Chapter 1

ELLA

I realize I’m done the moment my face hits the water.

Cold water rushes into my mouth and nose as laughter explodes around me. The sound is sharp, cruel, impossible to ignore. 

I can feel my backpack tugging at my shoulders, dragging me lower, pressing me into the shallow stone basin like the fountain itself wants to keep me there. Phones hover above me, recording, flashing, turning my worst moment into entertainment.

For a second, panic claws at my chest.

Then I force my hands against the stone and push myself up.

I break the surface coughing, water streaming down my hair and soaking through my clothes. My lungs burn as I gasp for air. My glasses are gone, knocked away somewhere during the fall leaving everything smeared into color and movement. But even without them, I know exactly who’s standing at the edge of the fountain.

Vanessa Hart.

Her phone is pointed directly at my face, her lips curved in delight.

“Oh my God,” she squeals. “This is absolutely divine.” 

Thirty minutes ago, my life was quiet. Normal. I’d been sitting on my usual bench near the library, books spread neatly beside me, noise-canceling headphones doing their job. I was studying, like always. Staying invisible. Just trying to survive another day at Regalis Academy without being noticed.

I should have known that peace never lasts.

Vanessa and her group pack feels more accurate, even if no one else knows why they had been celebrating nearby. Jax Steele’s hockey team had won regionals, which somehow justified the entire Greek row turning into a drunken circus by mid-afternoon. Music blared, beer spilled, and people acted like the rules of decency didn’t apply to them.

I tried to shrink into the background.

It never works.

“Well, well,” Vanessa’s voice sliced through my music. “Look who decided to ruin our celebration.”

My heart jumped as I lowered my headphones. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Your existence is the problem.” She shifted her weight, hand settling on her hip like she was posing for an audience. 

Brittany Chen and Madison Foster stood just behind her, watching eagerly. “This area is reserved for important people.”

I started gathering my books, fingers trembling. I was almost free when her heel slammed down on my sociology textbook, pinning it to the stone bench.

“Did I tell you to move?”

“Vanessa… please let me go.”

She laughed, loud and sharp. “Wow. Begging already? No wonder you spend all your time alone in the library. Let me guess Friday nights with a vibrator?”

The laughter around us hit like a physical blow. My face burned, shame creeping into places it didn’t belong.

Then she stepped into me.

Hard.

My books flew from my hands, scattering across the ground. One landed in a puddle of spilled beer. I dropped to my knees without thinking, panic surging. Two of those books were borrowed. I couldn’t afford the fines.

I barely had time to reach for them before hands shoved me from behind.

The world tilted.

And then the next thing I know I'm falling.

The fountain swallowed me in a rush, water closing over my head as the crowd reacted with excitement instead of concern.

Now I’m here soaked, shaking, and exposed while half the campus watches.

“Easy there, Library Whale,” a voice sounds. “You’ll drain the fountain if you keep that up.”

My head snaps up.

Even without my glasses, I recognize him immediately.

Jax Steele stands a short distance away, surrounded by his teammates. He’s still wearing his practice gear, dark hair damp with sweat, posture relaxed like he’s enjoying a show. His eyes, ice-blue and unreadable, meet mine.

For a split second, something flickers across his face.

Then it’s gone.

His mouth curves into a smirk, and the moment vanishes like it never existed.

Laughter erupts again. Vanessa moves into his space effortlessly, slipping under his arm as if she belongs there. She adjusts her phone, clearly pleased with the angle.

“This is definitely going on I*******m,” she murmurs, kissing his cheek. “Everyone needs to see this.”

I stare at him through water dripping down my lashes.

He doesn’t stop her.

He doesn’t say anything.

“Asshole,” I whisper as I drag myself out of the fountain.

My clothes cling to my body, heavy and cold. I grab my bag, heart sinking as the weight reminds me of what’s inside.

My laptop.

With everything else falling apart, I don’t know how I’ll replace it.

I walk away without running. I won’t give them the satisfaction. Still, I move quickly, shoulders hunched, clutching my ruined bag as if it might shield me from the stares, the whispers, the laughter that follows me across the quad.

My phone vibrates nonstop as I cross campus, the device somehow still functioning despite being soaked. I don’t need to look to know what’s happening. 

The video is spreading. It always does. Moments like this never stay contained.

The walk back to my dorm feels endless.

Every few steps, I catch someone staring. Some whisper. Others laugh openly. A few don’t even bother pretending they aren’t enjoying it. Fifteen minutes has never felt so long in my life.

By the time I reach my building, my chest feels tight, like I’ve been holding my breath the entire way.

When I push the door open, Jessica is sitting at her desk, perfectly relaxed, applying makeup in a mirror that probably costs more than my monthly food budget. She looks up, takes one glance at me, and bursts out laughing.

“Oh my God,” she says between giggles. “I saw the video. It already has, like, five hundred shares.”

She turns her phone toward me without asking. There I am, frozen mid-humiliation, face pressed into the fountain in high-definition clarity. Bold text sits above the video.

WHALE WATCH AT REGALIS ACADEMY   LIBRARY SPLASH ZONE.

No wonder my phone won’t stop buzzing.

“This is honestly iconic,” Jessica adds, scrolling through comments. “Someone made a poll about whether you’ll still fit through the library doors after this.”

I don’t respond. I drop my bag by the door and walk straight into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me with more force than necessary.

Once I’m alone, my legs finally give out.

I slide down until I’m sitting on the floor, my back pressed against the wood, and I let myself cry. Ugly, silent tears spill down my face as I try to breathe through the ache in my chest.

The shower water is scorching, but I barely register the heat. I stand under it, soaking for the second time today, and take inventory of the damage they had done.

My medication.

The suppressants.

They’re ruined.

Every bottle was in my bag. Three months’ worth of pills meant to keep my wolf buried deep inside me, quiet and manageable. Without them, I have days before things start to slip.

Werewolves don’t get second chances when they’re exposed. Humans fear what they don’t understand, and other wolves see lone ones as unstable and dangerous.

Staying hidden is survival.

And now I’ve lost my safety net.

I’ve never shifted. Not once in my twenty years. My father died when I was five, taking everything he knew with him. My mother doesn’t even know what I am. 

She’s human, sick, and already carrying too much weight on her shoulders.

The Silvermoon Pack was destroyed long before I could remember it. A pack war, they said. No survivors worth mentioning.

Lone wolves don’t last.

That’s why I take my pills. Why do I stay quiet? Why do I pretend to be human?

Except now I can’t.

When I step out of the bathroom, I change into dry clothes and empty my bag onto the bed. My hands shake as I pull out what’s left of my laptop.

It doesn’t turn on.

My stomach drops.

My thesis months of work is gone.

My phone rings before I can process it. Mom’s picture lights up the screen.

I hesitate, then answer.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Sweetheart,” she says softly. “I just wanted to check on you. How are your classes going?”

I swallow hard. “They’re great.”

She pauses. “The hospital called earlier. About last month’s bill.”

My eyes close. “How much?”

“Fifteen hundred dollars. I’m sorry, honey.”

“It’s okay,” I say quickly. “I’ll figure it out.”

“I hate putting this on you,” she adds. “You’re already doing so much.”

“I got a raise at the library,” I lie easily. “So it’s fine.”

When the call ends, my chest aches from holding everything in.

Fifteen hundred dollars. On top of rent. Tuition. Food. And now medication I can’t replace.

I’m drowning.

And this time, there’s no crowd to blame.

By midnight, desperation drives me to my phone. I scroll through job listings for hours, applying to anything that sounds remotely possible.

Nothing pays enough. Nothing even comes close.

I’m about to give up when a listing catches my eye, buried in a private board I can access because of my volunteer work at the children’s hospital.

LIVE-IN NANNY NEEDED   URGENT

Private estate. $5,000/month plus room and board.

Confidentiality is essential.

I read it again. And again.

Five thousand dollars a month would change everything.

It sounds unreal. Possibly dangerous.

But I have forty-three dollars in my account and no room left for fear.

I submit my application around two in the morning, attaching references and my resume. Then I collapse into bed, exhausted.

At six a.m., my alarm goes off.

An email waits for me.

Interview today. 4 PM. Address below. Don’t be late.

Silverpine Heights.

The kind of place where people don’t worry about money.

I know I should question it.

But I’m out of choices.

I borrow clothes from Amy that afternoon.

She’s my only real friend from high school, somehow untouched by the rumors and cruelty that followed me into college. 

When I explain vaguely why I need something presentable, she doesn’t ask questions. She just digs through her closet and hands me a blouse that almost fits.

It’s tight around the chest, the fabric pulling a little too tight, and I feel awkward when I catch my reflection in her mirror. Amy just smiles and smooths the collar for me.

“You’re amazing,” she says firmly. “Anyone would be lucky to hire you.”

I nod, wishing her confidence could transfer through touch.

Two buses and forty minutes later, I’m standing at the base of a hill, staring up at an iron gate that looks more expensive than my entire childhood home. 

The metal gleams in the afternoon sun, heavy and imposing, topped with a crest that makes my stomach sink.

STEELE.

No.

It can’t mean anything. Steele is a common name. The universe wouldn’t be cruel enough to do this to me.

Would it?

I press the intercom.

“Name?” a deep male voice asks.

“Ella Monroe,” I say. “I have a four o’clock interview for the nanny position.”

There’s a brief pause. Long enough to make my chest tighten.

Then the gate begins to open.

I step through, my heart pounding as the entrance closes behind me.

The house beyond it is unreal.

Three stories of glass and steel rise into the sky, sharp lines and modern angles reflecting the sun. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the front, revealing glimpses of the sleek interiors. 

A garage large enough for several cars, and I have no doubt it’s fully occupied.

I shouldn’t be here.

Every instinct tells me to turn around, walk back down the hill, and pretend I never applied. This place isn’t meant for people like me.

But then I remember the pay.

Five thousand dollars a month.

Mom’s medical bills.

My destroyed medication.

The thesis I’ll have to rewrite from scratch.

I force myself up the steps, legs trembling with every movement.

The doorbell has a camera built into it. Probably alerts security. Maybe facial recognition. I hesitate for half a second, then press it anyway.

Footsteps approach from inside.

The door opens.

Jax Steele stands there.

For a moment, my brain refuses to process what I’m seeing.

He’s wearing casual clothes instead of his hockey uniform, but there’s no mistaking him. The same sharp jawline. The same broad shoulders. The same face that watched me get humiliated hours ago without lifting a finger.

And in his arms 

A toddler.

The child can’t be more than two years old, dark hair curling against his forehead, small hands gripping Jax’s shirt like it’s an anchor. The sight hits me so hard I almost forget how to breathe.

“Oh hell no!,” I gasp before I can stop myself.

Panic grins me all at once.

This isn't a coincidence.

This isn’t just bad luck.

This is a disaster.

I spin around, ready to flee down the steps, humiliation and dread tangling in my chest.

I turn around to leave but I hesitate, my back to him, fingers clenched into fists.

His expression is unreadable, eyes flicking briefly toward the child in his arms before returning to me. The toddler looks between us curiously, completely unaware of my despair.

I decide that it's better I leave now before things go from bad to worse but before I can take a step a voice stops me.

“You’re here for the interview,” a lady asks. 

My throat tightens. “Yes.”

“You’re here for the interview, right?”

Every instinct screams for me to run. To protect myself. To avoid whatever twisted irony the universe has decided to throw at me next.

But I think of my empty bank account, the pills dissolving in fountain water, my mother apologizing for bills she shouldn’t feel guilty for.

“Yes,” I say quietly. “I am.”

Jex studies me for a long moment, I feel something unreadable flash through his gaze.

His gaze drains every ounce of confidence I have muttered, I turn instantly to flee.

“Wait.”