I stop dead in my tracks, whipping around to stare at her. My eyes drop to her stomach, and for the first time, I notice the slight bulge beneath her loose, baggy gown. She beams, rubbing her stomach with a shy smile, and the realization hits me like a brick.
“Wait.” My voice is sharp, incredulous. “How did you sneak in here with ‘that’… no, wait, who the fuck got you pregnant? Jerry? Kenzie? Old Man Dicktard?”
Lyla rolls her eyes, exasperated. “I’ve told you to stop calling him that! And no, it’s Clayton.” Her fingers twist a lock of her glossy black hair around her index finger, her cheeks flushing as she says his name.
“And Caleb,” Ivanna chirps, her voice bright and teasing as she strides past me into my room.
I stand there, frozen, staring at Lyla with a mix of bewilderment, amusement, and sheer mortification. Clayton and Caleb. The infamous twins. One a renowned fashion designer, the other the owner of an entertainment empire. Both famous for their devotion to each other—and their shared love for women.
“They’re both…?” I can’t even finish the sentence.
Lyla’s shy blush deepens, and Ivanna’s laughter echoes from inside my room. I shake my head, torn between wanting to laugh and feeling completely overwhelmed.
The last time I checked, Lyla swore up and down she’d never get involved with the twins. She couldn’t stand their strange insistence that she belonged to both of them, their bizarre lack of jealousy toward one another, their unwavering belief that they shared everything—even her. But now, standing here with her glowing complexion and a shy, almost embarrassed smile, I realize just how much I’ve missed in these years of absence.
I stare at her for a moment longer, my mind racing with bafflement, before I turn and continue into my bedroom. Of course, Ivanna is already sprawled across my bed like she owns the place, her auburn hair a wild halo against the pillows. My eyes sweep over the messy state of the room—my unmade bed, clothes haphazardly tossed on the floor, and a thin layer of dust clinging to the surfaces. Everything feels off, disorganized, chaotic, much like my life right now.
“So, you’re married?” I ask, my voice flat as I perch on the edge of the bed beside Ivanna.
Lyla fidgets awkwardly by the door, rubbing her arm as though trying to soothe herself. “To both of them, yes.”
I scoff, leaning back slightly and crossing my arms. “How is that even possible?”
“They’re my mates.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, but the words hit me like a jolt. I lean forward, narrowing my eyes at her. “I can’t choose one over the other,” she adds, her gaze dropping to the floor, avoiding mine.
Something about her words unsettles me. I can’t quite place it, but the way she says mates feels strange, like there’s a deeper meaning I’m not catching. My stomach twists, a heavy sense of unease creeping over me as I glance between her and the others.
I take a slow breath, trying to steady the spiral of questions forming in my mind. There’s something off about them—not just Lyla, but Zalie and Ivanna too. It’s subtle, but it’s there, like an undercurrent I can’t ignore. I’ve always known they were odd, but this… this feels different.
It’s like I can sense something in them, something that shouldn’t be there. An essence, an energy, something other. And now, with Lyla standing there, nervous and pale but undeniably tied to them, she feels the same. Not as strong, but close enough.
I open my mouth, ready to press for answers, but Ivanna cuts me off with her usual bluntness. “Elliott told us the last person you visited was Rowan Draven.” Her voice is calm, but her words strike a nerve. My lips press into a thin line as I glance over my shoulder at her, my brows furrowing.
“And shortly after,” she continues, her sharp eyes glinting with something unreadable, “you became like this.”
“So?” I snap, my voice defensive, my body tensing. My heart starts to race, my pulse thundering in my ears.
“So,” Zalie speaks up, her tone uncharacteristically serious, pulling my attention toward her. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, her ocean-blue eyes locked on mine. Her expression is calm but weighted, like she’s measuring every word. “You figured out that the man you met isn’t Rowan, didn’t you?”
My heart stops.
A gasp escapes my lips as her words sink in, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. My throat goes dry, my chest tightening painfully as my mind scrambles to process what she’s said.
They know.
I should feel relieved, even grateful, that they’ve pieced it together. But instead, a strange, inexplicable pull in my chest urges me to stop them, to protect the man who isn’t Rowan. My heart twists, and without thinking, I hear myself begin to speak. “He’s…”
I catch myself just in time, my voice faltering as I bite down on the words. My hands curl into fists, my nails digging into my palms hard enough to sting.
Zalie’s lips curl into a small, knowing smile. “Then do you know who that man is?” she asks softly, her gaze steady and unyielding. “Do you know that the man in Rowan’s place right now is his prodigal twin brother… and your first love, Kassian?”
Her words hit me like a wrecking ball, shattering the fragile hold I have on my emotions. The air feels thick and suffocating, my ears ringing as if the entire world has been turned on its axis.
It’s like the ground beneath me has vanished, leaving me suspended in a freefall of disbelief and utter mortification. My lips part, but no sound comes out, my thoughts spinning too fast to form coherent words. My heart pounds erratically, the once-familiar name dredging up memories I’ve worked so hard to bury.
The room feels too small, too warm, the faint scent of dust and perfume mingling in the air around me. My vision blurs as I stare at Zalie, her words echoing in my mind over and over again. Kassian. My first love.
The man I thought I’d never see until I die. The man who didn’t know somebody like me existed.
Across the room, Kassian remains unmoving. His mind is a haze of static, his thoughts tangled in a thick web of denial. He watches them press their hands against Lynette’s lifeless form, listens to their frantic attempts to revive her, but none of it registers. She’s not dead.She’s just… sleeping.She’ll wake up soon. She has to.Something deep inside him pulses, hollow and aching. The mate bond—the once-constant hum of connection—has been severed, leaving behind nothing but a vast, unbearable emptiness. He feels it, deep in his soul, but he refuses to acknowledge it. Because if he does—if he admits, even for a second, that she’s really gone—he won’t survive it.His hands twitch at his sides, clenching and unclenching as his thoughts spiral.How do I live without her?How does he wake up every morning without hearing her voice? Who will roll their eyes at his brooding and call him dramatic? Who will compliment his cooking but vehemently love it more than anything? Who will read him li
A quiet hum drifts through the dimly lit office as Oliver methodically sorts through scattered documents, the faint scent of paper mixing with the lingering traces of Kassian’s scent. Outside, the day is still, save for the distant chirping of birds, a stark contrast to the turmoil that has haunted this place for days.He steals a glance at Kassian, sprawled across the worn leather couch, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. There’s something almost childlike about the way he sleeps—completely at ease, his face unburdened by the grief and rage that have shadowed him since Ryker’s death. Oliver can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen his cousin sleep, and never once has it been so peaceful. Before, it was always fitful, his brows drawn tight, his body tense, as if even in slumber, he fought unseen battles. But now… now he’s at rest.A warmth spreads through Oliver’s chest, satisfaction curling around his heart like a protective shield. Justice has been ser
It’s a good day to die.The thought crashes into my mind, and I immediately regret it. Worst possible time for jokes, Lynette.My breath is shallow, my pulse hammering against my ribs like a desperate prisoner trying to escape a cage. The scent of damp earth and pine needles fills my nose, and it almost feels as if I can perceive my own fear.I step back cautiously, my slippers sinking slightly into the forest floor, soft moss cushioning the impact. My eyes dart over my shoulder, scanning for any possible escape routes. Nothing. Thick trees enclose the area like silent spectators, their gnarled branches twisting above, casting jagged shadows in the fading sunlight. Even if I did run, what were the odds I’d make it?Slim. No—nonexistent.Panic grips me with icy fingers, tightening around my throat. My mind screams for a way out, some way to call for help. If only I had a mental link like Kassian did with his pack—something, anything to let him know I’m in danger. But I don’t. The best
The quiet hum of the AC fills the office, cold air whispering through the space, blending with the faint rush of wind from the open window. Somewhere in the background, the coffee machine lets out a low gurgle. The silence is heavy. Oppressive. It settles around us like a second skin, thick enough to suffocate.I want to say something. I want to fix this. But the words lodge themselves in my throat, tangled between the fear of hurting him and the desperation to pull him back before it’s too late.Then, warmth.A gentle pressure over my fidgeting hands, stopping their restless movements.I jolt slightly at the unexpected contact, my heart skipping a beat. Kassian’s hands are warm—so warm—completely engulfing mine as if he’s trying to ground himself through me.I look up at him, breath catching at the raw emotion on his face. The sadness, the exhaustion, the fear—it’s all there, painted across his features in shades of grief and torment. His amethyst eyes, dulled with sorrow, meet mine,
The hallway outside Kassian’s office is eerily quiet, the usual buzz of the pack absent. The air smells of old parchment, ink, and something heavier—like exhaustion and fading traces of stress-induced sweat. I take a deep breath, steadying myself before rapping my knuckles against the door.“Knock knock, it’s me!” I call out, my voice deliberately cheerful, a singsong lilt added for effect. A wide smile stretches across my lips, but inside, I’m anything but lighthearted.It has been over a week since Kassian defeated his father, and everything has changed. The pack. The leadership. Him.At the pack’s request, he revealed the truth—the real Rowan Draven had died long ago, and Kassian had been living in his place. Doubts lingered, of course. Murmurs of suspicion slithered through the media, but the CCTV footage he once hid sealed the truth. Footage proving he hadn’t been anywhere near Rowan’s death. That was the easy part. After all, back then, Kassian had dyed his hair black.I didn’t
The arena is silent, save for the rhythmic pounding of hearts, the quiet inhales and exhales of tense bodies, and the occasional nervous shuffling of feet against the stone seating. A warm breeze drifts through the vast space, whispering through the ears of the gathered pack members, carrying the distant cries of birds and rustling leaves from beyond the towering arena walls. The scent of smoky vanilla and cream—the distinct fragrance that unites them as one—lingers in the air, blending with the individual scents of sweat, fear, and anticipation. The heavy mix of emotions clogs the atmosphere, suffocating to anyone with heightened senses.Yet, among the hundreds of anxious onlookers, one figure remains entirely unaffected.At the highest point of the arena, where the view is unobstructed, Lynette lounges with effortless ease, legs crossed as she leisurely munches on the cookies in the large bowl at her feet. Sunlight spills through the glass roof above, catching the frosty strands of