CHAPTER 2

The library remained a tomb of silent parchment and old leather. Willow stared at the doorway until her eyes burned, the crushing weight of Roman’s absence settling into her bones. He had forgotten. For the first time since she was a pup, the silver-eyed tactician of the Vale Clan had broken his word to her.

A hollow ache bloomed in her chest, a premonition of something fracturing. Driven by a restless, painful energy, she descended the stairs, intending to find him and demand an explanation.

The Grant House was a sensory overload the air thick with the musk of unmated wolves, the sharp tang of spilled ale, and the thrumming bass of music that vibrated in her teeth. She checked the balcony, but it was empty. Just as she turned to retreat, a sound caught her ear a rhythmic, wet friction and a low, gutteral growl that didn't sound like conversation.

Willow crept toward the stone archway of the secondary terrace, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She peered around the ivy-covered pillar and froze.

The world tilted.

Against the stone railing, Roman had his large, scarred hands anchored firmly around a woman's waist, hauling her flush against his massive frame. The woman’s fingers were threaded through his dark hair, pulling his head down as they collided in a feral, starving kiss.

It wasn't just a kiss; it was a claim.

The woman was Blair. Her sister.

The sight was a physical blow. Every muffled moan from Blair’s throat felt like a silver blade plunging into Willow’s heart, twisting until there was nothing left but jagged shards. Roman, her "protector," was devouring the very person she had spent years trying to emulate.

Willow’s foot caught on a stone, the sound loud in the quiet night. She didn't wait to see if they noticed. Clutching her chest to keep her soul from leaking out, she bolted. She scrambled up the stairs, locked her door, and collapsed onto the floor.

She didn't scream. She couldn't. She simply lay in the darkness, a fifteen-year-old girl mourning a future that had been incinerated in a single moment of betrayal. The worst part wasn't that Roman chose someone else; it was that Blair knew. Blair had seen Willow’s heart laid bare and chose to feast on it anyway.

Willow glanced at the digital clock on her wrist. 9:30 AM.

"Ma'am, I must ask you to power down your device. We are preparing for departure," the flight attendant requested, her voice professionally smooth.

"Of course, just one second." Willow offered a tight, practiced smile.

She turned back to the phone. "Mom, I have to go. The crew is losing patience."

"Fine, fine! I’ll let you be," Elaine Grant’s voice crackled with warmth. "But only because I’ll be seeing your face in a few hours. We’re already heading to the terminal to wait for you."

A wave of nostalgia, thick and bittersweet, washed over Willow. It had been two long years since she’d set foot in Redwood Bay.

"And keep that boy at a distance," Robert’s gruff voice echoed in the background.

Willow let out a soft, genuine chuckle. "I’ll see you at the gate. Love you."

As the plane taxied, a figure slumped into the seat beside her. Tyler Boone let out a pained groan, his face a pale shade of grey, sweat beading at his temples.

"How is your stomach holding up?" Willow asked, reaching into her bag for a bottle of water.

"Abysmal," Tyler muttered, leaning his head back. "I am officially retiring from midnight leftovers. My wolf is currently trying to stage a coup from the inside."

"I’m so sorry you’re making this trek in such a state, Tyler. You really should have stayed in Manhattan."

Tyler reached out, his warm brown eyes fixing on hers as he managed a boyish grin. "And miss the chance to see where you grew up? Not a chance. I’d travel through a silver mine to stay by your side, Willow."

He took her hand, interlacing their fingers. Willow forced her smile to stay fixed, though a small part of her winced. They had been together for six months. Tyler was the "perfect" partner—kind, unwavering, and safe. He was the anchor she had reached for after years of drifting through New York's packless wilderness.

She cared for him deeply, but whenever he spoke of love, she felt like an actress who had forgotten her lines. She was still waiting for the day her heart would finally catch up to her head.

When the wheels finally touched down and they cleared security, Willow found her parents exactly where they promised. Her mother held a hand-painted sign, her scent sweet pine and rain hitting Willow before they even embraced. Robert stood tall beside her, his watchful eyes softening the moment he saw his youngest daughter.

"Welcome back, little mouse!"

The moment they crossed the threshold of the Grant House, Evan lunged forward, catching Willow in a rib-cracking hug.

"Look at you. You’ve actually grown," Evan teased, hoisting her up.

Willow rolled her eyes, though she clung to him. "Evan, you saw me two months ago when you came to the city for the board meetings."

"Yeah, but it feels like decades since I’ve had anyone around to annoy properly," he grinned. His gaze then shifted to Tyler, who looked as if he might faint.

Tyler had barely managed to mutter a greeting to Robert at the airport before sprinting for the nearest restroom. It wasn't the "strong, capable mate" impression Willow had hoped for.

"Is he... alright?" Evan asked, eyeing Tyler’s sickly complexion.

"Stomach bug," Tyler wheezed, clutching his midsection. "If someone could just point me toward... anywhere with a door..."

"Right hallway, first door on the landing. That’s the guest wing," Robert said, his tone clipped and unimpressed.

Tyler took off at a run.

"Poor soul," Elaine murmured, shooting Robert a reprimanding look that he stoically ignored. She turned back to Willow, stroking her hair. "Honey, go to your old room and wash off the travel grime. I’ll have a meal ready for you in twenty minutes."

Willow nodded, moving toward the stairs. She told herself she was fine. She told herself the ghosts of the library and the balcony were buried deep. She was older now. Watchful. Steady.

But as she reached the top of the stairs, the familiar scent of Redwood Bay began to peel back the layers of her armor, one by one.