THE SMILE BEHIND THE TEARS

The watch in my father's belongings was still ticking when I realised that I had nobody left in the world.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I sat outside the funeral home with a plastic bag resting on my lap. Inside it were my mother's wedding ring and my father's wristwatch. That was all I had left of the two people who had loved me unconditionally.

Four months earlier, they had promised to celebrate my eighteenth birthday with me. My father had even promised to buy me a sewing machine, a real one with a foot pedal and a little light. My mother had already chosen the shop on Fifth Street where we would buy it.

But a truck had run a red light on Mercer Road while they were returning from my aunt's wedding.

And just like that, my world had ended.

Within a week, my uncles arrived with a van. Within two weeks, our house was empty. They took the furniture, the appliances, and almost everything my parents had worked for.

Aunt Celia stood in the doorway holding my mother's finest china.

"You're young, Aria. You'll manage," she said without looking me in the eyes.

I wanted to ask where I was supposed to go. I wanted to remind her that I was family, that I had nowhere else to turn.

But I said nothing.

I simply stood in the empty living room, counting the eleven nail holes where our family photographs had once hung.

Eleven holes. Eleven memories I could no longer touch.

For three days, I refused to eat. On the fourth, I drank water from the tap with my hands cupped like a little child.

When my eighteenth birthday finally arrived, nobody remembered.

I bought myself a cupcake from the corner shop, stuck a matchstick into it and lit it.

"Happy birthday to me," I whispered.

The flame trembled in the breeze coming through the window.

I waited for myself to cry, but no tears came.

Instead, I placed my palm against the table and made a promise.

"I won't give up. Not yet."

The following morning, I put on my mother's oversized blazer and went looking for work.

For five months, I faced rejection after rejection. Shops wanted experience. Offices wanted degrees. Restaurants promised to call but never did.

My savings eventually dropped to eleven dollars.

Then, one afternoon, I noticed a pink notice pinned to the board outside the public library.

HOST WANTED — DIANA EVENT HALL.

I applied immediately.

Two months passed without a response. I checked my phone so often that the screen developed a pale patch beneath my thumb.

Then, on a Tuesday morning, while I was kneeling beside my bed in prayer, my phone buzzed.

Congratulations, Aria Cole. You have been selected for the position of host at Diana Event Hall.

I read the message three times before covering my mouth.

For the first time in months, I had something to smile about.

My first night at Diana Event Hall was unforgettable. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, expensive perfume filled the air, and wealthy guests walked around as though the world belonged to them.

I wore a black dress that was slightly too tight around my waist, but I smiled at everyone who entered.

An elderly man patted my cheek. A bride's mother handed me an empty glass without even looking at me. A little boy asked whether I was a princess.

"Only on Tuesdays," I replied.

He laughed.

The other hosts soon noticed that guests tipped me generously. By the third week, the changing room became unusually quiet whenever I entered.

"Some people are simply born lucky," one of them muttered.

I pretended not to hear.

I had learned that silence was sometimes the best response to people who wanted to see you break.

It was during that period that I met Brenna.

She approached me after a shift, her curly hair bouncing as she walked.

"Hi! I'm Brenna. We work on the same floor, right?"

I nodded.

"Okay, I have a question. How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Smile. Every single night. Even when some of these men behave like they have no home training."

I stared at her.

Nobody had asked me a question like that in a long time.

"It's the one part of myself I still like," I answered. "The smiling part. Even when it hurts."

She blinked.

"That's probably the deepest thing anyone has ever said to me beside a coat rack."

I laughed. It sounded unfamiliar, almost rusty.

"Can we be friends?" she asked.

I hesitated.

I had no friends. No family willing to stand beside me. Nobody waiting for me at home.

But something about her hopeful expression made me say yes.

She hugged me so tightly that the pins holding my hair in place nearly fell out.

That evening, we shared a plate of jollof rice at a tiny restaurant near the junction. Brenna claimed she had forgotten her wallet, and I ended up paying for both of us.

"You're a terrible liar," I told her.

"I'm an excellent liar. You just have a kind face."

For the first time in years, I walked home humming.

I didn't know that my life was about to change again.

It happened on a Friday night.

Diana Event Hall was hosting a private birthday celebration. The birthday cake had twenty-six candles, and the guests were dressed in expensive suits and gowns.

But there was one man everyone seemed afraid to approach.

He stood at the centre of the hall, surrounded by powerful-looking men. Tall, broad-shouldered and dressed in black, he had a neatly trimmed beard and cold grey eyes.

People moved aside whenever he walked past.

My manager grabbed my arm.

"Aria, that's Alpha Dante Romano. Be careful around him. Whatever he asks for, make sure he gets it."

I swallowed.

I had heard of Dante Romano. Everyone had.

He was a billionaire, a powerful businessman and, more importantly, the Alpha of the Midnight Pack.

I picked up a tray of champagne and approached him.

"Good evening, sir. Would you care for a drink?"

He took a glass.

Our fingers brushed.

Something strange happened.

A sudden warmth travelled through my hand, and for one brief moment, his expression changed. His eyes narrowed as though he had sensed something neither of us understood.

Then he looked directly into my eyes.

"What's your name?"

"Aria, sir."

"Aria," he repeated slowly.

His gaze remained fixed on me.

"You smile like it's your job."

I forced a polite smile.

"It is my job, sir."

He shook his head.

"No. I don't think that's all it is."

Before I could answer, his fingers tightened around the champagne glass.

His grey eyes flashed with an unfamiliar intensity.

And then he whispered something that made my blood run cold.

"Why does my wolf recognise you?"