002

Claire's POV

I watched Connor stride out of my office, his broad shoulders rigid beneath that crisp white coat he wore. He didn’t glance back as he left and the door clicked shut.

I stared at the closed door longer than I meant to.

Connor had always unsettled me in ways I didn’t like thinking too much. He wasn’t just my best friend—he was the one person I’d had since those chaotic orphanage days at Saint Mary’s.

Two broken kids pretending the world hadn’t already chewed us up and spat us out.

He used to steal extra pudding cups from the cafeteria and leave them beside me after another foster family rejected me, never saying a word about it.

When I was finally adopted and my adoptive father brought me into the Stormbane pack at twelve, Connor disappeared into whatever strange life had claimed him after his own adoption.

I heard nothing from him for years. Then, three years ago—right around the time Tyler and I started dating, he walked back into my life at Woodhills Medical Center like no time had passed.

“Miss me?” he’d asked with that crooked grin and I’d thrown a pen at his head.

Now the entire city whispers about Dr. Connor Hayes. The Golden Hands Surgeon. No patient had died under his scalpel in three years. Nurses called it a miracle. Older attendees muttered about unnatural talent. Connor called them dramatic and kept avoiding cameras like they personally offended him.

The man was a legend wrapped in sarcasm, and somehow he was still the same boy who once punched another kid for mocking my stutter.

Whatever emergency had dragged him away that fast, I’d call him later. Right now, I had my own life waiting for me—one that finally felt warm and mine.

I grabbed my tote bag and headed for the parking lot.

After years of orphanage bunk beds and foster homes, being ordinary still felt special to me sometimes.

Sliding into my car, my fingers brushed the small velvet box tucked inside my bag and a soft smile curved my lips.

Tyler’s surprise ring.

I’d spotted it weeks ago near Topanga and bought it on impulse because it reminded me of him.

Tomorrow was our engagement party, the official merging of Woodhills and Stormbane packs under one united front.

But tonight could just be ours.

“He’s going to lose it,” I murmured, resting my forehead briefly against the steering wheel.

Tyler cried at everything. Military reunion videos. Emotional movie scenes. One time he watched wedding vows on YouTube and had to pretend he had allergies afterward.

God, I loved that about him.

The way his tough Alpha image cracked over little things that mattered.

Traffic was awful as usual when I pulled out. A girl in the next lane screamed Taylor Swift lyrics while fixing her lip gloss in the mirror. Somebody behind me honked aggressively at nothing.

I let my hand drift back to the velvet box.

I’d even tried harder in the bedroom lately.

The thought alone made embarrassment crawl up my neck.

Hours of awkward “research” p**n videos to learn new sex styles. Lingerie that made me feel ridiculous.

A pack elder’s wife had once leaned toward me after too much wine and said quietly:

“Men stray when the bed gets boring, honey.”

Tyler had cheated before.

Physical mistakes, he’d called them. Weak moments.

And God help me, I forgave him because part of me understood it and think it's my fault.

I’d been inexperienced. Too shy. Too awkward. Not enough.

So I tried harder.

Relationships requires work, right?

The compound gates opened smoothly as I approached. Guards nodded respectfully while I drove through the sprawling hills compound near Calabasas.

Woodhills was one of the strongest packs in Los Angeles.

Stormbane my father's pack bordered it to the north.

Our relationship had practically merged both territories into one future. One family.

I parked and hurried up the front steps, excitement bubbling in my chest again.

“Babe? I’m home!” My voice echoed through the massive entryway. “I got a surprise for you.”

Silence.

The house felt off immediately.

No TV noise. No music. No sound of Tyler in the kitchen dramatically complaining about starving to death because I stayed late at work.

A strange unease crawled up my spine as I climbed the stairs, my heels sinking softly into the runner.

“Tyler?”

Halfway up, I heard something. Low sounds that sounded intimate.

My stomach tightened instantly.

No. Not again.

The last time started exactly like this.

I reached the top floor slowly. Our bedroom door was slightly open with the sound of skin against skin and a deep familiar groan.

Then—

“Oh fuck, Marcus…”

Everything inside me went cold.

Marcus?