CHAPTER 2

Vivienne Wainwright POV

"If you do not remove your grip from her gown, Merriweather Blackwell, I will sever your wrists with my own bare claws before sunrise."

Vivienne Wainwright freezes as Merriweather wraps his heavy arm tightly around Cressida Wainwright’s waist, spinning on his heel to walk out of Moonbrook Room 16 without looking back once. The heavy wooden door slams shut with a terrifying boom, leaving Vivienne alone in the quiet, sterile room.

She stares down at her phone screen, the newly typed string of digits burning into her eyes like hot silver. Merriweather had claimed to be her promised mate, yet he had showed no concern for her survival, no sympathy for the bandages wrapped around her head, and no warmth in his golden eyes. All he cared about was shielding Cressida and flinging accusations at her.

An icy wire tightens around Vivienne’s chest, squeezing her lungs until every breath feels like swallowing broken glass. Her skin turns ghost-white as a deep, crushing ache spreads through her ribs.

Cressida looked completely healed and immaculate, while Vivienne, the one being blamed for the pack crash, had barely pulled herself back from the brink of death.

How could a male like Merriweather ever be her true mate?

She had been missing from the Wainwright territory for three full days, yet not a single member of her family had reached out to verify her pulse. The only thin, fragile thought remaining in her hazy, memory-stripped mind was the instinctual feeling that she had a mate waiting somewhere in Frostmere City.

Vivienne presses the call icon without hesitation, holding the device tightly against her ear.

The line connects with a faint hiss of static before a stern, professional female voice answers, completely devoid of emotion.

"Is this Ms. Wainwright?"

"Hello," Vivienne says quickly, her voice trembling slightly. "Is Alpha Roderick Blackwell available? I believe I lost my memories during a severe pack accident, and I—"

"Alpha Roderick Blackwell just returned to Frostmere City and is currently undergoing intensive physical recovery," the voice cuts her off with sharp disdain. "The last time you called his office with this exact same story about lost memories, you begged him to drive out to the territory border to collect you. You used the exact same car accident story. And because he came out, he ended up trapped in that fatal pack ambush with you."

"Wait, I really—"

"Ms. Wainwright, if you possess even a shred of pack conscience left in your body, do not attempt to contact Alpha Blackwell ever again."

The connection dies with a sharp click.

Vivienne lets out a ragged breath, her head throbbing behind her eyes as cold fear and uncertainty creep into her veins. She lowers her hand, her thumb brushing against the unlocked phone screen. Her eyes catch the active pack payment app displayed on the glass.

She turns her head as Nurse Agnes re-enters the room with a medical tray. "Could you please scan this and see if there is enough balance to settle my treatment?"

Vivienne quickly checks her recent ledger history while Nurse Agnes steps closer. Just seven days ago, a charge of two hundred thousand gold credits had been deducted from her account for a pair of solid silver male cuff links. She had spent a fortune just last week, which meant she could not possibly be broke.

Nurse Agnes taps the device against the clinic terminal and shakes her head. "Transaction declined. Insufficient balance. Your emergency rogue treatment and medical room stay total twenty thousand credits."

Vivienne stares at the zero balance on the screen, her delicate brow furrowing in complete confusion. She had spent two hundred thousand credits a week ago. How could her balance be completely wiped out now?

She scrolls rapidly through her saved pack contacts until her eyes hit a label marked Mother.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath to calm her racing heart, Vivienne taps the button.

The moment the link connects, a high-pitched, furious scream bursts through the speaker, vibrating against her ear.

"So you finally remember you have a mother, Vivienne? How old are you now? Why are you still pulling these pathetic, immature stunts inside the pack? Merriweather and Cressida have been quietly seeing each other for months! Cressida never revealed their bond to you because she was trying to protect your fragile feelings!"

Vivienne grips the edge of the sheet. "Mother, listen to me—"

"But what did you do?" Thelma Wainwright shrieks, cutting her off instantly. "You saw them share a moment, and you forced Cressida into that carriage, crashing it right on the territory border! You are nothing but an unbearable burden! Honestly, you should have just died out there on the road! Cressida has always been so considerate of you as her pack sister, and all you do is resort to dirty tricks! How did I ever give birth to such a vile, spiteful creature?"

Before Vivienne can force a word past her throat, Cressida’s soft, honeyed voice rings out in the background of the call.

"Mother, please stop. I think Vivienne might really have lost her memories this time. Maybe you should be gentle with her."

"Lost her memories?" Thelma snarls into the phone, her voice thick with utter disgust. "How many times has she claimed to have lost her memories this year alone? What an absolute fool, repeating the same pathetic play. If she had any real pride as a Wainwright, she would stay gone forever! That way, our family would not have to endure the constant embarrassment of her existence!"

"Mother, do not speak like that," Cressida whispers softly, though the satisfaction in her tone is unmistakable.

"Stop defending her, Cressida!" Thelma snapped instantly. "Haven't you suffered enough over the years because of her jealous rages? Merriweather chose you first, but because you are too soft-hearted, you allowed Vivienne to cling to his heels like a stray pup. She never dares to face him directly, so she takes all her anger out on you!"

A agonizing pain stabs straight through Vivienne’s chest, spreading a bitter, sickening poison through her blood.

Was this truly her biological mother? Why was she speaking to her like an enemy, without asking a single question about her injuries or whether she was alive?

"Are you... are you really my mother?" Vivienne whispers, her voice shaking violently as a tear leaks past her lashes.

"What is that supposed to mean, Vivienne?" Thelma yells back. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack? If you do not want to acknowledge me as your mother, then good! I do not want a disgraceful, useless daughter like you anyway! Do you have any idea how much embarrassment you have brought upon the Wainwright family while chasing after Merriweather Blackwell?"

"Mother—"

"Shut your mouth! You even threw a childish tantrum when I bought Cressida an extra luxury carriage! Do you even consider her your sister? I do not want to see your face anywhere near our pack compound! Didn't you lose your memory? Then stay lost! Our household will finally have peace without you around. You are nothing but a cursed jinx!"

The line snaps dead.

Vivienne sits frozen in the bed, the heavy ache in her ribs refusing to subside. She reaches up with a trembling hand, touching her wet cheek, staring at the clear moisture on her fingers.

She slowly opens her social media feed, scrolling through the local pack updates until her eyes lock onto a brand-new post made just minutes ago by Cressida Wainwright.

It is a glowing photograph taken in front of a massive, floor-to-ceiling glass window inside a luxury penthouse overlooking the Frostmere River. Outside, brilliant red and gold fireworks are exploding across the dark night sky.

The caption reads: Surrounded by true love and real family.

In the crystal reflection of the glass window behind Cressida, Merriweather Blackwell stands proudly with his arms wrapped around her, flanked by the distinct silhouettes of Humphrey and Thelma Wainwright raising their wine glasses in celebration.

A violent, sharp pain rips through Vivienne’s chest, and she doubles over on the bed, clutching her stomach as a silent sob tears through her throat.

Suddenly, her phone vibrates violently against her palm, illuminating the dark room with an incoming call from an unregistered private pack number.