Chapter Three - The Severed Lifeline

POV: Freya

A blinding ray of morning sunlight pierced through the curtains, hitting my eyelids.

I groaned, a wave of intense nausea rolling through my stomach as I shifted against the impossibly soft mattress. Every muscle in my body ached with a deep, heavy soreness. As my mind slowly fought through the brutal haze of a whiskey hangover, the vivid, overwhelming memories of the night came rushing back.

The rough, consuming intensity of the hotel room. The ghost of a massive, heavily muscled frame pinning me down. The silver-eyed stranger who had taken my desperate plea and turned it into a breathless reality. He had been completely insatiable, his dark alpha scent wrapping around me until I couldn't tell where my pain ended and his touch began.

I forced my eyes open, my heart hammering against my ribs as I looked at the other side of the king-sized bed.

It was empty.

The white sheets were rumpled, still holding the faint, lingering scent of rich cedarwood and rain, but the man was completely gone. I sat up quickly, pulling the heavy duvet up to cover my bare chest as I scanned the penthouse suite. It was a masterpiece of luxury with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sprawling skyline of the city, marble fixtures, and minimalist designer furniture.

On the nightstand beside me, a white bathrobe was neatly folded, but there was no note. No name or signature.

A sudden, sharp wave of shame washed over me. I collapsed back against the pillows, pressing my hands into my burning eyes. What the hell did I do? I had thrown myself at a complete stranger at the entrance of a high-society gala, practically begging him to use my body to erase Silas. I didn't even know his name.

Before I could spiral deeper into the humiliation, the ring of my cell phone shattered the silence.

I scrambled across the mattress, tracking the sound to where my midnight-blue dress lay discarded on the carpet. My phone was buzzing violently inside the small clutch purse. I snatched it out, my eyes widening when I saw the caller ID.

Dr. Helena Shaw.

A knot of panic tightened in my gut, instantly vaporizing the remaining fog of the hangover. Dr. Shaw was the head physician treating my mother at the Crimson Moon pack clinic. She would never call me this early unless something was horribly wrong.

I pressed the receiver to my ear, my voice trembling. "Dr. Shaw? Is my mother okay?"

"Freya, thank goodness you answered," Dr. Shaw’s voice rushed through the line, sounding completely stripped of her usual composure. "You need to get down to the clinic immediately. Your mother had a severe cardiovascular collapse an hour ago. We have her stabilized on a ventilator right now, but her degenerative bloodline condition has violently mutated."

"What?" The room seemed to lose all its air. "No, no, she was stable last week. You said the medication was working!"

"The medication was keeping the symptoms at bay, Freya, but the underlying cellular decay has accelerated," Dr. Shaw explained, her voice dropping into a heavy, devastating tone. "Routine care won't cut it anymore. She needs surgery to repair the bloodline pathways. The treatment clock has completely changed. If we don't get her into the operating room within a month, her organs will begin to fail permanently."

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, cold sweat breaking out across my skin. "Then do it. Please, Dr. Shaw, save her. Put her in surgery."

The line went dead silent for two agonizing seconds. When Dr. Shaw spoke again, my breathe caught.

"I can't, Freya. Not without the financial authorization. Less than thirty minutes after your mother collapsed, an official directive came down. Silas Ravenscroft has completely canceled all financial approvals and revoked his family's sponsorship of your mother’s medical account."

My breath hitched. The memory of Silas's smug, entitled face backstage slammed into my mind. “All you have to do is accept it. Stay available for me, and you'll never have to worry about money again.”

He hadn't even waited 24 hours. He went straight for my only lifeline. He was using my mother's dying body to force me to my knees.

"The hospital administration is strict, Freya," Dr. Shaw continued, her voice laced with genuine sympathy. "Because the Ravenscroft sponsorship was pulled, the automated system has flagged her account. Without a deposit of fifty thousand credits to secure the surgical theater and clear the existing debt, the clinic will be forced to take her off life support. I can help delay it to a month's time but after that...I am so sorry, but my hands are tied by the board."

"Fifty thousand..." I whispered, the number feeling foreign. Even if I had 5 years I didn't think I could raise that kind of money. I didn't even have fifty credits to my name. My lower-status lineage meant I had no family wealth to inherit, and my part-time tutoring jobs barely covered our groceries.

"Get here as fast as you can, Freya," Dr. Shaw said softly before hanging up.

Wild panic took over my body. I threw the phone onto the bed, tearing off the duvet as I scrambled to my feet. I didn't care about the soreness in my thighs. I didn't care about the empty luxury suite or the mysterious Alpha who had claimed me in the dark. My mother was dying.

I snatched my midnight-blue dress off the floor, my hands shaking so violently I could barely zip it up. The silk was wrinkled and stained with spilled champagne from the gala, the shoulder strap slightly frayed from what happened the night before. I didn't care. I shoved my feet back into my high heels, ignoring the tiny, dried cut on my ankle from the broken whiskey bottle.

I grabbed my purse, bolted across the penthouse foyer, and yanked the heavy door open. I ran straight for the elevators, completely fleeing the scene.

I had just a month to find a fortune, or Silas was going to murder my mother.

Just how was I supposed to do that?