CHAPTER 3

Vivienne Wainwright POV

"Vivienne Wainwright, if you call this private pack line again without an emergency clearance, my pack guards will lock you in the lower cells."

Vivienne grips her vibrating phone tightly against her ear as the clock on the Moonbrook Hospital wall hits nine in the evening. She takes a shallow, shaky breath, her throat tightening until she can barely force the words past her lips.

"Alpha Roderick Blackwell... please," Vivienne whispers, her voice trembling as the chill in her chest grows heavier. "Can you lend me twenty thousand credits? I am stuck in the pack clinic, and they will not process my discharge paperwork until the medical account is cleared."

Silence stretches across the line. Over the receiver, all she can hear is the slow, steady rhythm of deep male breathing and the faint rustling of heavy wool fabric from the other end.

Just as Vivienne prepares herself for the stinging pain of immediate rejection, his deep, gravelly voice cuts through the quiet like winter frost.

"Provide the account routing code."

"I... let me retrieve my card," Vivienne stammers hastily.

She frantically unzips the small leather pouch sitting on the bedside table, her trembling fingers turning over the contents in a hurry. She dumps out small containers of scent-blocking salve and silver hairpins, searching for anything containing her banking details.

In the innermost lining of the leather pouch, her nail catches on a hard plastic strip. She pulls out her pack card and quickly reads the long string of digits aloud into the receiver.

Before sixty seconds can pass, her phone chimes softly with an automated pack notification: TRANSFER COMPLETE. 20,000 CREDITS RECEIVED FROM BLACKWELL GROUP CENTRAL ACCOUNT.

Vivienne holds the phone against her ear, frozen. She hesitates to end the call. He is the only wolf in the entire city who has answered her call without screaming or hurling vile insults at her since she woke up with no memories.

For three agonizing minutes, neither of them speaks. The quiet intimacy of their shared breathing fills the speaker.

"Alpha Roderick, I..." Vivienne begins softly, her heart hammering against her ribs.

"Are your injuries severe?" Alpha Roderick asks, his voice cold, heavy, and rough around the edges.

It is not a soft or gentle inquiry. It carries the sharp, unyielding chill of the northern winds sweeping through Frostmere City. Yet to Vivienne, after hours of verbal abuse from her own bloodline, it feels like the first true spark of care she has felt all day.

Her wolf stirs faintly in her chest, a phantom warmth fluttering beneath her skin. "I am recovering now," she replies, clutching the bedsheets. "Thank you for the credits. I will find a way to repay every single coin back to the Blackwell Group."

"Vivienne," Alpha Roderick says, his voice dropping an octave as a dark edge creeps into his tone. "How much longer do you intend to lie to me this time?"

Vivienne’s breath catches in her throat, her pulse spiking violently with sudden panic. Without thinking, her finger slams down on the screen, severing the connection instantly.

Her mind races in complete disarray. What did he mean by that? Has she deceived the powerful Alpha of the Blackwell Group in the past?

No matter how deeply she digs into the fog clouding her mind, no answers come forth. The pounding ache behind her eyes only grows sharper.

With the twenty thousand credits now reflecting in her account, Vivienne settles her clinic fees with Nurse Agnes at the front counter and steps out through the heavy glass doors of Moonbrook Hospital.

Night has fallen over Frostmere City, bathing the stone streets in an icy mist. Standing on Blackthorn Financial Street, Vivienne realizes with a sudden spike of dread that she has nowhere to go. She has no physical currency left, and no memory of where her home is located.

She scrolls through her old text messages until her eyes catch a saved location pinned under her pack profile. She flags down a pass-through transport carriage along the curb and hands the driver the address.

The vehicle pulls up to a sprawling stone mansion surrounded by iron gates and manicured thorn hedges.

The taxi driver taps his claws against the wooden wheel. "That will be one hundred credits, lady. Cash or pack transfer?"

Vivienne steps out onto the stone driveway, her face burning with embarrassment as she checks her phone. Her account balance reads zero once again.

Before she can offer an apology to the driver, a sleek black luxury vehicle sweeps around the circular driveway, blinding her with its bright headlights before coming to a sudden stop right beside her.

The tinted window glides down, revealing the sharp, handsome face of Merriweather Blackwell. Beside him in the leather passenger seat, Cressida Wainwright sits wrapped in a plush fur coat, her dark hair perfectly styled.

Cressida steps out of the luxury car, her blue eyes wide with faux concern as she looks Vivienne up and down. "Vivienne? Why on earth did you leave Moonbrook Hospital so soon?"

Cressida looks radiant. Her silk dress sparkles under the driveway lanterns, and the leather handbag slung over her arm bears the crest of the elite Frostmere fashion houses—a piece worth millions of credits on its own.

"Did Merriweather not explain everything to you at the clinic?" Cressida asks, her voice quivering slightly as her eyes turn glossy. "Your true connection lies with Alpha Roderick Blackwell. Are you here to cause trouble for us again? What more do you want from me?"

Before Vivienne can open her mouth, Merriweather steps out from the driver's side, his golden eyes flashing with absolute contempt as he strides over to shield Cressida.

"I actually believed you would have the shame to stay away for at least a day," Merriweather snarls, his nostrils flaring as his wolf’s agitating scent fills the air. "You could not even last six hours before creeping back to the Wainwright Family House! Do you have no dignity left inside you, Vivienne? Must I repeat myself until my throat bleeds?"

"Merriweather, I—"

"I am bound to Cressida now!" Merriweather growls, stepping closer until his tall frame looms over her. "Do you enjoy begging for scraps of attention? Do you get off on being humiliated in front of the pack? Why must you constantly target Cressida every time she finds happiness?"

Cressida buries her face against Merriweather’s shoulder, her shoulders shaking with delicate, silent sobs. "Leave it be, Merriweather... I am used to her torment by now."

Every drop of color drains from Vivienne’s face. She stands frozen in the crisp night air, dressed only in a thin, oversized medical tunic that hangs loosely off her frail shoulders. Her dark lashes tremble, wet with unshed tears that burn behind her eyes.

She forces herself to turn her gaze away from their intimate posture, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Do you... do you have one hundred credits? Can you lend it to me to pay the driver?"

Merriweather lets out a harsh, barking laugh, his mouth twisting with disgust. "I would rather toss my gold into the gutter for a stray hound to chew on than hand a single coin to you."

He turns back to Cressida, his expression instantly shifting to tender devotion as he wraps his arm securely around her waist. "Come inside. Stop wasting your breath on a nameless parasite."

Cressida wipes her eyes with a delicate lace handkerchief, offering a soft, pitiful smile as she reaches into her designer bag and pulls out an silver pack card. "Here, Vivienne. Take my credit line. Use it if you are truly so desperate."

Vivienne stares at the shimmering card held out between Cressida's manicured fingers. A wave of bitter humiliation washes over her. She wants to reject it, but the driver is watching her with growing impatience, and she has not a single copper to her name.

Reality is cruel, and pride does not pay for shelter or food.

Just as Vivienne lifts her hand, her fingers trembling as she reaches toward the card, another vehicle roars up the driveway, its tires screeching against the gravel.

The door flies open, and Thelma Wainwright steps out into the night, her eyes burning with pure fury.

The moment her gaze falls upon Vivienne reaching toward Cressida, Thelma strides across the gravel in three long paces. Before Vivienne can react, Thelma raises her hand and delivers a deafening, violent slap straight across Vivienne’s cheek.

CRACK!

The force of the strike snaps Vivienne’s head to the side, sending her stumbling backward against the cold metal door of the transport carriage. Pain explodes across her skin, leaving a burning red imprint of claws against her cheek.

"Are you cornering Cressida again, you ungrateful leech?" Thelma screams, her voice echoing loudly across the estate grounds. "Have you not stolen enough from her already? Vivienne Wainwright, what will it take to satisfy your sick jealousy? Do you want to destroy this entire family just to feed your spite?"

Vivienne touches her burning cheek with a trembling hand, her eyes wide with shock as tears spill over her lashes.

"Ever since we recovered Cressida from the outer territories and brought her back home, you have made her life a living hell!" Thelma shrieks, her chest heaving as she points a sharp finger straight into Vivienne’s face. "Why couldn't it have been you who was lost in the woods all those years ago? Cressida has suffered enough tragedy in her life! When are you going to grow up and stop acting like a venomous, jealous monster?"

Thelma reaches into her coat pocket, pulling out a sealed leather envelope stamped with the black wax seal of the Wainwright Elders, and slams it hard against Vivienne’s chest.