LOGIN*Shawn's POV** Three of Victor's men emerge, dragging someone between them. A Rogue—built like a tank, scarred face, one eye milky white. They throw him onto the floor at Victor's feet. The rogue groans but doesn't get up. "Found him two blocks away, boss," one of Victor's men reports. "Had Miss Stella's scent all over him. This is our guy." Something cold and violent crystallizes in my chest. This man put his hands on Stella, dragged her out of her home, and terrified her. Victor crouches down beside the rogue, his voice going soft and dangerous. "Where is she?" The rogue spits blood on the floor. "Fuck you." "Wrong answer." Victor stands, adjusting his cufflinks with deliberate calm. "Gentlemen, take him to the warehouse." The rogue smirks and then spits on Victor's shoe. Victor kicks him hard on the face, he immediately loses consciousness. "Boss—" Thompson tries to stand. "We should call the city police—" "The humans?" Victor's laugh is sharp. "This is werewolf busines
**Shawn's POV**I break every traffic law getting to the penthouse.Red lights blur past. My speedometer hits ninety on residential streets. The tires scream as I take corners too fast, but I don't slow down.Someone took Stella because I fucking left her alone.The single thought pounds through my skull like a drumbeat.I should have stayed and told Hank to go to hell, that whatever business emergency he had could wait until morning. But I didn't.And now she's gone.I screech into the parking garage, abandoning my car at an angle that blocks two spaces.... I don't care. When I get to the elevator, it seems to take forever, each floor ticking by with agonizing slowness.Please let this be a mistake. Please let Thompson have been confused. Please let her be safe—The elevator opens directly into the penthouse.And I know immediately it's not a mistake.The space is destroyed.Furniture overturned. Glass shattered across the hardwood. One of the floor-to-ceiling windows has a spiderw
**Shawn's POV** "We need you to double the next shipment." I slowly sit back down. "What?" "Double it," Santos repeats, pulling out a tablet and sliding it across the table. "New client. Big order. They're willing to pay premium rates." I look at the numbers on the screen and my stomach sinks. "That's not happening," I say flatly. "We agreed—five shipments to clear my brother's debt. I've done four. One more and I'm done." "Your brother owed a lot more than five shipments worth," Hank says casually, flicking ash from his cigar. "You've been making payments, sure. But Marcus's debt was... extensive." "Bullshit." The word comes out hard. "We had a deal. Five shipments, debt cleared." "That was before we fully audited what Marcus owed." Hank spreads his hands apologetically. "Turns out your brother was into us for a lot more than anyone realized. Gambling debts, loan interest, penalty fees... it adds up." Suddenly a memory flashes before me.... [The memory] Three ye
**Shawn's POV** “Mr. Black, this way to your guests.” A waitress who recognizes me greets me as she leads the way through the familiar haze of the strip club where I usually meet my business associates. The bass throbs through the floor of the Velvet Room, vibrating up through my bones like a second heartbeat. Red and purple lights pulse in rhythm with music loud enough to drown out thought. Half-naked women move like liquid across the stage, their bodies oiled and gleaming under the strobing lights. I used to find this atmosphere intoxicating—the primal energy, the raw sexuality, the freedom of a place where everything could be bought and nothing had to mean anything. Now it just feels empty. I push through the crowd toward the private section in the back, where Hank and his associates conduct the kind of business that can't happen in boardrooms or over email. The kind that requires cash, anonymity, and the constant thrum of music to cover conversations. Two bouncers
** Stella's POV**I don't know what wakes me. One moment I'm deep in dreamless sleep, the next my eyes snap open in the darkness. The clock reads 2:34 AM. I lay perfectly still, listening. There's a sound. Footsteps in the hallway. I sit up slowly, straining to hear. The footsteps are measured. Deliberate. Coming closer. "Hello?" My voice comes out barely above a whisper. "Is someone there?" The footsteps stop. My heart hammers so loud I can hear it in my ears. "Thompson is that you out there?" I call out, louder now. Still nothing. Then the footsteps resume. Closer now. Definitely coming toward the bedroom. Terror floods my system. I throw off the covers and look around frantically for something—anything—I can use as a weapon. The lamp. I grab it from the nightstand, yanking the cord from the wall. It's heavy, solid brass. It'll have to do. The footsteps are right outside the bedroom door now. I raise the lamp above my head, my whole body shaking.
**Stella's POV** The penthouse is silent after Shawn leaves. I stand in the middle of the living room, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase the glittering city below, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself just breathe. This is mine. A smile spreads across my face, so wide it almost hurts. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I get my pup back. I move through the space slowly, taking it all in. The living room is spacious and modern, with plush furniture. Abstract art hangs on the walls—the kind that probably costs millions. The kitchen is a dream—marble countertops, stainless steel appliances that look like they've never been used, a wine fridge stocked with bottles I can't even pronounce. I open the main refrigerator and gasp. It's fully stocked. Fresh fruits and vegetables, organic milk, premium cheeses, deli meats, everything I could possibly need. The pantry is the same—shelves lined with pasta, sauces, cereals, snacks. Even pup food. When d







