Ghosts of Manhattan

Sophie’s POV

The plane descended through grey clouds, and my Soso stirred uneasily in my chest. She could sense it as we were entering Steele pack territory. Even at thirty thousand feet, the change in the air was palpable and thick with the scent of established power and old dominance.

I had forgotten how suffocating it felt to be in another Alpha’s domain.

“Mama, look! I can see the buildings!” Ethan pressed his face against the window, his breath fogging the glass. His excitement was pure, untainted by the dread coiling in my stomach like a living thing.

He had no idea what we were flying into.

I had spent the entire flight trying to prepare him, to find words that would explain without explaining too much. Your grandmother can be… difficult. The people we’re going to see, they’re complicated. Just stay close to me, okay?

But how did I explain that we were walking into a pack that had cast us out? That his father didn’t know he existed? That every instinct in my body was screaming at me to grab my pup and run?

The pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Flight attendants, prepare for landing at LaGuardia.”

My hands gripped the armrests hard enough that my knuckles went white. Beside me, Ethan hummed tunelessly, completely oblivious to the fact that his mother was having a silent panic attack.

Breathe, I told myself. You’re not that scared nineteen-year-old anymore. You’re stronger now. You built a life. You built a career, and you survived without him.

But my wolf whimpered, and I knew the truth. I had survived, yes. But I’d never stopped being his. The bond didn’t care about time or distance or rejection. It just was, a constant ache in my chest that I’d learned to live with the way amputees learned to live with phantom limbs.

The landing was smooth. The walk through the terminal felt like a death march.

A driver waited for us at baggage claim, holding a sign with my name in neat black letters. He was wolf—I could tell by the way he held himself, the slight deference in his posture when he approached. Steele pack, probably sent by the lawyers to collect Richard’s wayward stepdaughter.

“Ms. Hart?” He was young, maybe early twenties, with kind eyes that didn’t quite hide his curiosity. “I’m James. Mr. Whitmore sent me to drive you to your hotel.”

“Thank you.” I kept my voice neutral and professional. I had learned in Los Angeles that projecting confidence was half the battle. “This is my son, Ethan.”

James’s eyes widened fractionally as he took in Ethan—those unmistakable grey eyes, that Steele jawline already forming in his young face. But he was well-trained enough not to comment. “Nice to meet you, Ethan. First time in New York?”

Ethan nodded enthusiastically, and I was grateful when James engaged him in conversation about the city as we loaded into a sleek black car. It gave me a moment to stare out the window and watch Manhattan unfold around us.

Seven years. Seven years since I’d fled this city with nothing but a duffel bag and a pregnancy test. It looked different now—or maybe I was different. The buildings still scraped the sky, the traffic still snarled and honked, the people still moved with that particular New York aggression. But I wasn’t the timid girl who’d walked these streets anymore, jumping at shadows and apologizing for taking up space.

I’d become someone else in Los Angeles. Someone stronger.

I just had to remember that when I saw him.

The hotel was in Midtown, elegant and expensive, the kind of place I never could have afforded on my own. The lawyers had arranged everything, which meant Richard had arranged everything before he died. The thought made my throat tight. He’d been kind to me in his distant way, more father than my own had ever been—whoever he was. Vivian had never bothered to share that detail.

“The funeral is tomorrow at two,” James said as he helped with our bags. “A car will pick you up at one-thirty. The will reading is scheduled for the day after at the Whitmore offices.” He hesitated, then added quietly, “I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Hart. Mr. Steele was a good Alpha.”

Alpha. Right. Because Richard hadn’t just been a wealthy businessman—he’d been the Alpha of one of New York’s most powerful packs. And Dominic was his heir in every sense of the word.

Which made Ethan…

I shut down that thought before it could fully form.

“Thank you, James.”

The hotel room was beautiful, floor to ceiling windows overlooking Central Park, two queen beds with Egyptian cotton sheets, a marble bathroom that was bigger than my first studio apartment in LA. Ethan immediately claimed the bed by the window and started jumping on it, his earlier airplane exhaustion forgotten.

“Ethan, shoes off the bed,” I said automatically, but my heart wasn’t in the scolding. Let him be a kid for a little longer. Soon enough, he’d be caught up in the storm I had dragged him into.

My phone buzzed and It was a text from Mrs. Chen: How are you holding up?

I sank onto the other bed, suddenly exhausted. Mrs. Chen was the only person in Los Angeles who knew the full story—or most of it, anyway. She’d been the one to find me seven years ago, sobbing in a coffee shop bathroom with a positive pregnancy test clutched in my shaking hands. She’d been the one to give me a job, then an apprenticeship, then a future.

She’d been more of a mother to me than Vivian had ever tried to be.

We landed safely, I typed back. Funeral tomorrow. I’m fine.

The lie felt hollow even through text.

Her response came immediately: You don’t have to be fine. You just have to survive it. Then come home.

Home. Los Angeles felt like home now, with its sunshine and possibility and the blessed absence of pack politics. But as I looked out at the Manhattan skyline, my wolf stirred restlessly.

This was home too, wasn’t it? This was where I’d first felt the bond snap into place. Where I’d learned what it meant to have a fated mate. Where I’d fallen in love with someone I couldn’t have.

Where I’d lost everything.

“Mama, can we go see the park?” Ethan had stopped jumping and was pressing his face against the window, staring down at the greenery below.

I glanced at my watch. Four in the afternoon. The funeral wasn’t until tomorrow. We had time.

And suddenly, I couldn’t stand being in this hotel room for another second, couldn’t stand sitting here thinking about tomorrow and what it would mean to see Dominic again. I needed to move, to breathe, to pretend for just a few more hours that I was still in control of this situation.

“Sure, baby. Let’s go explore.”