CHAPTER 4

Lexi

I sit at the head of the polished oak table, the boardroom’s glass walls reflect the sharp lines of my charcoal suit. 

My spine is straight, my dark hair swept into a tight chignon with that silver streak glinting like a scar. Seven years since that cliff, and I’ve turned the wild rogue into something else— someone else. 

“Alright, people,” I call out, leaning back in my high backed chair, “hit me.” 

I listen with pride as each member—rogue wolves—of my team rises to his or her feet to reel out their progress or success on our different projects. 

The team buzzes around me, voices steady as they deliver their reports. I listen, chin lifted, exuding the quiet command I’ve honed running Rogue Haven.

“—this quarter, we funded scholarships for thirty-two rogue wolves across three packs,” Maris says, tapping her tablet. 

“Eighteen enrolled in trade programs, the rest head to university next fall. Shelter intake rises too— forty families settled into the new foothills facility last month.”

I nod, a faint smile tugging my lips. “Good. Push the outreach harder. I want every rogue to know they’ve got a shot—no one’s getting left behind.” My voice carries steel, forged in nights of running, fighting, clawing my way up. 

This is my mission now: empowering rogues, stripping away the stigma that once branded me filth. I’ve built this empire from nothing, and I run it with a predator’s precision and a mother’s heart.

The meeting lasts one more hour with me giving out suggestions, listening to my team's input, signing news deals with partner foundations across the country, and going through our financial statements. 

We've done a fantastic job. I've done a fantastic job. 

When we're done, I rise up, four inches taller in my stilettos, and declare, “Guys, I'm proud of you all. Let's keep the flag flying, alright.”

The conference room booms with my team's agreement. With a heart warmed by seeing the fruit of my labor flourishing, I watch rogue wolves like me shake hands, embrace, pat backs and chitty chatter. 

I turn to the floor to ceiling window to gaze upon the street, a plunge of twenty floors to a parking lot where my Corvette sits, and a few cars belonging to members of my organization. 

The times are better now, but before that, it was grim. Thinking of this makes me sigh deeply but I can't complain. 

I'm reminded of a different time, and a different height from a cliff—

Bang!

The door bursts open, and Dexter bounds in, his dark curls bouncing as he waves a crumpled paper high. 

“Mama! Mama, look!” His voice rings triumphant, and I can’t help it—my stern CEO mask melts. The team chuckles as my 7 year old son skids to my side.

“Dexter, what’s this?” I ruffle his hair, my hazel eyes softening as I turn to him.

He thrusts the paper into my hands, his grin missing a front tooth. 

“My term results! Top of the class again. Mrs. Harrow says I’m the smartest kid she’s ever taught!”

I unfold it, scanning the A’s, and pride swells in my chest. “Well, look at you. My little genius.” I pull him into a quick hug, his small frame slotting against me perfectly. 

The room fades, and it’s just us—me and Dexter, the son I fought for, the one I carried that night. I see it again: the cliff’s edge, Manny’s annoyed growls, the river’s teeth below. 

His desperate scream fills my head: “You've ruined everything! Everything!” 

Two babies, two lives, and I couldn’t risk them both. I left one—my other boy, ripped from me by survival’s cruel math—and jumped with Dexter, praying the ledge would hold. It did. I did. But the ghost of that choice lingers.

“Mom, are you okay?” Dexter’s whispering voice snaps me back, his head tilted. 

My team members file out to let mother and son have their moment and we're alone. 

I brush a curl from his forehead, my smile checkered with ache. “I’m fine, Dexter. It's only work.”

He grins. “One day, I want to be like you, mommy.” 

“You're going to be more, honey. One day, you're going to have more than I have.” I wave at the room, the life I’ve carved out.

He beams, but then a cough rips from him, sharp and sudden. My hand freezes on his shoulder. “Drey?” 

He coughs again, his shoulder convulse with the force of it. Then it gets harder, doubling him over as it turns wet, ragged. 

Panic claws my throat. “Hey, breathe, baby—” I drop to my knees, cupping his face as he shakes. 

Then blood speckles his lips, staining his white shirt crimson, and my heart stops. The door opens and my personal assistant, Maris rushes in, her eyes wide with worry. “Ma'am, what's going on?” 

“Dexter!” My voice breaks, raw. I scoop him up, his weight light yet crushing, and spin to Maris. “Get the medic—now!” 

The room explodes into chaos as more from the staff pour in, but I barely register them. 

My son’s pale face fills my world, his gasps fading. The boss lady’s gone, peeled away, leaving only me—a terrified mother, clutching the one piece of my heart that managed to save.