CHAPTER 5

"Deadly multi-wolf pileup on Redbridge Overpass..."

I barely managed to read the first few lines of the digital news alert—fatalities, pack children injured, dozens of omegas and deltas caught in the wreckage—before my stomach lurched. I swiped the notification into oblivion. I wasn’t ready to process a tragedy I had barely escaped myself, especially when the phantom pain in my ribs was a constant reminder of the metal-on-metal scream of the collision. What stung worse than the physical trauma was the cold realization that Sebastian had looked me in the eye and lied about being at the Blackwood Tower while he was actually playing guardian to Valentina.

"Her fan-wolves are completely feral," Mason said, sliding his tablet across the kitchen island. "Look at this circus."

I scrolled through the social media feeds. While the Manchester packs were in mourning, Valentina’s followers had hijacked every comment section with prayers for their "Golden Luna"—who, according to the reports, had walked away with little more than a scratched wrist.

"Wait, it gets better," Mason grinned, tapping a new link. "Someone leaked the triage logs from St. Mary’s Private Hospital. Turns out America’s sweetheart got priority from the trauma surgeons while critical pack members were waiting for beds. The internet is going nuclear."

The comments were a bloodbath:

"So celebrities get the Alpha-tier treatment while our pups bleed out?"

"Eleven people shifted for the last time that night, but let’s all howl for Valentina’s sprained paw."

"What exactly has she contributed to the pack that warrants a VIP suite over a dying elder?"

I shook my head, my jaw tight. "The Blackwood PR team is going to have a catastrophic meltdown."

"Too late," Mason laughed. "Someone even dug up the old scent-trail of her being the 'other woman' in the Blackwood-Navarro union. Karma has teeth, El."

"It does," I murmured, squinting at a specific username. "Wait, I know this digital signature. The person who leaked those medical logs..."

"Probably just a coincidence," Mason dismissed, checking his watch. "What’s the schedule for tomorrow?"

"Voice audition at NorthForge Studios in Leeds for that new mobile game, Horizon's End. Then picking up my SUV from the shop."

"The 'Storm Sorceress' role? The one they've been trying to cast for months?" Mason’s eyes widened. "Elena, you’re the only one who can hit those high-frequency commands. You’ve got this."

I smiled. After the wreck of my marriage, my career as Lila Starr was the only thing that felt untainted. I’d earned my reputation in the industry without a single Blackwood connection. I’d voiced everything from dragons to ice-hockey simulators. But Valentina’s fans? They hated me. When her last film, Moonlight Destiny, dropped, critics pointed out that her actual voice sounded like a dying crow, while the 'voice behind the face'—mine—was hauntingly beautiful. Her fans claimed I’d used Blackwood influence to steal her spotlight. The irony was physically painful. I spent my royalties on María’s care, not on buying fame.

The next day.

NorthForge Studios was a monolith of glass and steel in Leeds. As I walked into the lobby, the receptionist was snarling into her headset, her wolf scent sharp with stress.

"Excuse me," I said, my voice calm. "I'm here for the voice audition?"

She glanced up, her eyes lingering on my silk blouse and tailored trousers. "Talent casting for the ice-hockey commercial is next door."

"I'm not an actress," I clarified with a sharp, practiced smile. "I'm here for the Horizon's End lead. Lila Starr."

Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. "Oh! Seventh floor, Studio B. They’re... they’re expecting you."

The audition was an adrenaline shot to my system. Adrian Wells, the audio director, practically vaulted over the soundboard when I delivered the Sorceress's ultimatum—shifting my tone from a velvet whisper to a command that could make a Beta drop to their knees.

"That's the frequency!" he shouted. "That's the Alpha-level authority we need. Your range is terrifying, Lila."

I stepped out of the booth, the heat of the performance still humming in my blood. "When do we sign?"

"I'll have the contracts drawn up by the end of the day. We need to lock you in before the studio heads try to cast another talentless influencer."

I headed for the elevators, feeling a lightness I hadn't felt in years. This was my exit strategy. Financial independence from the Blackwood pack.

The elevator doors slid open in the lobby, and my heart plummeted.

Standing by the glass doors, looking like he owned the entire city of Leeds, was Sebastian Blackwood. He was in a tense huddle with Gabriel Torres, his teammate and childhood friend.

I didn't stop. I kept my gaze fixed on the exit, offering a curt nod to Gabriel as I passed.

"Wait—was that your mate?" I heard Gabriel ask, his voice echoing in the marble lobby. "Did she just ignore you?"

I felt the sudden drop in temperature before I heard his boots on the tile. Sebastian’s scent—cold mountain air and aggression—swirled around me. "What are you doing here, Elena?"

I stood on the sidewalk, pulling up my rideshare app. "You're a public figure, Sebastian. You don't own the streets."

"Changed your game?" he mocked, stepping into my personal space. "Now you’re stalking the studios? Looking for a way to get on the Ice Kings’ jumbotron?"

I looked up at him, my eyes flashing with a Navarro fire he hadn’t seen in a long time. "If you were half as observant as a tracker, you’d have seen me come out of the talent elevators. I didn't even look at you—you’re the one who followed me to the curb."

Gabriel snickered behind him, leaning against a pillar. Sebastian’s jaw worked, the muscle in his cheek jumping. "Then explain the presence of my Luna in a production house."

"It doesn't concern you," I said coolly.

He hissed a breath through his teeth. "My sister, Lucia, is back from her tour. My mother expects us at the Blackwood Estate for lunch tomorrow. Don't be late."

A sharp, jagged laugh escaped me. "Your sister’s arrival is pack business, Sebastian. We are getting a divorce. The 'devoted Luna' role has been recast. Didn't you hear?"

"Recast?" His eyes darkened to a dangerous slate gray. "You’ve always been an expert at playing the part. What do you want this time? Another designer shift-wrap? Another Audi? Or is Fernando looking for another loan for his shipping fleet?"

The words cut deeper than any physical claw. He thought I was a parasite. I looked down at the silver bracelet on my wrist—the one I’d practically begged him for on our first anniversary, just so he’d acknowledge the date. He’d seen it as greed; I’d seen it as a desperate attempt at a connection.

Without a word, I unclasped the heavy silver and dropped it into his breast pocket.

"After the papers are signed, you won't have to worry about my 'greed' ever again," I said, my voice steady. "And whether you keep funding my father’s failures is between you and him."

"Just like that?" He stepped closer, his scent becoming overwhelming. "You're walking away from the Blackwood vault? Including the asset split your lawyer mentioned?"

"Oh, don't worry," I smiled, and it felt like a weapon. "We’ll divide the assets fairly. On a pound-for-pound basis. I want exactly what I earned for three years of service."

His voice was a low growl. "Just because I’m an Alpha doesn't mean I owe you a kingdom, Elena."

I dropped the mask. "You owe me everything! For three years, I ran your pack, I managed your image, and every time we were together? You weren't complaining about 'service' then, were you? You were perfectly satisfied because I broke my back to be the mate you wanted!"

For a heartbeat, the anger in his eyes shifted. It wasn't fury—it was a sudden, predatory hunger, as if he was going to haul me against him right there on the street. I took a sharp step back as my car pulled up.

"You know what's pathetic?" I whispered, my hand on the door handle. "For a split second, I actually thought you might have been capable of a bond. My mistake. Sign the papers, Sebastian."

I slid into the car and didn't look back. As we pulled away, I caught his reflection in the mirror—a solitary, powerful figure standing on the curb, looking uncharacteristically lost.

My phone buzzed. A reminder for an appointment at the Manchester Andrology Centre. I’d made it weeks ago, back when I still believed his lies about wanting a family. I didn't cancel it. I clicked 'confirm.' If we were going to end this, I wanted a clean bill of health to take into my new life.

Then, the screen lit up with a name that always made my pulse spike with dread.

Incoming Call: Fernando Navarro.

I stared at the phone as the car sped toward Mason’s. For three years, I’d been trapped between a husband who didn't want me and a father who only saw me as a bargaining chip.

The cage door was open. I just had to survive the flight.