Chapter 1: The Man I Buried

Angelica’s POV

“Ms. Haze, please, you’re needed at the office,” Skylar, my receptionist, said as I picked up her call. Her voice was laced with a tight tremor that immediately set my nerves on edge.

“What for?” I asked, wiping a streak of black fluid off my jaw with the back of my gloved hand. 

“I fear you’d have to see this for yourself, ma’am.”

I stared at the blinking screen of my phone as the call went dead.

Skylar had worked for me at Haze Performance Motors for two years, and I had never heard her lose her cool. I tossed the torque wrench onto the steel workbench with a sharp, echoing clang, peeled off my heavy leather shop apron, and wiped my grease-stained hands on a rag.

Stepping out of the bay, I smoothed down the front of my dark denim overalls. Being a five-foot-eight, plus-size woman in a male-dominated industry meant I had to carry myself with twice the authority of anyone else in the room. 

I pushed open the heavy oak door leading into the glass-walled front office.

Skylar was standing rigidly behind her desk, her knuckles white where she gripped the polished quartz edge. 

Sitting in the leather armchair across from her, crossing one long leg over the other with sickening, effortless entitlement, was a man I thought I’d buried in my past.

Ethan Vance.

He hadn’t changed much in terms of raw looks. His short-cropped silver-blonde hair was as immaculately styled as ever, and his cold amber eyes tracked me the moment I crossed the threshold. He wore a tailored charcoal suit. 

But what truly set my blood on fire was the smirk playing on his lips.

He hadn't changed in terms of attitude, either.

I didn't stop moving. I didn't gasp, and I refused to let my pulse spike where his wolf senses could pick it up. I walked right past him, treating his presence like a stray smudge of dirt on the floor, and headed straight for my private office door.

“Skylar,” I said, my voice smooth, and entirely devoid of emotion. “Handle his needs. If he’s here to buy a custom V-twin, hand him the price catalog. If he’s here for anything else, call security.”

“Angelica,” Ethan’s voice cut through the air. 

He stood up, his massive 6’2 frame imposing, his Alpha aura flaring slightly just to test my limits. 

“That’s no way to welcome an old friend.”

I paused at my doorway, turning slowly to look him dead in the eye.

“We aren't friends, Ethan. You're a customer in a public business. State your business or get out.”

“Always so defensive,” he murmured, taking a slow step toward me, his amber eyes dropping down to trace the full, lush curves of my body curves he had once called a liability to his pack's image. 

“I need work done on a high-end vintage engine. Money isn't an issue. I want the best mechanic in the state, and whether I like it or not, that's you.”

“Send the specs to Skylar. If I have time in my schedule, I'll quote you a price. Good day, Ethan.”

Before he could respond, I stepped into my office and shut the door firmly in his face, locking it immediately. 

Outside my door, I heard his low, frustrated exhale, followed by the heavy thud of his boots walking away. He thought he could pull my strings with a high-paying job. 

For the next three days, Ethan didn't give up. He called the shop under different aliases, sent flowers that I immediately threw in the trash, and had his lawyers email contract drafts with ridiculous six-figure retainer offers. 

I ignored every single one. If he wanted an engine built, he could hire someone else. My peace wasn't for sale.

By Friday afternoon, however, the game changed.

Ethan's best friend, Charles, showed up at the shop in person, holding a manifest for a rare, imported alloy engine block that had mysteriously arrived at the local freight docks under my business name. 

It was an engine component I had been tracking for months, a piece vital for the prototype motor I was designing.

Desperate to resolve the shipping error and get this man off my property, I finally agreed to meet Ethan at the neutral dockyard storage facility to inspect the shipment, sign off on the release, and close the door on them.

The dockyard was muggy, the heat radiating off the metal shipping containers in stifling waves. I stepped out of my truck, clutching my clipboard, and walked into the dimly lit warehouse where Ethan stood waiting beside a wooden crate.

“The engine is inside,” Ethan said, leaning against the crate with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Let's make this quick,” I replied, pulling a crowbar from my back pocket and prying open the top panel. “I sign the manifest, you take your delivery, and you stop coming to my shop.”

Ethan watched me work, his eyes lingering on my hands. “You really built quite an empire for yourself, Angelica. I was impressed when I looked into your finances.”

“I don't care about your impression.”

“You used to care about everything I thought,” he said, taking a step closer, his voice dropping into a persuasive purr. “I know we had our differences back then, but you have to admit... you've grown into quite a remarkable woman.”

“I was always remarkable,” I snapped, tossing the crowbar onto the concrete floor with a deafening rattle. 

“You were just too blind and arrogant to see it. The shipping manifest is clear. I'm leaving.”

I turned on my heel, but Ethan moved with his wolf speed, cutting off my exit path and blocking the warehouse door.

“Out of my way, Ethan.”

“I tried doing this the easy way, Angelica,”  he said, his smirk fading into something darker and far more desperate. 

“I offered you money. I offered you business. But you refused to sit down and listen. So I had to do a little digging into your personal affairs.” 

A chill ran down my spine, completely freezing the heat of my anger. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Now you’re going to listen.”

He pulled a thin white envelope from his inner jacket pocket and held it out to me.

I took a deep breath.