensive polish. "Luna," Leo, the driver, said. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The jeweler called. The obsidian cufflinks you ordered for tonight have been delivered to the manor." Tonight. The celebration. For five years, this date was the most important day of my year. I would spend all day preparing. I cooked meals that went cold. I dressed in silk gowns that went unseen. I did it all for a nod of acknowledgement from Daemon. "I see," I said. I turned to look out the window. Why had I done it? Why did I chase a man whose heart was cold stone? I was Violet Goldcrest. My wolf, Ember, was of Alpha blood. I had pride. Yet, I had made myself small to fit into Daemon’s life. Perfection hadn't saved my parents. Love hadn't stopped the war. The car drove up the private road toward the Blackwood Manor. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture. It was dark stone and glass. It was impressive, but it had no warmth. I saw a massive black SUV parked near the fountain. It was Daemon’s car. He was home. It was unexpected. I walked into the living room. It was vast and cold, decorated in shades of gray. Daemon Blackwood sat on the long leather sofa. A laptop balanced on his knees. He looked rigid and commanding. He was beautiful. It was undeniable. He had dark hair that fell carelessly over his forehead. His features were sharp and aristocratic. His eyes were the color of blood. He radiated the power of a dominant Alpha. He didn't look up. He never did. I remembered our mating ceremony. He had looked at me like a business deal. *“This is a partnership, Violet,”* he had said. *“Do not expect me to share my soul.”* I braced myself for the hate. I expected the urge to tear out his throat to overwhelm me. He was the man who would ruin everything. But as I looked at him, the rage didn't come. Instead, I felt a strange, hollow silence. It wasn't forgiveness. It was relief. I didn't want to destroy him. I didn't want revenge. I just wanted out. I didn't answer him with my usual polite greeting. I walked over to the armchair opposite him. I kicked off my red-soled heels. They tumbled onto the pristine floor. Then, I sank into the cushions. I tore open the paper bag. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Daemon stopped typing. I pulled out a piece of fried chicken. The golden crumbs fell onto the expensive rug. I didn't care. I took a bite. The crunch echoed in the room. Daemon finally looked up. His red eyes narrowed. He scanned me from my bare feet to the grease on my fingers. He looked confused and disgusted. "You're eating that?" he asked. "Here?" I swallowed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I felt like it," I said flatly. "So I did." He stared at me. His brow furrowed. This wasn't the Violet he knew. The Violet he knew would be in the kitchen right now. She would be stressing over the anniversary dinner. He closed his laptop with a snap. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Is this some kind of statement, Violet? If you're looking for attention, this is a pathetic way to get it." I put the chicken back in the bag. I wiped my hands on a napkin. I looked at him. I saw the arrogance. I saw the dismissal. He didn't see me as a partner. He saw me as furniture. Convenient. Silent. "Daemon," I said. My voice was steady. It didn't tremble. He raised an eyebrow. He looked bored. "I want to dissolve the mating bond," I said. "I want a formal Rejection Ceremony." The silence in the room was absolute. Daemon didn't move. He didn't look angry. He didn't look hurt. He just stared at me. Then, he laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. It was full of mockery. He shook his head. He looked at me with pity. "A Rejection Ceremony?" he repeated. He said the words like they were a joke. He picked up his laptop again. He dismissed me entirely. "Violet, stop playing games. I have a territory merger to review. Go clean yourself up. You smell like grease."
The smell of grease and fried chicken filled the air. It was heavy and cloying. But to me, it smelled better than the metallic tang of blood. I sat in the corner of a McDonald’s near the university. My fingers gripped the edge of the plastic table. Outside, traffic moved in a steady stream. The world was loud and alive. It was completely indifferent to the hell I had just escaped. My mind was still stuck in that rainy night. I could still hear the thunder. I could hear the roar of Alpha commands tearing through the air. I spent ten years trying to warm Daemon Blackwood's heart. I played the perfect Luna. I loved him with everything I had. In return, he slaughtered my family for another woman. Because I had refused to let him go for *her*, the Frost Pack declared war on my kin. My parents died defending a daughter who had been too blind to see the truth. I watched them fall, and then I died, unloved and replaced. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, but they were clean. There were no scars. The wasting sickness that killed me in my past life was gone. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. The date stared back at me. It was three years ago. I was back. And today was the fifth anniversary of the day Daemon Blackwood marked me. A dry laugh escaped my throat. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. It dropped me right back into the middle of this farce of a marriage. But this time, I wasn't blind. "Order number forty-two!" A clear, happy voice cut through the noise. I looked up. There she was. Celeste Morrison. She wore a standard uniform and a visor over her honey-blonde hair. She looked fragile. She looked harmless. It was hard to believe this doe-eyed student was the reason for my family's destruction. In my previous life, she was the catalyst. She was the "her" Daemon destroyed the world for. Celeste walked toward my table with a tray. She smiled. It was a bright, sunny smile that reached her eyes. "Here is your order, Luna," she said. She set the tray down but didn't leave immediately. She hesitated, her fingers nervously touching her apron. "I hope you don't mind," Celeste said softly. She reached into her pocket and placed a small, warm cardboard box on my tray. "I added a warm apple pie. It’s on me." I froze. I looked up at her, confused. "Why?" Celeste blushed slightly. She looked down at her shoes, then back at me with genuine concern. "You just looked... really sad staring out that window. Like you were carrying the weight of the world. My mom always says sweets help with a bad day." Her eyes were so clear. So kind. There was no hidden agenda. She was just a girl trying to comfort a stranger. The irony was suffocating. The girl who would inadvertently destroy my life was trying to cheer me up with a pie. "Thank you," I said. My voice sounded rough. "I hope your day gets better," she said cheerfully. She gave a little wave and bounced back to the counter. I watched her go. She was light. She was pure. She was everything I wasn't anymore. I took the bag. The heat of the food seeped through the paper. It felt real. I left the restaurant and stepped into the humid afternoon usage. A black sedan waited for me at the curb. I slid into the back seat. The leather was cool and smelled of expensive polish. "Luna," Leo, the driver, said. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The jeweler called. The obsidian cufflinks you ordered for tonight have been delivered to the manor." Tonight. The celebration. For five years, this date was the most important day of my year. I would spend all day preparing. I cooked meals that went cold. I dressed in silk gowns that went unseen. I did it all for a nod of acknowledgement from Daemon. "I see," I said. I turned to look out the window. Why had I done it? Why did I chase a man whose heart was cold stone? I was Violet Goldcrest. My wolf, Ember, was of Alpha blood. I had pride. Yet, I had made myself small to fit into Daemon’s life. Perfection hadn't saved my parents. Love hadn't stopped the war. The car drove up the private road toward the Blackwood Manor. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture. It was dark stone and glass. It was impressive, but it had no warmth. I saw a massive black SUV parked near the fountain. It was Daemon’s car. He was home. It was unexpected. I walked into the living room. It was vast and cold, decorated in shades of gray. Daemon Blackwood sat on the long leather sofa. A laptop balanced on his knees. He looked rigid and commanding. He was beautiful. It was undeniable. He had dark hair that fell carelessly over his forehead. His features were sharp and aristocratic. His eyes were the color of blood. He radiated the power of a dominant Alpha. He didn't look up. He never did. I remembered our mating ceremony. He had looked at me like a business deal. *“This is a partnership, Violet,”* he had said. *“Do not expect me to share my soul.”* I braced myself for the hate. I expected the urge to tear out his throat to overwhelm me. He was the man who would ruin everything. But as I looked at him, the rage didn't come. Instead, I felt a strange, hollow silence. It wasn't forgiveness. It was relief. I didn't want to destroy him. I didn't want revenge. I just wanted out. I didn't answer him with my usual polite greeting. I walked over to the armchair opposite him. I kicked off my red-soled heels. They tumbled onto the pristine floor. Then, I sank into the cushions. I tore open the paper bag. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Daemon stopped typing. I pulled out a piece of fried chicken. The golden crumbs fell onto the expensive rug. I didn't care. I took a bite. The crunch echoed in the room. Daemon finally looked up. His red eyes narrowed. He scanned me from my bare feet to the grease on my fingers. He looked confused and disgusted. "You're eating that?" he asked. "Here?" I swallowed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I felt like it," I said flatly. "So I did." He stared at me. His brow furrowed. This wasn't the Violet he knew. The Violet he knew would be in the kitchen right now. She would be stressing over the anniversary dinner. He closed his laptop with a snap. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Is this some kind of statement, Violet? If you're looking for attention, this is a pathetic way to get it." I put the chicken back in the bag. I wiped my hands on a napkin. I looked at him. I saw the arrogance. I saw the dismissal. He didn't see me as a partner. He saw me as furniture. Convenient. Silent. "Daemon," I said. My voice was steady. It didn't tremble. He raised an eyebrow. He looked bored. "I want to dissolve the mating bond," I said. "I want a formal Rejection Ceremony." The silence in the room was absolute. Daemon didn't move. He didn't look angry. He didn't look hurt. He just stared at me. Then, he laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. It was full of mockery. He shook his head. He looked at me with pity. "A Rejection Ceremony?" he repeated. He said the words like they were a joke. He picked up his laptop again. He dismissed me entirely. "Violet, stop playing games. I have a territory merger to review. Go clean yourself up. You smell like grease."
The smell of grease and fried chicken filled the air. It was heavy and cloying. But to me, it smelled better than the metallic tang of blood. I sat in the corner of a McDonald’s near the university. My fingers gripped the edge of the plastic table. Outside, traffic moved in a steady stream. The world was loud and alive. It was completely indifferent to the hell I had just escaped. My mind was still stuck in that rainy night. I could still hear the thunder. I could hear the roar of Alpha commands tearing through the air. I spent ten years trying to warm Daemon Blackwood's heart. I played the perfect Luna. I loved him with everything I had. In return, he slaughtered my family for another woman. Because I had refused to let him go for *her*, the Frost Pack declared war on my kin. My parents died defending a daughter who had been too blind to see the truth. I watched them fall, and then I died, unloved and replaced. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, but they were clean. There were no scars. The wasting sickness that killed me in my past life was gone. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. The date stared back at me. It was three years ago. I was back. And today was the fifth anniversary of the day Daemon Blackwood marked me. A dry laugh escaped my throat. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. It dropped me right back into the middle of this farce of a marriage. But this time, I wasn't blind. "Order number forty-two!" A clear, happy voice cut through the noise. I looked up. There she was. Celeste Morrison. She wore a standard uniform and a visor over her honey-blonde hair. She looked fragile. She looked harmless. It was hard to believe this doe-eyed student was the reason for my family's destruction. In my previous life, she was the catalyst. She was the "her" Daemon destroyed the world for. Celeste walked toward my table with a tray. She smiled. It was a bright, sunny smile that reached her eyes. "Here is your order, Luna," she said. She set the tray down but didn't leave immediately. She hesitated, her fingers nervously touching her apron. "I hope you don't mind," Celeste said softly. She reached into her pocket and placed a small, warm cardboard box on my tray. "I added a warm apple pie. It’s on me." I froze. I looked up at her, confused. "Why?" Celeste blushed slightly. She looked down at her shoes, then back at me with genuine concern. "You just looked... really sad staring out that window. Like you were carrying the weight of the world. My mom always says sweets help with a bad day." Her eyes were so clear. So kind. There was no hidden agenda. She was just a girl trying to comfort a stranger. The irony was suffocating. The girl who would inadvertently destroy my life was trying to cheer me up with a pie. "Thank you," I said. My voice sounded rough. "I hope your day gets better," she said cheerfully. She gave a little wave and bounced back to the counter. I watched her go. She was light. She was pure. She was everything I wasn't anymore. I took the bag. The heat of the food seeped through the paper. It felt real. I left the restaurant and stepped into the humid afternoon usage. A black sedan waited for me at the curb. I slid into the back seat. The leather was cool and smelled of expensive polish. "Luna," Leo, the driver, said. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The jeweler called. The obsidian cufflinks you ordered for tonight have been delivered to the manor." Tonight. The celebration. For five years, this date was the most important day of my year. I would spend all day preparing. I cooked meals that went cold. I dressed in silk gowns that went unseen. I did it all for a nod of acknowledgement from Daemon. "I see," I said. I turned to look out the window. Why had I done it? Why did I chase a man whose heart was cold stone? I was Violet Goldcrest. My wolf, Ember, was of Alpha blood. I had pride. Yet, I had made myself small to fit into Daemon’s life. Perfection hadn't saved my parents. Love hadn't stopped the war. The car drove up the private road toward the Blackwood Manor. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture. It was dark stone and glass. It was impressive, but it had no warmth. I saw a massive black SUV parked near the fountain. It was Daemon’s car. He was home. It was unexpected. I walked into the living room. It was vast and cold, decorated in shades of gray. Daemon Blackwood sat on the long leather sofa. A laptop balanced on his knees. He looked rigid and commanding. He was beautiful. It was undeniable. He had dark hair that fell carelessly over his forehead. His features were sharp and aristocratic. His eyes were the color of blood. He radiated the power of a dominant Alpha. He didn't look up. He never did. I remembered our mating ceremony. He had looked at me like a business deal. *“This is a partnership, Violet,”* he had said. *“Do not expect me to share my soul.”* I braced myself for the hate. I expected the urge to tear out his throat to overwhelm me. He was the man who would ruin everything. But as I looked at him, the rage didn't come. Instead, I felt a strange, hollow silence. It wasn't forgiveness. It was relief. I didn't want to destroy him. I didn't want revenge. I just wanted out. I didn't answer him with my usual polite greeting. I walked over to the armchair opposite him. I kicked off my red-soled heels. They tumbled onto the pristine floor. Then, I sank into the cushions. I tore open the paper bag. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Daemon stopped typing. I pulled out a piece of fried chicken. The golden crumbs fell onto the expensive rug. I didn't care. I took a bite. The crunch echoed in the room. Daemon finally looked up. His red eyes narrowed. He scanned me from my bare feet to the grease on my fingers. He looked confused and disgusted. "You're eating that?" he asked. "Here?" I swallowed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I felt like it," I said flatly. "So I did." He stared at me. His brow furrowed. This wasn't the Violet he knew. The Violet he knew would be in the kitchen right now. She would be stressing over the anniversary dinner. He closed his laptop with a snap. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Is this some kind of statement, Violet? If you're looking for attention, this is a pathetic way to get it." I put the chicken back in the bag. I wiped my hands on a napkin. I looked at him. I saw the arrogance. I saw the dismissal. He didn't see me as a partner. He saw me as furniture. Convenient. Silent. "Daemon," I said. My voice was steady. It didn't tremble. He raised an eyebrow. He looked bored. "I want to dissolve the mating bond," I said. "I want a formal Rejection Ceremony." The silence in the room was absolute. Daemon didn't move. He didn't look angry. He didn't look hurt. He just stared at me. Then, he laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. It was full of mockery. He shook his head. He looked at me with pity. "A Rejection Ceremony?" he repeated. He said the words like they were a joke. He picked up his laptop again. He dismissed me entirely. "Violet, stop playing games. I have a territory merger to review. Go clean yourself up. You smell like grease."
The smell of grease and fried chicken filled the air. It was heavy and cloying. But to me, it smelled better than the metallic tang of blood. I sat in the corner of a McDonald’s near the university. My fingers gripped the edge of the plastic table. Outside, traffic moved in a steady stream. The world was loud and alive. It was completely indifferent to the hell I had just escaped. My mind was still stuck in that rainy night. I could still hear the thunder. I could hear the roar of Alpha commands tearing through the air. I spent ten years trying to warm Daemon Blackwood's heart. I played the perfect Luna. I loved him with everything I had. In return, he slaughtered my family for another woman. Because I had refused to let him go for *her*, the Frost Pack declared war on my kin. My parents died defending a daughter who had been too blind to see the truth. I watched them fall, and then I died, unloved and replaced. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, but they were clean. There were no scars. The wasting sickness that killed me in my past life was gone. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. The date stared back at me. It was three years ago. I was back. And today was the fifth anniversary of the day Daemon Blackwood marked me. A dry laugh escaped my throat. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. It dropped me right back into the middle of this farce of a marriage. But this time, I wasn't blind. "Order number forty-two!" A clear, happy voice cut through the noise. I looked up. There she was. Celeste Morrison. She wore a standard uniform and a visor over her honey-blonde hair. She looked fragile. She looked harmless. It was hard to believe this doe-eyed student was the reason for my family's destruction. In my previous life, she was the catalyst. She was the "her" Daemon destroyed the world for. Celeste walked toward my table with a tray. She smiled. It was a bright, sunny smile that reached her eyes. "Here is your order, Luna," she said. She set the tray down but didn't leave immediately. She hesitated, her fingers nervously touching her apron. "I hope you don't mind," Celeste said softly. She reached into her pocket and placed a small, warm cardboard box on my tray. "I added a warm apple pie. It’s on me." I froze. I looked up at her, confused. "Why?" Celeste blushed slightly. She looked down at her shoes, then back at me with genuine concern. "You just looked... really sad staring out that window. Like you were carrying the weight of the world. My mom always says sweets help with a bad day." Her eyes were so clear. So kind. There was no hidden agenda. She was just a girl trying to comfort a stranger. The irony was suffocating. The girl who would inadvertently destroy my life was trying to cheer me up with a pie. "Thank you," I said. My voice sounded rough. "I hope your day gets better," she said cheerfully. She gave a little wave and bounced back to the counter. I watched her go. She was light. She was pure. She was everything I wasn't anymore. I took the bag. The heat of the food seeped through the paper. It felt real. I left the restaurant and stepped into the humid afternoon usage. A black sedan waited for me at the curb. I slid into the back seat. The leather was cool and smelled of expensive polish. "Luna," Leo, the driver, said. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The jeweler called. The obsidian cufflinks you ordered for tonight have been delivered to the manor." Tonight. The celebration. For five years, this date was the most important day of my year. I would spend all day preparing. I cooked meals that went cold. I dressed in silk gowns that went unseen. I did it all for a nod of acknowledgement from Daemon. "I see," I said. I turned to look out the window. Why had I done it? Why did I chase a man whose heart was cold stone? I was Violet Goldcrest. My wolf, Ember, was of Alpha blood. I had pride. Yet, I had made myself small to fit into Daemon’s life. Perfection hadn't saved my parents. Love hadn't stopped the war. The car drove up the private road toward the Blackwood Manor. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture. It was dark stone and glass. It was impressive, but it had no warmth. I saw a massive black SUV parked near the fountain. It was Daemon’s car. He was home. It was unexpected. I walked into the living room. It was vast and cold, decorated in shades of gray. Daemon Blackwood sat on the long leather sofa. A laptop balanced on his knees. He looked rigid and commanding. He was beautiful. It was undeniable. He had dark hair that fell carelessly over his forehead. His features were sharp and aristocratic. His eyes were the color of blood. He radiated the power of a dominant Alpha. He didn't look up. He never did. I remembered our mating ceremony. He had looked at me like a business deal. *“This is a partnership, Violet,”* he had said. *“Do not expect me to share my soul.”* I braced myself for the hate. I expected the urge to tear out his throat to overwhelm me. He was the man who would ruin everything. But as I looked at him, the rage didn't come. Instead, I felt a strange, hollow silence. It wasn't forgiveness. It was relief. I didn't want to destroy him. I didn't want revenge. I just wanted out. I didn't answer him with my usual polite greeting. I walked over to the armchair opposite him. I kicked off my red-soled heels. They tumbled onto the pristine floor. Then, I sank into the cushions. I tore open the paper bag. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Daemon stopped typing. I pulled out a piece of fried chicken. The golden crumbs fell onto the expensive rug. I didn't care. I took a bite. The crunch echoed in the room. Daemon finally looked up. His red eyes narrowed. He scanned me from my bare feet to the grease on my fingers. He looked confused and disgusted. "You're eating that?" he asked. "Here?" I swallowed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I felt like it," I said flatly. "So I did." He stared at me. His brow furrowed. This wasn't the Violet he knew. The Violet he knew would be in the kitchen right now. She would be stressing over the anniversary dinner. He closed his laptop with a snap. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Is this some kind of statement, Violet? If you're looking for attention, this is a pathetic way to get it." I put the chicken back in the bag. I wiped my hands on a napkin. I looked at him. I saw the arrogance. I saw the dismissal. He didn't see me as a partner. He saw me as furniture. Convenient. Silent. "Daemon," I said. My voice was steady. It didn't tremble. He raised an eyebrow. He looked bored. "I want to dissolve the mating bond," I said. "I want a formal Rejection Ceremony." The silence in the room was absolute. Daemon didn't move. He didn't look angry. He didn't look hurt. He just stared at me. Then, he laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. It was full of mockery. He shook his head. He looked at me with pity. "A Rejection Ceremony?" he repeated. He said the words like they were a joke. He picked up his laptop again. He dismissed me entirely. "Violet, stop playing games. I have a territory merger to review. Go clean yourself up. You smell like grease."
The smell of grease and fried chicken filled the air. It was heavy and cloying. But to me, it smelled better than the metallic tang of blood. I sat in the corner of a McDonald’s near the university. My fingers gripped the edge of the plastic table. Outside, traffic moved in a steady stream. The world was loud and alive. It was completely indifferent to the hell I had just escaped. My mind was still stuck in that rainy night. I could still hear the thunder. I could hear the roar of Alpha commands tearing through the air. I spent ten years trying to warm Daemon Blackwood's heart. I played the perfect Luna. I loved him with everything I had. In return, he slaughtered my family for another woman. Because I had refused to let him go for *her*, the Frost Pack declared war on my kin. My parents died defending a daughter who had been too blind to see the truth. I watched them fall, and then I died, unloved and replaced. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, but they were clean. There were no scars. The wasting sickness that killed me in my past life was gone. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. The date stared back at me. It was three years ago. I was back. And today was the fifth anniversary of the day Daemon Blackwood marked me. A dry laugh escaped my throat. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. It dropped me right back into the middle of this farce of a marriage. But this time, I wasn't blind. "Order number forty-two!" A clear, happy voice cut through the noise. I looked up. There she was. Celeste Morrison. She wore a standard uniform and a visor over her honey-blonde hair. She looked fragile. She looked harmless. It was hard to believe this doe-eyed student was the reason for my family's destruction. In my previous life, she was the catalyst. She was the "her" Daemon destroyed the world for. Celeste walked toward my table with a tray. She smiled. It was a bright, sunny smile that reached her eyes. "Here is your order, Luna," she said. She set the tray down but didn't leave immediately. She hesitated, her fingers nervously touching her apron. "I hope you don't mind," Celeste said softly. She reached into her pocket and placed a small, warm cardboard box on my tray. "I added a warm apple pie. It’s on me." I froze. I looked up at her, confused. "Why?" Celeste blushed slightly. She looked down at her shoes, then back at me with genuine concern. "You just looked... really sad staring out that window. Like you were carrying the weight of the world. My mom always says sweets help with a bad day." Her eyes were so clear. So kind. There was no hidden agenda. She was just a girl trying to comfort a stranger. The irony was suffocating. The girl who would inadvertently destroy my life was trying to cheer me up with a pie. "Thank you," I said. My voice sounded rough. "I hope your day gets better," she said cheerfully. She gave a little wave and bounced back to the counter. I watched her go. She was light. She was pure. She was everything I wasn't anymore. I took the bag. The heat of the food seeped through the paper. It felt real. I left the restaurant and stepped into the humid afternoon usage. A black sedan waited for me at the curb. I slid into the back seat. The leather was cool and smelled of expensive polish. "Luna," Leo, the driver, said. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The jeweler called. The obsidian cufflinks you ordered for tonight have been delivered to the manor." Tonight. The celebration. For five years, this date was the most important day of my year. I would spend all day preparing. I cooked meals that went cold. I dressed in silk gowns that went unseen. I did it all for a nod of acknowledgement from Daemon. "I see," I said. I turned to look out the window. Why had I done it? Why did I chase a man whose heart was cold stone? I was Violet Goldcrest. My wolf, Ember, was of Alpha blood. I had pride. Yet, I had made myself small to fit into Daemon’s life. Perfection hadn't saved my parents. Love hadn't stopped the war. The car drove up the private road toward the Blackwood Manor. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture. It was dark stone and glass. It was impressive, but it had no warmth. I saw a massive black SUV parked near the fountain. It was Daemon’s car. He was home. It was unexpected. I walked into the living room. It was vast and cold, decorated in shades of gray. Daemon Blackwood sat on the long leather sofa. A laptop balanced on his knees. He looked rigid and commanding. He was beautiful. It was undeniable. He had dark hair that fell carelessly over his forehead. His features were sharp and aristocratic. His eyes were the color of blood. He radiated the power of a dominant Alpha. He didn't look up. He never did. I remembered our mating ceremony. He had looked at me like a business deal. *“This is a partnership, Violet,”* he had said. *“Do not expect me to share my soul.”* I braced myself for the hate. I expected the urge to tear out his throat to overwhelm me. He was the man who would ruin everything. But as I looked at him, the rage didn't come. Instead, I felt a strange, hollow silence. It wasn't forgiveness. It was relief. I didn't want to destroy him. I didn't want revenge. I just wanted out. I didn't answer him with my usual polite greeting. I walked over to the armchair opposite him. I kicked off my red-soled heels. They tumbled onto the pristine floor. Then, I sank into the cushions. I tore open the paper bag. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Daemon stopped typing. I pulled out a piece of fried chicken. The golden crumbs fell onto the expensive rug. I didn't care. I took a bite. The crunch echoed in the room. Daemon finally looked up. His red eyes narrowed. He scanned me from my bare feet to the grease on my fingers. He looked confused and disgusted. "You're eating that?" he asked. "Here?" I swallowed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I felt like it," I said flatly. "So I did." He stared at me. His brow furrowed. This wasn't the Violet he knew. The Violet he knew would be in the kitchen right now. She would be stressing over the anniversary dinner. He closed his laptop with a snap. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Is this some kind of statement, Violet? If you're looking for attention, this is a pathetic way to get it." I put the chicken back in the bag. I wiped my hands on a napkin. I looked at him. I saw the arrogance. I saw the dismissal. He didn't see me as a partner. He saw me as furniture. Convenient. Silent. "Daemon," I said. My voice was steady. It didn't tremble. He raised an eyebrow. He looked bored. "I want to dissolve the mating bond," I said. "I want a formal Rejection Ceremony." The silence in the room was absolute. Daemon didn't move. He didn't look angry. He didn't look hurt. He just stared at me. Then, he laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. It was full of mockery. He shook his head. He looked at me with pity. "A Rejection Ceremony?" he repeated. He said the words like they were a joke. He picked up his laptop again. He dismissed me entirely. "Violet, stop playing games. I have a territory merger to review. Go clean yourself up. You smell like grease."
The smell of grease and fried chicken filled the air. It was heavy and cloying. But to me, it smelled better than the metallic tang of blood. I sat in the corner of a McDonald’s near the university. My fingers gripped the edge of the plastic table. Outside, traffic moved in a steady stream. The world was loud and alive. It was completely indifferent to the hell I had just escaped. My mind was still stuck in that rainy night. I could still hear the thunder. I could hear the roar of Alpha commands tearing through the air. I spent ten years trying to warm Daemon Blackwood's heart. I played the perfect Luna. I loved him with everything I had. In return, he slaughtered my family for another woman. Because I had refused to let him go for *her*, the Frost Pack declared war on my kin. My parents died defending a daughter who had been too blind to see the truth. I watched them fall, and then I died, unloved and replaced. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, but they were clean. There were no scars. The wasting sickness that killed me in my past life was gone. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. The date stared back at me. It was three years ago. I was back. And today was the fifth anniversary of the day Daemon Blackwood marked me. A dry laugh escaped my throat. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. It dropped me right back into the middle of this farce of a marriage. But this time, I wasn't blind. "Order number forty-two!" A clear, happy voice cut through the noise. I looked up. There she was. Celeste Morrison. She wore a standard uniform and a visor over her honey-blonde hair. She looked fragile. She looked harmless. It was hard to believe this doe-eyed student was the reason for my family's destruction. In my previous life, she was the catalyst. She was the "her" Daemon destroyed the world for. Celeste walked toward my table with a tray. She smiled. It was a bright, sunny smile that reached her eyes. "Here is your order, Luna," she said. She set the tray down but didn't leave immediately. She hesitated, her fingers nervously touching her apron. "I hope you don't mind," Celeste said softly. She reached into her pocket and placed a small, warm cardboard box on my tray. "I added a warm apple pie. It’s on me." I froze. I looked up at her, confused. "Why?" Celeste blushed slightly. She looked down at her shoes, then back at me with genuine concern. "You just looked... really sad staring out that window. Like you were carrying the weight of the world. My mom always says sweets help with a bad day." Her eyes were so clear. So kind. There was no hidden agenda. She was just a girl trying to comfort a stranger. The irony was suffocating. The girl who would inadvertently destroy my life was trying to cheer me up with a pie. "Thank you," I said. My voice sounded rough. "I hope your day gets better," she said cheerfully. She gave a little wave and bounced back to the counter. I watched her go. She was light. She was pure. She was everything I wasn't anymore. I took the bag. The heat of the food seeped through the paper. It felt real. I left the restaurant and stepped into the humid afternoon usage. A black sedan waited for me at the curb. I slid into the back seat. The leather was cool and smelled of expensive polish. "Luna," Leo, the driver, said. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The jeweler called. The obsidian cufflinks you ordered for tonight have been delivered to the manor." Tonight. The celebration. For five years, this date was the most important day of my year. I would spend all day preparing. I cooked meals that went cold. I dressed in silk gowns that went unseen. I did it all for a nod of acknowledgement from Daemon. "I see," I said. I turned to look out the window. Why had I done it? Why did I chase a man whose heart was cold stone? I was Violet Goldcrest. My wolf, Ember, was of Alpha blood. I had pride. Yet, I had made myself small to fit into Daemon’s life. Perfection hadn't saved my parents. Love hadn't stopped the war. The car drove up the private road toward the Blackwood Manor. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture. It was dark stone and glass. It was impressive, but it had no warmth. I saw a massive black SUV parked near the fountain. It was Daemon’s car. He was home. It was unexpected. I walked into the living room. It was vast and cold, decorated in shades of gray. Daemon Blackwood sat on the long leather sofa. A laptop balanced on his knees. He looked rigid and commanding. He was beautiful. It was undeniable. He had dark hair that fell carelessly over his forehead. His features were sharp and aristocratic. His eyes were the color of blood. He radiated the power of a dominant Alpha. He didn't look up. He never did. I remembered our mating ceremony. He had looked at me like a business deal. *“This is a partnership, Violet,”* he had said. *“Do not expect me to share my soul.”* I braced myself for the hate. I expected the urge to tear out his throat to overwhelm me. He was the man who would ruin everything. But as I looked at him, the rage didn't come. Instead, I felt a strange, hollow silence. It wasn't forgiveness. It was relief. I didn't want to destroy him. I didn't want revenge. I just wanted out. I didn't answer him with my usual polite greeting. I walked over to the armchair opposite him. I kicked off my red-soled heels. They tumbled onto the pristine floor. Then, I sank into the cushions. I tore open the paper bag. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Daemon stopped typing. I pulled out a piece of fried chicken. The golden crumbs fell onto the expensive rug. I didn't care. I took a bite. The crunch echoed in the room. Daemon finally looked up. His red eyes narrowed. He scanned me from my bare feet to the grease on my fingers. He looked confused and disgusted. "You're eating that?" he asked. "Here?" I swallowed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I felt like it," I said flatly. "So I did." He stared at me. His brow furrowed. This wasn't the Violet he knew. The Violet he knew would be in the kitchen right now. She would be stressing over the anniversary dinner. He closed his laptop with a snap. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Is this some kind of statement, Violet? If you're looking for attention, this is a pathetic way to get it." I put the chicken back in the bag. I wiped my hands on a napkin. I looked at him. I saw the arrogance. I saw the dismissal. He didn't see me as a partner. He saw me as furniture. Convenient. Silent. "Daemon," I said. My voice was steady. It didn't tremble. He raised an eyebrow. He looked bored. "I want to dissolve the mating bond," I said. "I want a formal Rejection Ceremony." The silence in the room was absolute. Daemon didn't move. He didn't look angry. He didn't look hurt. He just stared at me. Then, he laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. It was full of mockery. He shook his head. He looked at me with pity. "A Rejection Ceremony?" he repeated. He said the words like they were a joke. He picked up his laptop again. He dismissed me entirely. "Violet, stop playing games. I have a territory merger to review. Go clean yourself up. You smell like grease."
The smell of grease and fried chicken filled the air. It was heavy and cloying. But to me, it smelled better than the metallic tang of blood. I sat in the corner of a McDonald’s near the university. My fingers gripped the edge of the plastic table. Outside, traffic moved in a steady stream. The world was loud and alive. It was completely indifferent to the hell I had just escaped. My mind was still stuck in that rainy night. I could still hear the thunder. I could hear the roar of Alpha commands tearing through the air. I spent ten years trying to warm Daemon Blackwood's heart. I played the perfect Luna. I loved him with everything I had. In return, he slaughtered my family for another woman. Because I had refused to let him go for *her*, the Frost Pack declared war on my kin. My parents died defending a daughter who had been too blind to see the truth. I watched them fall, and then I died, unloved and replaced. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, but they were clean. There were no scars. The wasting sickness that killed me in my past life was gone. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. The date stared back at me. It was three years ago. I was back. And today was the fifth anniversary of the day Daemon Blackwood marked me. A dry laugh escaped my throat. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. It dropped me right back into the middle of this farce of a marriage. But this time, I wasn't blind. "Order number forty-two!" A clear, happy voice cut through the noise. I looked up. There she was. Celeste Morrison. She wore a standard uniform and a visor over her honey-blonde hair. She looked fragile. She looked harmless. It was hard to believe this doe-eyed student was the reason for my family's destruction. In my previous life, she was the catalyst. She was the "her" Daemon destroyed the world for. Celeste walked toward my table with a tray. She smiled. It was a bright, sunny smile that reached her eyes. "Here is your order, Luna," she said. She set the tray down but didn't leave immediately. She hesitated, her fingers nervously touching her apron. "I hope you don't mind," Celeste said softly. She reached into her pocket and placed a small, warm cardboard box on my tray. "I added a warm apple pie. It’s on me." I froze. I looked up at her, confused. "Why?" Celeste blushed slightly. She looked down at her shoes, then back at me with genuine concern. "You just looked... really sad staring out that window. Like you were carrying the weight of the world. My mom always says sweets help with a bad day." Her eyes were so clear. So kind. There was no hidden agenda. She was just a girl trying to comfort a stranger. The irony was suffocating. The girl who would inadvertently destroy my life was trying to cheer me up with a pie. "Thank you," I said. My voice sounded rough. "I hope your day gets better," she said cheerfully. She gave a little wave and bounced back to the counter. I watched her go. She was light. She was pure. She was everything I wasn't anymore. I took the bag. The heat of the food seeped through the paper. It felt real. I left the restaurant and stepped into the humid afternoon usage. A black sedan waited for me at the curb. I slid into the back seat. The leather was cool and smelled of expensive polish. "Luna," Leo, the driver, said. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The jeweler called. The obsidian cufflinks you ordered for tonight have been delivered to the manor." Tonight. The celebration. For five years, this date was the most important day of my year. I would spend all day preparing. I cooked meals that went cold. I dressed in silk gowns that went unseen. I did it all for a nod of acknowledgement from Daemon. "I see," I said. I turned to look out the window. Why had I done it? Why did I chase a man whose heart was cold stone? I was Violet Goldcrest. My wolf, Ember, was of Alpha blood. I had pride. Yet, I had made myself small to fit into Daemon’s life. Perfection hadn't saved my parents. Love hadn't stopped the war. The car drove up the private road toward the Blackwood Manor. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture. It was dark stone and glass. It was impressive, but it had no warmth. I saw a massive black SUV parked near the fountain. It was Daemon’s car. He was home. It was unexpected. I walked into the living room. It was vast and cold, decorated in shades of gray. Daemon Blackwood sat on the long leather sofa. A laptop balanced on his knees. He looked rigid and commanding. He was beautiful. It was undeniable. He had dark hair that fell carelessly over his forehead. His features were sharp and aristocratic. His eyes were the color of blood. He radiated the power of a dominant Alpha. He didn't look up. He never did. I remembered our mating ceremony. He had looked at me like a business deal. *“This is a partnership, Violet,”* he had said. *“Do not expect me to share my soul.”* I braced myself for the hate. I expected the urge to tear out his throat to overwhelm me. He was the man who would ruin everything. But as I looked at him, the rage didn't come. Instead, I felt a strange, hollow silence. It wasn't forgiveness. It was relief. I didn't want to destroy him. I didn't want revenge. I just wanted out. I didn't answer him with my usual polite greeting. I walked over to the armchair opposite him. I kicked off my red-soled heels. They tumbled onto the pristine floor. Then, I sank into the cushions. I tore open the paper bag. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Daemon stopped typing. I pulled out a piece of fried chicken. The golden crumbs fell onto the expensive rug. I didn't care. I took a bite. The crunch echoed in the room. Daemon finally looked up. His red eyes narrowed. He scanned me from my bare feet to the grease on my fingers. He looked confused and disgusted. "You're eating that?" he asked. "Here?" I swallowed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I felt like it," I said flatly. "So I did." He stared at me. His brow furrowed. This wasn't the Violet he knew. The Violet he knew would be in the kitchen right now. She would be stressing over the anniversary dinner. He closed his laptop with a snap. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Is this some kind of statement, Violet? If you're looking for attention, this is a pathetic way to get it." I put the chicken back in the bag. I wiped my hands on a napkin. I looked at him. I saw the arrogance. I saw the dismissal. He didn't see me as a partner. He saw me as furniture. Convenient. Silent. "Daemon," I said. My voice was steady. It didn't tremble. He raised an eyebrow. He looked bored. "I want to dissolve the mating bond," I said. "I want a formal Rejection Ceremony." The silence in the room was absolute. Daemon didn't move. He didn't look angry. He didn't look hurt. He just stared at me. Then, he laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. It was full of mockery. He shook his head. He looked at me with pity. "A Rejection Ceremony?" he repeated. He said the words like they were a joke. He picked up his laptop again. He dismissed me entirely. "Violet, stop playing games. I have a territory merger to review. Go clean yourself up. You smell like grease."
The smell of grease and fried chicken filled the air. It was heavy and cloying. But to me, it smelled better than the metallic tang of blood. I sat in the corner of a McDonald’s near the university. My fingers gripped the edge of the plastic table. Outside, traffic moved in a steady stream. The world was loud and alive. It was completely indifferent to the hell I had just escaped. My mind was still stuck in that rainy night. I could still hear the thunder. I could hear the roar of Alpha commands tearing through the air. I spent ten years trying to warm Daemon Blackwood's heart. I played the perfect Luna. I loved him with everything I had. In return, he slaughtered my family for another woman. Because I had refused to let him go for *her*, the Frost Pack declared war on my kin. My parents died defending a daughter who had been too blind to see the truth. I watched them fall, and then I died, unloved and replaced. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, but they were clean. There were no scars. The wasting sickness that killed me in my past life was gone. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. The date stared back at me. It was three years ago. I was back. And today was the fifth anniversary of the day Daemon Blackwood marked me. A dry laugh escaped my throat. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. It dropped me right back into the middle of this farce of a marriage. But this time, I wasn't blind. "Order number forty-two!" A clear, happy voice cut through the noise. I looked up. There she was. Celeste Morrison. She wore a standard uniform and a visor over her honey-blonde hair. She looked fragile. She looked harmless. It was hard to believe this doe-eyed student was the reason for my family's destruction. In my previous life, she was the catalyst. She was the "her" Daemon destroyed the world for. Celeste walked toward my table with a tray. She smiled. It was a bright, sunny smile that reached her eyes. "Here is your order, Luna," she said. She set the tray down but didn't leave immediately. She hesitated, her fingers nervously touching her apron. "I hope you don't mind," Celeste said softly. She reached into her pocket and placed a small, warm cardboard box on my tray. "I added a warm apple pie. It’s on me." I froze. I looked up at her, confused. "Why?" Celeste blushed slightly. She looked down at her shoes, then back at me with genuine concern. "You just looked... really sad staring out that window. Like you were carrying the weight of the world. My mom always says sweets help with a bad day." Her eyes were so clear. So kind. There was no hidden agenda. She was just a girl trying to comfort a stranger. The irony was suffocating. The girl who would inadvertently destroy my life was trying to cheer me up with a pie. "Thank you," I said. My voice sounded rough. "I hope your day gets better," she said cheerfully. She gave a little wave and bounced back to the counter. I watched her go. She was light. She was pure. She was everything I wasn't anymore. I took the bag. The heat of the food seeped through the paper. It felt real. I left the restaurant and stepped into the humid afternoon usage. A black sedan waited for me at the curb. I slid into the back seat. The leather was cool and smelled of expensive polish. "Luna," Leo, the driver, said. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The jeweler called. The obsidian cufflinks you ordered for tonight have been delivered to the manor." Tonight. The celebration. For five years, this date was the most important day of my year. I would spend all day preparing. I cooked meals that went cold. I dressed in silk gowns that went unseen. I did it all for a nod of acknowledgement from Daemon. "I see," I said. I turned to look out the window. Why had I done it? Why did I chase a man whose heart was cold stone? I was Violet Goldcrest. My wolf, Ember, was of Alpha blood. I had pride. Yet, I had made myself small to fit into Daemon’s life. Perfection hadn't saved my parents. Love hadn't stopped the war. The car drove up the private road toward the Blackwood Manor. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture. It was dark stone and glass. It was impressive, but it had no warmth. I saw a massive black SUV parked near the fountain. It was Daemon’s car. He was home. It was unexpected. I walked into the living room. It was vast and cold, decorated in shades of gray. Daemon Blackwood sat on the long leather sofa. A laptop balanced on his knees. He looked rigid and commanding. He was beautiful. It was undeniable. He had dark hair that fell carelessly over his forehead. His features were sharp and aristocratic. His eyes were the color of blood. He radiated the power of a dominant Alpha. He didn't look up. He never did. I remembered our mating ceremony. He had looked at me like a business deal. *“This is a partnership, Violet,”* he had said. *“Do not expect me to share my soul.”* I braced myself for the hate. I expected the urge to tear out his throat to overwhelm me. He was the man who would ruin everything. But as I looked at him, the rage didn't come. Instead, I felt a strange, hollow silence. It wasn't forgiveness. It was relief. I didn't want to destroy him. I didn't want revenge. I just wanted out. I didn't answer him with my usual polite greeting. I walked over to the armchair opposite him. I kicked off my red-soled heels. They tumbled onto the pristine floor. Then, I sank into the cushions. I tore open the paper bag. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Daemon stopped typing. I pulled out a piece of fried chicken. The golden crumbs fell onto the expensive rug. I didn't care. I took a bite. The crunch echoed in the room. Daemon finally looked up. His red eyes narrowed. He scanned me from my bare feet to the grease on my fingers. He looked confused and disgusted. "You're eating that?" he asked. "Here?" I swallowed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I felt like it," I said flatly. "So I did." He stared at me. His brow furrowed. This wasn't the Violet he knew. The Violet he knew would be in the kitchen right now. She would be stressing over the anniversary dinner. He closed his laptop with a snap. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Is this some kind of statement, Violet? If you're looking for attention, this is a pathetic way to get it." I put the chicken back in the bag. I wiped my hands on a napkin. I looked at him. I saw the arrogance. I saw the dismissal. He didn't see me as a partner. He saw me as furniture. Convenient. Silent. "Daemon," I said. My voice was steady. It didn't tremble. He raised an eyebrow. He looked bored. "I want to dissolve the mating bond," I said. "I want a formal Rejection Ceremony." The silence in the room was absolute. Daemon didn't move. He didn't look angry. He didn't look hurt. He just stared at me. Then, he laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. It was full of mockery. He shook his head. He looked at me with pity. "A Rejection Ceremony?" he repeated. He said the words like they were a joke. He picked up his laptop again. He dismissed me entirely. "Violet, stop playing games. I have a territory merger to review. Go clean yourself up. You smell like grease."
The smell of grease and fried chicken filled the air. It was heavy and cloying. But to me, it smelled better than the metallic tang of blood. I sat in the corner of a McDonald’s near the university. My fingers gripped the edge of the plastic table. Outside, traffic moved in a steady stream. The world was loud and alive. It was completely indifferent to the hell I had just escaped. My mind was still stuck in that rainy night. I could still hear the thunder. I could hear the roar of Alpha commands tearing through the air. I spent ten years trying to warm Daemon Blackwood's heart. I played the perfect Luna. I loved him with everything I had. In return, he slaughtered my family for another woman. Because I had refused to let him go for *her*, the Frost Pack declared war on my kin. My parents died defending a daughter who had been too blind to see the truth. I watched them fall, and then I died, unloved and replaced. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, but they were clean. There were no scars. The wasting sickness that killed me in my past life was gone. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. The date stared back at me. It was three years ago. I was back. And today was the fifth anniversary of the day Daemon Blackwood marked me. A dry laugh escaped my throat. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. It dropped me right back into the middle of this farce of a marriage. But this time, I wasn't blind. "Order number forty-two!" A clear, happy voice cut through the noise. I looked up. There she was. Celeste Morrison. She wore a standard uniform and a visor over her honey-blonde hair. She looked fragile. She looked harmless. It was hard to believe this doe-eyed student was the reason for my family's destruction. In my previous life, she was the catalyst. She was the "her" Daemon destroyed the world for. Celeste walked toward my table with a tray. She smiled. It was a bright, sunny smile that reached her eyes. "Here is your order, Luna," she said. She set the tray down but didn't leave immediately. She hesitated, her fingers nervously touching her apron. "I hope you don't mind," Celeste said softly. She reached into her pocket and placed a small, warm cardboard box on my tray. "I added a warm apple pie. It’s on me." I froze. I looked up at her, confused. "Why?" Celeste blushed slightly. She looked down at her shoes, then back at me with genuine concern. "You just looked... really sad staring out that window. Like you were carrying the weight of the world. My mom always says sweets help with a bad day." Her eyes were so clear. So kind. There was no hidden agenda. She was just a girl trying to comfort a stranger. The irony was suffocating. The girl who would inadvertently destroy my life was trying to cheer me up with a pie. "Thank you," I said. My voice sounded rough. "I hope your day gets better," she said cheerfully. She gave a little wave and bounced back to the counter. I watched her go. She was light. She was pure. She was everything I wasn't anymore. I took the bag. The heat of the food seeped through the paper. It felt real. I left the restaurant and stepped into the humid afternoon usage. A black sedan waited for me at the curb. I slid into the back seat. The leather was cool and smelled of expensive polish. "Luna," Leo, the driver, said. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The jeweler called. The obsidian cufflinks you ordered for tonight have been delivered to the manor." Tonight. The celebration. For five years, this date was the most important day of my year. I would spend all day preparing. I cooked meals that went cold. I dressed in silk gowns that went unseen. I did it all for a nod of acknowledgement from Daemon. "I see," I said. I turned to look out the window. Why had I done it? Why did I chase a man whose heart was cold stone? I was Violet Goldcrest. My wolf, Ember, was of Alpha blood. I had pride. Yet, I had made myself small to fit into Daemon’s life. Perfection hadn't saved my parents. Love hadn't stopped the war. The car drove up the private road toward the Blackwood Manor. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture. It was dark stone and glass. It was impressive, but it had no warmth. I saw a massive black SUV parked near the fountain. It was Daemon’s car. He was home. It was unexpected. I walked into the living room. It was vast and cold, decorated in shades of gray. Daemon Blackwood sat on the long leather sofa. A laptop balanced on his knees. He looked rigid and commanding. He was beautiful. It was undeniable. He had dark hair that fell carelessly over his forehead. His features were sharp and aristocratic. His eyes were the color of blood. He radiated the power of a dominant Alpha. He didn't look up. He never did. I remembered our mating ceremony. He had looked at me like a business deal. *“This is a partnership, Violet,”* he had said. *“Do not expect me to share my soul.”* I braced myself for the hate. I expected the urge to tear out his throat to overwhelm me. He was the man who would ruin everything. But as I looked at him, the rage didn't come. Instead, I felt a strange, hollow silence. It wasn't forgiveness. It was relief. I didn't want to destroy him. I didn't want revenge. I just wanted out. I didn't answer him with my usual polite greeting. I walked over to the armchair opposite him. I kicked off my red-soled heels. They tumbled onto the pristine floor. Then, I sank into the cushions. I tore open the paper bag. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Daemon stopped typing. I pulled out a piece of fried chicken. The golden crumbs fell onto the expensive rug. I didn't care. I took a bite. The crunch echoed in the room. Daemon finally looked up. His red eyes narrowed. He scanned me from my bare feet to the grease on my fingers. He looked confused and disgusted. "You're eating that?" he asked. "Here?" I swallowed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I felt like it," I said flatly. "So I did." He stared at me. His brow furrowed. This wasn't the Violet he knew. The Violet he knew would be in the kitchen right now. She would be stressing over the anniversary dinner. He closed his laptop with a snap. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Is this some kind of statement, Violet? If you're looking for attention, this is a pathetic way to get it." I put the chicken back in the bag. I wiped my hands on a napkin. I looked at him. I saw the arrogance. I saw the dismissal. He didn't see me as a partner. He saw me as furniture. Convenient. Silent. "Daemon," I said. My voice was steady. It didn't tremble. He raised an eyebrow. He looked bored. "I want to dissolve the mating bond," I said. "I want a formal Rejection Ceremony." The silence in the room was absolute. Daemon didn't move. He didn't look angry. He didn't look hurt. He just stared at me. Then, he laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. It was full of mockery. He shook his head. He looked at me with pity. "A Rejection Ceremony?" he repeated. He said the words like they were a joke. He picked up his laptop again. He dismissed me entirely. "Violet, stop playing games. I have a territory merger to review. Go clean yourself up. You smell like grease."
The smell of grease and fried chicken filled the air. It was heavy and cloying. But to me, it smelled better than the metallic tang of blood. I sat in the corner of a McDonald’s near the university. My fingers gripped the edge of the plastic table. Outside, traffic moved in a steady stream. The world was loud and alive. It was completely indifferent to the hell I had just escaped. My mind was still stuck in that rainy night. I could still hear the thunder. I could hear the roar of Alpha commands tearing through the air. I spent ten years trying to warm Daemon Blackwood's heart. I played the perfect Luna. I loved him with everything I had. In return, he slaughtered my family for another woman. Because I had refused to let him go for *her*, the Frost Pack declared war on my kin. My parents died defending a daughter who had been too blind to see the truth. I watched them fall, and then I died, unloved and replaced. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, but they were clean. There were no scars. The wasting sickness that killed me in my past life was gone. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. The date stared back at me. It was three years ago. I was back. And today was the fifth anniversary of the day Daemon Blackwood marked me. A dry laugh escaped my throat. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. It dropped me right back into the middle of this farce of a marriage. But this time, I wasn't blind. "Order number forty-two!" A clear, happy voice cut through the noise. I looked up. There she was. Celeste Morrison. She wore a standard uniform and a visor over her honey-blonde hair. She looked fragile. She looked harmless. It was hard to believe this doe-eyed student was the reason for my family's destruction. In my previous life, she was the catalyst. She was the "her" Daemon destroyed the world for. Celeste walked toward my table with a tray. She smiled. It was a bright, sunny smile that reached her eyes. "Here is your order, Luna," she said. She set the tray down but didn't leave immediately. She hesitated, her fingers nervously touching her apron. "I hope you don't mind," Celeste said softly. She reached into her pocket and placed a small, warm cardboard box on my tray. "I added a warm apple pie. It’s on me." I froze. I looked up at her, confused. "Why?" Celeste blushed slightly. She looked down at her shoes, then back at me with genuine concern. "You just looked... really sad staring out that window. Like you were carrying the weight of the world. My mom always says sweets help with a bad day." Her eyes were so clear. So kind. There was no hidden agenda. She was just a girl trying to comfort a stranger. The irony was suffocating. The girl who would inadvertently destroy my life was trying to cheer me up with a pie. "Thank you," I said. My voice sounded rough. "I hope your day gets better," she said cheerfully. She gave a little wave and bounced back to the counter. I watched her go. She was light. She was pure. She was everything I wasn't anymore. I took the bag. The heat of the food seeped through the paper. It felt real. I left the restaurant and stepped into the humid afternoon usage. A black sedan waited for me at the curb. I slid into the back seat. The leather was cool and smelled of expensive polish. "Luna," Leo, the driver, said. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The jeweler called. The obsidian cufflinks you ordered for tonight have been delivered to the manor." Tonight. The celebration. For five years, this date was the most important day of my year. I would spend all day preparing. I cooked meals that went cold. I dressed in silk gowns that went unseen. I did it all for a nod of acknowledgement from Daemon. "I see," I said. I turned to look out the window. Why had I done it? Why did I chase a man whose heart was cold stone? I was Violet Goldcrest. My wolf, Ember, was of Alpha blood. I had pride. Yet, I had made myself small to fit into Daemon’s life. Perfection hadn't saved my parents. Love hadn't stopped the war. The car drove up the private road toward the Blackwood Manor. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture. It was dark stone and glass. It was impressive, but it had no warmth. I saw a massive black SUV parked near the fountain. It was Daemon’s car. He was home. It was unexpected. I walked into the living room. It was vast and cold, decorated in shades of gray. Daemon Blackwood sat on the long leather sofa. A laptop balanced on his knees. He looked rigid and commanding. He was beautiful. It was undeniable. He had dark hair that fell carelessly over his forehead. His features were sharp and aristocratic. His eyes were the color of blood. He radiated the power of a dominant Alpha. He didn't look up. He never did. I remembered our mating ceremony. He had looked at me like a business deal. *“This is a partnership, Violet,”* he had said. *“Do not expect me to share my soul.”* I braced myself for the hate. I expected the urge to tear out his throat to overwhelm me. He was the man who would ruin everything. But as I looked at him, the rage didn't come. Instead, I felt a strange, hollow silence. It wasn't forgiveness. It was relief. I didn't want to destroy him. I didn't want revenge. I just wanted out. I didn't answer him with my usual polite greeting. I walked over to the armchair opposite him. I kicked off my red-soled heels. They tumbled onto the pristine floor. Then, I sank into the cushions. I tore open the paper bag. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Daemon stopped typing. I pulled out a piece of fried chicken. The golden crumbs fell onto the expensive rug. I didn't care. I took a bite. The crunch echoed in the room. Daemon finally looked up. His red eyes narrowed. He scanned me from my bare feet to the grease on my fingers. He looked confused and disgusted. "You're eating that?" he asked. "Here?" I swallowed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I felt like it," I said flatly. "So I did." He stared at me. His brow furrowed. This wasn't the Violet he knew. The Violet he knew would be in the kitchen right now. She would be stressing over the anniversary dinner. He closed his laptop with a snap. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Is this some kind of statement, Violet? If you're looking for attention, this is a pathetic way to get it." I put the chicken back in the bag. I wiped my hands on a napkin. I looked at him. I saw the arrogance. I saw the dismissal. He didn't see me as a partner. He saw me as furniture. Convenient. Silent. "Daemon," I said. My voice was steady. It didn't tremble. He raised an eyebrow. He looked bored. "I want to dissolve the mating bond," I said. "I want a formal Rejection Ceremony." The silence in the room was absolute. Daemon didn't move. He didn't look angry. He didn't look hurt. He just stared at me. Then, he laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. It was full of mockery. He shook his head. He looked at me with pity. "A Rejection Ceremony?" he repeated. He said the words like they were a joke. He picked up his laptop again. He dismissed me entirely. "Violet, stop playing games. I have a territory merger to review. Go clean yourself up. You smell like grease."
The smell of grease and fried chicken filled the air. It was heavy and cloying. But to me, it smelled better than the metallic tang of blood. I sat in the corner of a McDonald’s near the university. My fingers gripped the edge of the plastic table. Outside, traffic moved in a steady stream. The world was loud and alive. It was completely indifferent to the hell I had just escaped. My mind was still stuck in that rainy night. I could still hear the thunder. I could hear the roar of Alpha commands tearing through the air. I spent ten years trying to warm Daemon Blackwood's heart. I played the perfect Luna. I loved him with everything I had. In return, he slaughtered my family for another woman. Because I had refused to let him go for *her*, the Frost Pack declared war on my kin. My parents died defending a daughter who had been too blind to see the truth. I watched them fall, and then I died, unloved and replaced. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, but they were clean. There were no scars. The wasting sickness that killed me in my past life was gone. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. The date stared back at me. It was three years ago. I was back. And today was the fifth anniversary of the day Daemon Blackwood marked me. A dry laugh escaped my throat. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. It dropped me right back into the middle of this farce of a marriage. But this time, I wasn't blind. "Order number forty-two!" A clear, happy voice cut through the noise. I looked up. There she was. Celeste Morrison. She wore a standard uniform and a visor over her honey-blonde hair. She looked fragile. She looked harmless. It was hard to believe this doe-eyed student was the reason for my family's destruction. In my previous life, she was the catalyst. She was the "her" Daemon destroyed the world for. Celeste walked toward my table with a tray. She smiled. It was a bright, sunny smile that reached her eyes. "Here is your order, Luna," she said. She set the tray down but didn't leave immediately. She hesitated, her fingers nervously touching her apron. "I hope you don't mind," Celeste said softly. She reached into her pocket and placed a small, warm cardboard box on my tray. "I added a warm apple pie. It’s on me." I froze. I looked up at her, confused. "Why?" Celeste blushed slightly. She looked down at her shoes, then back at me with genuine concern. "You just looked... really sad staring out that window. Like you were carrying the weight of the world. My mom always says sweets help with a bad day." Her eyes were so clear. So kind. There was no hidden agenda. She was just a girl trying to comfort a stranger. The irony was suffocating. The girl who would inadvertently destroy my life was trying to cheer me up with a pie. "Thank you," I said. My voice sounded rough. "I hope your day gets better," she said cheerfully. She gave a little wave and bounced back to the counter. I watched her go. She was light. She was pure. She was everything I wasn't anymore. I took the bag. The heat of the food seeped through the paper. It felt real. I left the restaurant and stepped into the humid afternoon usage. A black sedan waited for me at the curb. I slid into the back seat. The leather was cool and smelled of expensive polish. "Luna," Leo, the driver, said. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The jeweler called. The obsidian cufflinks you ordered for tonight have been delivered to the manor." Tonight. The celebration. For five years, this date was the most important day of my year. I would spend all day preparing. I cooked meals that went cold. I dressed in silk gowns that went unseen. I did it all for a nod of acknowledgement from Daemon. "I see," I said. I turned to look out the window. Why had I done it? Why did I chase a man whose heart was cold stone? I was Violet Goldcrest. My wolf, Ember, was of Alpha blood. I had pride. Yet, I had made myself small to fit into Daemon’s life. Perfection hadn't saved my parents. Love hadn't stopped the war. The car drove up the private road toward the Blackwood Manor. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture. It was dark stone and glass. It was impressive, but it had no warmth. I saw a massive black SUV parked near the fountain. It was Daemon’s car. He was home. It was unexpected. I walked into the living room. It was vast and cold, decorated in shades of gray. Daemon Blackwood sat on the long leather sofa. A laptop balanced on his knees. He looked rigid and commanding. He was beautiful. It was undeniable. He had dark hair that fell carelessly over his forehead. His features were sharp and aristocratic. His eyes were the color of blood. He radiated the power of a dominant Alpha. He didn't look up. He never did. I remembered our mating ceremony. He had looked at me like a business deal. *“This is a partnership, Violet,”* he had said. *“Do not expect me to share my soul.”* I braced myself for the hate. I expected the urge to tear out his throat to overwhelm me. He was the man who would ruin everything. But as I looked at him, the rage didn't come. Instead, I felt a strange, hollow silence. It wasn't forgiveness. It was relief. I didn't want to destroy him. I didn't want revenge. I just wanted out. I didn't answer him with my usual polite greeting. I walked over to the armchair opposite him. I kicked off my red-soled heels. They tumbled onto the pristine floor. Then, I sank into the cushions. I tore open the paper bag. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Daemon stopped typing. I pulled out a piece of fried chicken. The golden crumbs fell onto the expensive rug. I didn't care. I took a bite. The crunch echoed in the room. Daemon finally looked up. His red eyes narrowed. He scanned me from my bare feet to the grease on my fingers. He looked confused and disgusted. "You're eating that?" he asked. "Here?" I swallowed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I felt like it," I said flatly. "So I did." He stared at me. His brow furrowed. This wasn't the Violet he knew. The Violet he knew would be in the kitchen right now. She would be stressing over the anniversary dinner. He closed his laptop with a snap. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Is this some kind of statement, Violet? If you're looking for attention, this is a pathetic way to get it." I put the chicken back in the bag. I wiped my hands on a napkin. I looked at him. I saw the arrogance. I saw the dismissal. He didn't see me as a partner. He saw me as furniture. Convenient. Silent. "Daemon," I said. My voice was steady. It didn't tremble. He raised an eyebrow. He looked bored. "I want to dissolve the mating bond," I said. "I want a formal Rejection Ceremony." The silence in the room was absolute. Daemon didn't move. He didn't look angry. He didn't look hurt. He just stared at me. Then, he laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. It was full of mockery. He shook his head. He looked at me with pity. "A Rejection Ceremony?" he repeated. He said the words like they were a joke. He picked up his laptop again. He dismissed me entirely. "Violet, stop playing games. I have a territory merger to review. Go clean yourself up. You smell like grease."
The smell of grease and fried chicken filled the air. It was heavy and cloying. But to me, it smelled better than the metallic tang of blood. I sat in the corner of a McDonald’s near the university. My fingers gripped the edge of the plastic table. Outside, traffic moved in a steady stream. The world was loud and alive. It was completely indifferent to the hell I had just escaped. My mind was still stuck in that rainy night. I could still hear the thunder. I could hear the roar of Alpha commands tearing through the air. I spent ten years trying to warm Daemon Blackwood's heart. I played the perfect Luna. I loved him with everything I had. In return, he slaughtered my family for another woman. Because I had refused to let him go for *her*, the Frost Pack declared war on my kin. My parents died defending a daughter who had been too blind to see the truth. I watched them fall, and then I died, unloved and replaced. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, but they were clean. There were no scars. The wasting sickness that killed me in my past life was gone. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. The date stared back at me. It was three years ago. I was back. And today was the fifth anniversary of the day Daemon Blackwood marked me. A dry laugh escaped my throat. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. It dropped me right back into the middle of this farce of a marriage. But this time, I wasn't blind. "Order number forty-two!" A clear, happy voice cut through the noise. I looked up. There she was. Celeste Morrison. She wore a standard uniform and a visor over her honey-blonde hair. She looked fragile. She looked harmless. It was hard to believe this doe-eyed student was the reason for my family's destruction. In my previous life, she was the catalyst. She was the "her" Daemon destroyed the world for. Celeste walked toward my table with a tray. She smiled. It was a bright, sunny smile that reached her eyes. "Here is your order, Luna," she said. She set the tray down but didn't leave immediately. She hesitated, her fingers nervously touching her apron. "I hope you don't mind," Celeste said softly. She reached into her pocket and placed a small, warm cardboard box on my tray. "I added a warm apple pie. It’s on me." I froze. I looked up at her, confused. "Why?" Celeste blushed slightly. She looked down at her shoes, then back at me with genuine concern. "You just looked... really sad staring out that window. Like you were carrying the weight of the world. My mom always says sweets help with a bad day." Her eyes were so clear. So kind. There was no hidden agenda. She was just a girl trying to comfort a stranger. The irony was suffocating. The girl who would inadvertently destroy my life was trying to cheer me up with a pie. "Thank you," I said. My voice sounded rough. "I hope your day gets better," she said cheerfully. She gave a little wave and bounced back to the counter. I watched her go. She was light. She was pure. She was everything I wasn't anymore. I took the bag. The heat of the food seeped through the paper. It felt real. I left the restaurant and stepped into the humid afternoon usage. A black sedan waited for me at the curb. I slid into the back seat. The leather was cool and smelled of expensive polish. "Luna," Leo, the driver, said. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The jeweler called. The obsidian cufflinks you ordered for tonight have been delivered to the manor." Tonight. The celebration. For five years, this date was the most important day of my year. I would spend all day preparing. I cooked meals that went cold. I dressed in silk gowns that went unseen. I did it all for a nod of acknowledgement from Daemon. "I see," I said. I turned to look out the window. Why had I done it? Why did I chase a man whose heart was cold stone? I was Violet Goldcrest. My wolf, Ember, was of Alpha blood. I had pride. Yet, I had made myself small to fit into Daemon’s life. Perfection hadn't saved my parents. Love hadn't stopped the war. The car drove up the private road toward the Blackwood Manor. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture. It was dark stone and glass. It was impressive, but it had no warmth. I saw a massive black SUV parked near the fountain. It was Daemon’s car. He was home. It was unexpected. I walked into the living room. It was vast and cold, decorated in shades of gray. Daemon Blackwood sat on the long leather sofa. A laptop balanced on his knees. He looked rigid and commanding. He was beautiful. It was undeniable. He had dark hair that fell carelessly over his forehead. His features were sharp and aristocratic. His eyes were the color of blood. He radiated the power of a dominant Alpha. He didn't look up. He never did. I remembered our mating ceremony. He had looked at me like a business deal. *“This is a partnership, Violet,”* he had said. *“Do not expect me to share my soul.”* I braced myself for the hate. I expected the urge to tear out his throat to overwhelm me. He was the man who would ruin everything. But as I looked at him, the rage didn't come. Instead, I felt a strange, hollow silence. It wasn't forgiveness. It was relief. I didn't want to destroy him. I didn't want revenge. I just wanted out. I didn't answer him with my usual polite greeting. I walked over to the armchair opposite him. I kicked off my red-soled heels. They tumbled onto the pristine floor. Then, I sank into the cushions. I tore open the paper bag. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Daemon stopped typing. I pulled out a piece of fried chicken. The golden crumbs fell onto the expensive rug. I didn't care. I took a bite. The crunch echoed in the room. Daemon finally looked up. His red eyes narrowed. He scanned me from my bare feet to the grease on my fingers. He looked confused and disgusted. "You're eating that?" he asked. "Here?" I swallowed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I felt like it," I said flatly. "So I did." He stared at me. His brow furrowed. This wasn't the Violet he knew. The Violet he knew would be in the kitchen right now. She would be stressing over the anniversary dinner. He closed his laptop with a snap. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Is this some kind of statement, Violet? If you're looking for attention, this is a pathetic way to get it." I put the chicken back in the bag. I wiped my hands on a napkin. I looked at him. I saw the arrogance. I saw the dismissal. He didn't see me as a partner. He saw me as furniture. Convenient. Silent. "Daemon," I said. My voice was steady. It didn't tremble. He raised an eyebrow. He looked bored. "I want to dissolve the mating bond," I said. "I want a formal Rejection Ceremony." The silence in the room was absolute. Daemon didn't move. He didn't look angry. He didn't look hurt. He just stared at me. Then, he laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. It was full of mockery. He shook his head. He looked at me with pity. "A Rejection Ceremony?" he repeated. He said the words like they were a joke. He picked up his laptop again. He dismissed me entirely. "Violet, stop playing games. I have a territory merger to review. Go clean yourself up. You smell like grease."
The smell of grease and fried chicken filled the air. It was heavy and cloying. But to me, it smelled better than the metallic tang of blood. I sat in the corner of a McDonald’s near the university. My fingers gripped the edge of the plastic table. Outside, traffic moved in a steady stream. The world was loud and alive. It was completely indifferent to the hell I had just escaped. My mind was still stuck in that rainy night. I could still hear the thunder. I could hear the roar of Alpha commands tearing through the air. I spent ten years trying to warm Daemon Blackwood's heart. I played the perfect Luna. I loved him with everything I had. In return, he slaughtered my family for another woman. Because I had refused to let him go for *her*, the Frost Pack declared war on my kin. My parents died defending a daughter who had been too blind to see the truth. I watched them fall, and then I died, unloved and replaced. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, but they were clean. There were no scars. The wasting sickness that killed me in my past life was gone. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. The date stared back at me. It was three years ago. I was back. And today was the fifth anniversary of the day Daemon Blackwood marked me. A dry laugh escaped my throat. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. It dropped me right back into the middle of this farce of a marriage. But this time, I wasn't blind. "Order number forty-two!" A clear, happy voice cut through the noise. I looked up. There she was. Celeste Morrison. She wore a standard uniform and a visor over her honey-blonde hair. She looked fragile. She looked harmless. It was hard to believe this doe-eyed student was the reason for my family's destruction. In my previous life, she was the catalyst. She was the "her" Daemon destroyed the world for. Celeste walked toward my table with a tray. She smiled. It was a bright, sunny smile that reached her eyes. "Here is your order, Luna," she said. She set the tray down but didn't leave immediately. She hesitated, her fingers nervously touching her apron. "I hope you don't mind," Celeste said softly. She reached into her pocket and placed a small, warm cardboard box on my tray. "I added a warm apple pie. It’s on me." I froze. I looked up at her, confused. "Why?" Celeste blushed slightly. She looked down at her shoes, then back at me with genuine concern. "You just looked... really sad staring out that window. Like you were carrying the weight of the world. My mom always says sweets help with a bad day." Her eyes were so clear. So kind. There was no hidden agenda. She was just a girl trying to comfort a stranger. The irony was suffocating. The girl who would inadvertently destroy my life was trying to cheer me up with a pie. "Thank you," I said. My voice sounded rough. "I hope your day gets better," she said cheerfully. She gave a little wave and bounced back to the counter. I watched her go. She was light. She was pure. She was everything I wasn't anymore. I took the bag. The heat of the food seeped through the paper. It felt real. I left the restaurant and stepped into the humid afternoon usage. A black sedan waited for me at the curb. I slid into the back seat. The leather was cool and smelled of expensive polish. "Luna," Leo, the driver, said. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The jeweler called. The obsidian cufflinks you ordered for tonight have been delivered to the manor." Tonight. The celebration. For five years, this date was the most important day of my year. I would spend all day preparing. I cooked meals that went cold. I dressed in silk gowns that went unseen. I did it all for a nod of acknowledgement from Daemon. "I see," I said. I turned to look out the window. Why had I done it? Why did I chase a man whose heart was cold stone? I was Violet Goldcrest. My wolf, Ember, was of Alpha blood. I had pride. Yet, I had made myself small to fit into Daemon’s life. Perfection hadn't saved my parents. Love hadn't stopped the war. The car drove up the private road toward the Blackwood Manor. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture. It was dark stone and glass. It was impressive, but it had no warmth. I saw a massive black SUV parked near the fountain. It was Daemon’s car. He was home. It was unexpected. I walked into the living room. It was vast and cold, decorated in shades of gray. Daemon Blackwood sat on the long leather sofa. A laptop balanced on his knees. He looked rigid and commanding. He was beautiful. It was undeniable. He had dark hair that fell carelessly over his forehead. His features were sharp and aristocratic. His eyes were the color of blood. He radiated the power of a dominant Alpha. He didn't look up. He never did. I remembered our mating ceremony. He had looked at me like a business deal. *“This is a partnership, Violet,”* he had said. *“Do not expect me to share my soul.”* I braced myself for the hate. I expected the urge to tear out his throat to overwhelm me. He was the man who would ruin everything. But as I looked at him, the rage didn't come. Instead, I felt a strange, hollow silence. It wasn't forgiveness. It was relief. I didn't want to destroy him. I didn't want revenge. I just wanted out. I didn't answer him with my usual polite greeting. I walked over to the armchair opposite him. I kicked off my red-soled heels. They tumbled onto the pristine floor. Then, I sank into the cushions. I tore open the paper bag. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Daemon stopped typing. I pulled out a piece of fried chicken. The golden crumbs fell onto the expensive rug. I didn't care. I took a bite. The crunch echoed in the room. Daemon finally looked up. His red eyes narrowed. He scanned me from my bare feet to the grease on my fingers. He looked confused and disgusted. "You're eating that?" he asked. "Here?" I swallowed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I felt like it," I said flatly. "So I did." He stared at me. His brow furrowed. This wasn't the Violet he knew. The Violet he knew would be in the kitchen right now. She would be stressing over the anniversary dinner. He closed his laptop with a snap. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Is this some kind of statement, Violet? If you're looking for attention, this is a pathetic way to get it." I put the chicken back in the bag. I wiped my hands on a napkin. I looked at him. I saw the arrogance. I saw the dismissal. He didn't see me as a partner. He saw me as furniture. Convenient. Silent. "Daemon," I said. My voice was steady. It didn't tremble. He raised an eyebrow. He looked bored. "I want to dissolve the mating bond," I said. "I want a formal Rejection Ceremony." The silence in the room was absolute. Daemon didn't move. He didn't look angry. He didn't look hurt. He just stared at me. Then, he laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. It was full of mockery. He shook his head. He looked at me with pity. "A Rejection Ceremony?" he repeated. He said the words like they were a joke. He picked up his laptop again. He dismissed me entirely. "Violet, stop playing games. I have a territory merger to review. Go clean yourself up. You smell like grease."
The smell of grease and fried chicken filled the air. It was heavy and cloying. But to me, it smelled better than the metallic tang of blood. I sat in the corner of a McDonald’s near the university. My fingers gripped the edge of the plastic table. Outside, traffic moved in a steady stream. The world was loud and alive. It was completely indifferent to the hell I had just escaped. My mind was still stuck in that rainy night. I could still hear the thunder. I could hear the roar of Alpha commands tearing through the air. I spent ten years trying to warm Daemon Blackwood's heart. I played the perfect Luna. I loved him with everything I had. In return, he slaughtered my family for another woman. Because I had refused to let him go for *her*, the Frost Pack declared war on my kin. My parents died defending a daughter who had been too blind to see the truth. I watched them fall, and then I died, unloved and replaced. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, but they were clean. There were no scars. The wasting sickness that killed me in my past life was gone. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. The date stared back at me. It was three years ago. I was back. And today was the fifth anniversary of the day Daemon Blackwood marked me. A dry laugh escaped my throat. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. It dropped me right back into the middle of this farce of a marriage. But this time, I wasn't blind. "Order number forty-two!" A clear, happy voice cut through the noise. I looked up. There she was. Celeste Morrison. She wore a standard uniform and a visor over her honey-blonde hair. She looked fragile. She looked harmless. It was hard to believe this doe-eyed student was the reason for my family's destruction. In my previous life, she was the catalyst. She was the "her" Daemon destroyed the world for. Celeste walked toward my table with a tray. She smiled. It was a bright, sunny smile that reached her eyes. "Here is your order, Luna," she said. She set the tray down but didn't leave immediately. She hesitated, her fingers nervously touching her apron. "I hope you don't mind," Celeste said softly. She reached into her pocket and placed a small, warm cardboard box on my tray. "I added a warm apple pie. It’s on me." I froze. I looked up at her, confused. "Why?" Celeste blushed slightly. She looked down at her shoes, then back at me with genuine concern. "You just looked... really sad staring out that window. Like you were carrying the weight of the world. My mom always says sweets help with a bad day." Her eyes were so clear. So kind. There was no hidden agenda. She was just a girl trying to comfort a stranger. The irony was suffocating. The girl who would inadvertently destroy my life was trying to cheer me up with a pie. "Thank you," I said. My voice sounded rough. "I hope your day gets better," she said cheerfully. She gave a little wave and bounced back to the counter. I watched her go. She was light. She was pure. She was everything I wasn't anymore. I took the bag. The heat of the food seeped through the paper. It felt real. I left the restaurant and stepped into the humid afternoon usage. A black sedan waited for me at the curb. I slid into the back seat. The leather was cool and smelled of expensive polish. "Luna," Leo, the driver, said. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The jeweler called. The obsidian cufflinks you ordered for tonight have been delivered to the manor." Tonight. The celebration. For five years, this date was the most important day of my year. I would spend all day preparing. I cooked meals that went cold. I dressed in silk gowns that went unseen. I did it all for a nod of acknowledgement from Daemon. "I see," I said. I turned to look out the window. Why had I done it? Why did I chase a man whose heart was cold stone? I was Violet Goldcrest. My wolf, Ember, was of Alpha blood. I had pride. Yet, I had made myself small to fit into Daemon’s life. Perfection hadn't saved my parents. Love hadn't stopped the war. The car drove up the private road toward the Blackwood Manor. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture. It was dark stone and glass. It was impressive, but it had no warmth. I saw a massive black SUV parked near the fountain. It was Daemon’s car. He was home. It was unexpected. I walked into the living room. It was vast and cold, decorated in shades of gray. Daemon Blackwood sat on the long leather sofa. A laptop balanced on his knees. He looked rigid and commanding. He was beautiful. It was undeniable. He had dark hair that fell carelessly over his forehead. His features were sharp and aristocratic. His eyes were the color of blood. He radiated the power of a dominant Alpha. He didn't look up. He never did. I remembered our mating ceremony. He had looked at me like a business deal. *“This is a partnership, Violet,”* he had said. *“Do not expect me to share my soul.”* I braced myself for the hate. I expected the urge to tear out his throat to overwhelm me. He was the man who would ruin everything. But as I looked at him, the rage didn't come. Instead, I felt a strange, hollow silence. It wasn't forgiveness. It was relief. I didn't want to destroy him. I didn't want revenge. I just wanted out. I didn't answer him with my usual polite greeting. I walked over to the armchair opposite him. I kicked off my red-soled heels. They tumbled onto the pristine floor. Then, I sank into the cushions. I tore open the paper bag. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Daemon stopped typing. I pulled out a piece of fried chicken. The golden crumbs fell onto the expensive rug. I didn't care. I took a bite. The crunch echoed in the room. Daemon finally looked up. His red eyes narrowed. He scanned me from my bare feet to the grease on my fingers. He looked confused and disgusted. "You're eating that?" he asked. "Here?" I swallowed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I felt like it," I said flatly. "So I did." He stared at me. His brow furrowed. This wasn't the Violet he knew. The Violet he knew would be in the kitchen right now. She would be stressing over the anniversary dinner. He closed his laptop with a snap. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Is this some kind of statement, Violet? If you're looking for attention, this is a pathetic way to get it." I put the chicken back in the bag. I wiped my hands on a napkin. I looked at him. I saw the arrogance. I saw the dismissal. He didn't see me as a partner. He saw me as furniture. Convenient. Silent. "Daemon," I said. My voice was steady. It didn't tremble. He raised an eyebrow. He looked bored. "I want to dissolve the mating bond," I said. "I want a formal Rejection Ceremony." The silence in the room was absolute. Daemon didn't move. He didn't look angry. He didn't look hurt. He just stared at me. Then, he laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. It was full of mockery. He shook his head. He looked at me with pity. "A Rejection Ceremony?" he repeated. He said the words like they were a joke. He picked up his laptop again. He dismissed me entirely. "Violet, stop playing games. I have a territory merger to review. Go clean yourself up. You smell like grease."
The smell of grease and fried chicken filled the air. It was heavy and cloying. But to me, it smelled better than the metallic tang of blood. I sat in the corner of a McDonald’s near the university. My fingers gripped the edge of the plastic table. Outside, traffic moved in a steady stream. The world was loud and alive. It was completely indifferent to the hell I had just escaped. My mind was still stuck in that rainy night. I could still hear the thunder. I could hear the roar of Alpha commands tearing through the air. I spent ten years trying to warm Daemon Blackwood's heart. I played the perfect Luna. I loved him with everything I had. In return, he slaughtered my family for another woman. Because I had refused to let him go for *her*, the Frost Pack declared war on my kin. My parents died defending a daughter who had been too blind to see the truth. I watched them fall, and then I died, unloved and replaced. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, but they were clean. There were no scars. The wasting sickness that killed me in my past life was gone. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. The date stared back at me. It was three years ago. I was back. And today was the fifth anniversary of the day Daemon Blackwood marked me. A dry laugh escaped my throat. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. It dropped me right back into the middle of this farce of a marriage. But this time, I wasn't blind. "Order number forty-two!" A clear, happy voice cut through the noise. I looked up. There she was. Celeste Morrison. She wore a standard uniform and a visor over her honey-blonde hair. She looked fragile. She looked harmless. It was hard to believe this doe-eyed student was the reason for my family's destruction. In my previous life, she was the catalyst. She was the "her" Daemon destroyed the world for. Celeste walked toward my table with a tray. She smiled. It was a bright, sunny smile that reached her eyes. "Here is your order, Luna," she said. She set the tray down but didn't leave immediately. She hesitated, her fingers nervously touching her apron. "I hope you don't mind," Celeste said softly. She reached into her pocket and placed a small, warm cardboard box on my tray. "I added a warm apple pie. It’s on me." I froze. I looked up at her, confused. "Why?" Celeste blushed slightly. She looked down at her shoes, then back at me with genuine concern. "You just looked... really sad staring out that window. Like you were carrying the weight of the world. My mom always says sweets help with a bad day." Her eyes were so clear. So kind. There was no hidden agenda. She was just a girl trying to comfort a stranger. The irony was suffocating. The girl who would inadvertently destroy my life was trying to cheer me up with a pie. "Thank you," I said. My voice sounded rough. "I hope your day gets better," she said cheerfully. She gave a little wave and bounced back to the counter. I watched her go. She was light. She was pure. She was everything I wasn't anymore. I took the bag. The heat of the food seeped through the paper. It felt real. I left the restaurant and stepped into the humid afternoon usage. A black sedan waited for me at the curb. I slid into the back seat. The leather was cool and smelled of expensive polish. "Luna," Leo, the driver, said. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The jeweler called. The obsidian cufflinks you ordered for tonight have been delivered to the manor." Tonight. The celebration. For five years, this date was the most important day of my year. I would spend all day preparing. I cooked meals that went cold. I dressed in silk gowns that went unseen. I did it all for a nod of acknowledgement from Daemon. "I see," I said. I turned to look out the window. Why had I done it? Why did I chase a man whose heart was cold stone? I was Violet Goldcrest. My wolf, Ember, was of Alpha blood. I had pride. Yet, I had made myself small to fit into Daemon’s life. Perfection hadn't saved my parents. Love hadn't stopped the war. The car drove up the private road toward the Blackwood Manor. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture. It was dark stone and glass. It was impressive, but it had no warmth. I saw a massive black SUV parked near the fountain. It was Daemon’s car. He was home. It was unexpected. I walked into the living room. It was vast and cold, decorated in shades of gray. Daemon Blackwood sat on the long leather sofa. A laptop balanced on his knees. He looked rigid and commanding. He was beautiful. It was undeniable. He had dark hair that fell carelessly over his forehead. His features were sharp and aristocratic. His eyes were the color of blood. He radiated the power of a dominant Alpha. He didn't look up. He never did. I remembered our mating ceremony. He had looked at me like a business deal. *“This is a partnership, Violet,”* he had said. *“Do not expect me to share my soul.”* I braced myself for the hate. I expected the urge to tear out his throat to overwhelm me. He was the man who would ruin everything. But as I looked at him, the rage didn't come. Instead, I felt a strange, hollow silence. It wasn't forgiveness. It was relief. I didn't want to destroy him. I didn't want revenge. I just wanted out. I didn't answer him with my usual polite greeting. I walked over to the armchair opposite him. I kicked off my red-soled heels. They tumbled onto the pristine floor. Then, I sank into the cushions. I tore open the paper bag. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Daemon stopped typing. I pulled out a piece of fried chicken. The golden crumbs fell onto the expensive rug. I didn't care. I took a bite. The crunch echoed in the room. Daemon finally looked up. His red eyes narrowed. He scanned me from my bare feet to the grease on my fingers. He looked confused and disgusted. "You're eating that?" he asked. "Here?" I swallowed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I felt like it," I said flatly. "So I did." He stared at me. His brow furrowed. This wasn't the Violet he knew. The Violet he knew would be in the kitchen right now. She would be stressing over the anniversary dinner. He closed his laptop with a snap. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Is this some kind of statement, Violet? If you're looking for attention, this is a pathetic way to get it." I put the chicken back in the bag. I wiped my hands on a napkin. I looked at him. I saw the arrogance. I saw the dismissal. He didn't see me as a partner. He saw me as furniture. Convenient. Silent. "Daemon," I said. My voice was steady. It didn't tremble. He raised an eyebrow. He looked bored. "I want to dissolve the mating bond," I said. "I want a formal Rejection Ceremony." The silence in the room was absolute. Daemon didn't move. He didn't look angry. He didn't look hurt. He just stared at me. Then, he laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. It was full of mockery. He shook his head. He looked at me with pity. "A Rejection Ceremony?" he repeated. He said the words like they were a joke. He picked up his laptop again. He dismissed me entirely. "Violet, stop playing games. I have a territory merger to review. Go clean yourself up. You smell like grease."
The smell of grease and fried chicken filled the air. It was heavy and cloying. But to me, it smelled better than the metallic tang of blood. I sat in the corner of a McDonald’s near the university. My fingers gripped the edge of the plastic table. Outside, traffic moved in a steady stream. The world was loud and alive. It was completely indifferent to the hell I had just escaped. My mind was still stuck in that rainy night. I could still hear the thunder. I could hear the roar of Alpha commands tearing through the air. I spent ten years trying to warm Daemon Blackwood's heart. I played the perfect Luna. I loved him with everything I had. In return, he slaughtered my family for another woman. Because I had refused to let him go for *her*, the Frost Pack declared war on my kin. My parents died defending a daughter who had been too blind to see the truth. I watched them fall, and then I died, unloved and replaced. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, but they were clean. There were no scars. The wasting sickness that killed me in my past life was gone. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. The date stared back at me. It was three years ago. I was back. And today was the fifth anniversary of the day Daemon Blackwood marked me. A dry laugh escaped my throat. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. It dropped me right back into the middle of this farce of a marriage. But this time, I wasn't blind. "Order number forty-two!" A clear, happy voice cut through the noise. I looked up. There she was. Celeste Morrison. She wore a standard uniform and a visor over her honey-blonde hair. She looked fragile. She looked harmless. It was hard to believe this doe-eyed student was the reason for my family's destruction. In my previous life, she was the catalyst. She was the "her" Daemon destroyed the world for. Celeste walked toward my table with a tray. She smiled. It was a bright, sunny smile that reached her eyes. "Here is your order, Luna," she said. She set the tray down but didn't leave immediately. She hesitated, her fingers nervously touching her apron. "I hope you don't mind," Celeste said softly. She reached into her pocket and placed a small, warm cardboard box on my tray. "I added a warm apple pie. It’s on me." I froze. I looked up at her, confused. "Why?" Celeste blushed slightly. She looked down at her shoes, then back at me with genuine concern. "You just looked... really sad staring out that window. Like you were carrying the weight of the world. My mom always says sweets help with a bad day." Her eyes were so clear. So kind. There was no hidden agenda. She was just a girl trying to comfort a stranger. The irony was suffocating. The girl who would inadvertently destroy my life was trying to cheer me up with a pie. "Thank you," I said. My voice sounded rough. "I hope your day gets better," she said cheerfully. She gave a little wave and bounced back to the counter. I watched her go. She was light. She was pure. She was everything I wasn't anymore. I took the bag. The heat of the food seeped through the paper. It felt real. I left the restaurant and stepped into the humid afternoon usage. A black sedan waited for me at the curb. I slid into the back seat. The leather was cool and smelled of expensive polish. "Luna," Leo, the driver, said. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The jeweler called. The obsidian cufflinks you ordered for tonight have been delivered to the manor." Tonight. The celebration. For five years, this date was the most important day of my year. I would spend all day preparing. I cooked meals that went cold. I dressed in silk gowns that went unseen. I did it all for a nod of acknowledgement from Daemon. "I see," I said. I turned to look out the window. Why had I done it? Why did I chase a man whose heart was cold stone? I was Violet Goldcrest. My wolf, Ember, was of Alpha blood. I had pride. Yet, I had made myself small to fit into Daemon’s life. Perfection hadn't saved my parents. Love hadn't stopped the war. The car drove up the private road toward the Blackwood Manor. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture. It was dark stone and glass. It was impressive, but it had no warmth. I saw a massive black SUV parked near the fountain. It was Daemon’s car. He was home. It was unexpected. I walked into the living room. It was vast and cold, decorated in shades of gray. Daemon Blackwood sat on the long leather sofa. A laptop balanced on his knees. He looked rigid and commanding. He was beautiful. It was undeniable. He had dark hair that fell carelessly over his forehead. His features were sharp and aristocratic. His eyes were the color of blood. He radiated the power of a dominant Alpha. He didn't look up. He never did. I remembered our mating ceremony. He had looked at me like a business deal. *“This is a partnership, Violet,”* he had said. *“Do not expect me to share my soul.”* I braced myself for the hate. I expected the urge to tear out his throat to overwhelm me. He was the man who would ruin everything. But as I looked at him, the rage didn't come. Instead, I felt a strange, hollow silence. It wasn't forgiveness. It was relief. I didn't want to destroy him. I didn't want revenge. I just wanted out. I didn't answer him with my usual polite greeting. I walked over to the armchair opposite him. I kicked off my red-soled heels. They tumbled onto the pristine floor. Then, I sank into the cushions. I tore open the paper bag. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Daemon stopped typing. I pulled out a piece of fried chicken. The golden crumbs fell onto the expensive rug. I didn't care. I took a bite. The crunch echoed in the room. Daemon finally looked up. His red eyes narrowed. He scanned me from my bare feet to the grease on my fingers. He looked confused and disgusted. "You're eating that?" he asked. "Here?" I swallowed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I felt like it," I said flatly. "So I did." He stared at me. His brow furrowed. This wasn't the Violet he knew. The Violet he knew would be in the kitchen right now. She would be stressing over the anniversary dinner. He closed his laptop with a snap. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Is this some kind of statement, Violet? If you're looking for attention, this is a pathetic way to get it." I put the chicken back in the bag. I wiped my hands on a napkin. I looked at him. I saw the arrogance. I saw the dismissal. He didn't see me as a partner. He saw me as furniture. Convenient. Silent. "Daemon," I said. My voice was steady. It didn't tremble. He raised an eyebrow. He looked bored. "I want to dissolve the mating bond," I said. "I want a formal Rejection Ceremony." The silence in the room was absolute. Daemon didn't move. He didn't look angry. He didn't look hurt. He just stared at me. Then, he laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. It was full of mockery. He shook his head. He looked at me with pity. "A Rejection Ceremony?" he repeated. He said the words like they were a joke. He picked up his laptop again. He dismissed me entirely. "Violet, stop playing games. I have a territory merger to review. Go clean yourself up. You smell like grease."
I walked over the grass, carrying a pile of wool blankets. We were setting up for tonight's full moon celebrations. I love these monthly gatherings of the pack. We eat, laugh, tell stories of the pack's history and of the gods`. Then those that can shift will run in the woods. The rest of us, we stay behind and pretend we aren’t envious of the others. For eighteen years I have been part of the group who is left by the fire to watch the pups and make sure the fire stays in the firepit. It was getting old, I wanted my wolf to come to me, I wanted to prove I wasn’t a dud. “Hi, pumpkin.” I turned toward the sound of my father and smiled. He had been out checking the woods together with the Alpha and Gamma in preparation for the night. “Hi, dad,” I called as I placed the blankets down on a log and then took some of them and placed on other logs we used to sit on around the fire. They were more for coziness than for warmth, all werewolves ran hot. Even those like me who didn’t have a wolf. Yet, I added. “Looking forward to tomorrow?” the Alpha Mark asked as he, Gamma Jonas and my father walked up to me. “Kind of,” I said. “What do you mean, kind of, green bean?” Gamma Jonas asked. He, my father and the Alpha were best friends, had been all of their lives. No one had been surprised when Alpha Mark had named my father his Beta and Jonas his Gamma as he took over the running of the pack from his father. That had been years before me and my brother were born. We grew up with the Alpha and Gamma families as an extension of our own. My brother, Elder, was best friends with James, the Alpha’s son. Everyone expected me to be best friends with Cindy, Gamma Jonas’ daughter. But we didn’t get along at all. We just remained on friendly terms because of our families. “I think my pumpkin is nervous. Turning eighteen is a big step,” dad said, placing his arm around me and pulling me to his side. “That’s right. She will be able to sense her mate and he will be able to identify her if they both are over eighteen,” the Alpha said with a big smile. “She’s too young for that kind of thing,” my dad scowled and both of his friends burst out laughing. My dad and Alpha Mark were partly right. I was nervous about being able to sense my mate. But there was more. My wolf still hadn’t come to me, I had never been able to shift and for each full moon that came and went I looked weaker in the eyes of other werewolves. You started to be able to shift between the age of sixteen and twenty-five. Everyone knew the younger you were when your wolf came, the stronger it, and therefore you, would be. James had shifted for the first time a month after turning sixteen, my brother seven months after his sixteenth birthday. Cindy had been a little over seventeen when she shifted. I was almost eighteen and I hadn’t even felt a slight tingle during a full moon. I was afraid that if I found my mate, he would think I was too weak. “You're not still worried about your wolf, are you, little one?” the Alpha asked. I nodded. We had had this conversation many times in the last two years. “Armeria Rose Winstone, two years is nothing. She will come to you,” he said. I flinched as he used my full name. My mother has a thing for all things growing and has named her only two children after her favorite plants. My father didn’t object because he loves her too much to not let her have her way. “I know, Alpha,” I said. “You are perfect, just the way you are, pumpkin,” my father said and kissed the top of my head. “You have to say that, you’re my father,” I pointed out. “And if some boy tells you anything else, you tell us and we will beat his ass.” “Thank you uncle Jonas,” I said. “Any time,” he told me and ruffled my hair. I objected and tried to get away, but my father laughed and kept me in place. I hated when people messed with my hair. It was hard to keep under control with its red curls at the best of times, but mess with it and it just became one big poof of tangles and frizz. “Okay, enough lazing around. Move your asses. I will see you later tonight, little one, and after midnight we will celebrate your big day,” the Alpha told us. “Fine, we’re coming,” my father sighed with pretend annoyance. Sometimes I think the three of them are stuck in a permanent teenager mode, and it scares me a little to think of them running the pack. But they are good at it. Our pack is one of the strongest and most highly thought of packs in the world. It’s a pride to all of us. As my father and his two friends continued their inspection, I got back to my tasks for the evening. Usually I would help my mother as she and some other women prepared the food. But I had been put on other duties and I’m guessing, and hoping, it’s because they are working on a surprise cake for my birthday. As I walked over to Sally, Jonas’ mate, to get information about which games she has been planning for the pups, I tried to remember that I’m lucky. I have a good family, I have good friends and a good pack. So what if I don’t have a wolf? Three out of four isn’t a bad thing, right? And if I found my mate and he loves me as mates do, then I will have four out of five. That would be fantastic. Unless he rejects you because you don’t have a wolf, a small voice in my head kept saying. It’s like the voice is a broken record, playing over and over again in my head. Hours later, I was sitting in front of the fire, laughing along with the others as Nick, one of the oldest warriors in the pack, was telling the story about how he had defeated a swarm of vampires. The number of vampires went up for each full moon. But we all loved listening to him telling the story. Most of the pack members were running in their wolf form in the surrounding forest. I still hadn’t felt the need to shift, so as usual I volunteered to watch the pups and keep an eye on the teenagers. It was just after midnight when the pack started to return. In groups or pairs they came walking out of the woods, they were all smiling and looked relaxed. I wondered why they were heading back so early when my mother and Luna Joy came walking with a birthday cake between them. I could feel my eyes grow big as I looked at the amazing creation that was put down in front of me. It was three tiers tall with white frosting and covered in sugar flowers, it looked like a flower meadow. On top two candles burned, a one and an eight. “Happy birthday, sweetie,” my mother said. “Thank you, mom.” My mother hugged me, and then Luna Joy drew me into a tight hug as well. “I hope you will find your mate soon and that he is everything you hope for and deserve,” Luna whispered to me. “Thank you, Luna,” I said. “Time to blow out the candles and make a wish, pumpkin,” my dad said as he joined us. “Not yet. Elder isn’t here yet,” my mother pointed out. “He is off with James and Cindy,” Luna Joy said as she snuggled up to the Alpha. “I can wait,” I offered, which earned me a smile from the Alpha pair. “Honestly, the whole pack is here and we are waiting on our son,” my mother said and I could hear the impatience in her voice. I heard my brother and our friends before I saw them. My brother came half running out of the forest, closely followed by James while Cindy took her time. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t realise how deep into the forest we had run. You didn’t blow out the candles yet, did you?” Elder asked. “No, she has been waiting,” our mother told him, giving him a look that told everyone she wasn’t happy. “Sorry,” he said again. Me? I wasn’t paying any attention to what my brother was saying. My full attention was on the scent of sandalwood and pineapple. Even without my wolf, I knew it was the scent of my mate. I turned towards it as I saw James standing at the edge of the forest, looking back at me with just as much surprise as I felt. James, the Alpha’s son, was my mate?