CHAPTER 7

My father’s howl over the phone completely decimated the high I’d been riding since my audition.

"Where the hell are you?" Fernando Navarro didn’t do pleasantries. His voice was a low rumble of authority that usually made the rest of the pack flinch.

I wasn’t about to tell him I was planning my escape from the Blackwood lineage. A white lie was my only shield. "I’m at a private training session, Dad. I’ve got some ice-time booked. What’s the emergency?"

"Nothing that concerns your hockey stats. When you’re finished, get over to the house. Bring Sebastian. A connection of mine just brought in some white truffles from the continent—the rare kind Doña Carmen obsesses over. You’re going to take them to her."

The irony was a bitter pill. I’d been his daughter for twenty-five years, and the man couldn't remember if I liked my steak rare or if I was allergic to shellfish. But Sebastian’s grandmother’s culinary whims? He had those indexed.

God forbid he miss an opportunity to wag his tail for the Blackwood Alphas.

For a heartbeat, I wanted to snarl into the receiver. Forget the Blackwoods, Dad—we’re done. But I thought of my mother, María, breathing through a machine at St. Mary’s, and the words died in my throat.

"Fine," I said, the bitterness like ash in my mouth.

"Good. Don't be late." He hung up. Forty-five seconds. A record for him.

I headed to the garage to reclaim my SUV. It was the only thing I’d kept from the Blackwood marriage—a high-performance gift I’d bought myself as a consolation prize for three years of soul-crushing silence. The silver paint gleamed under the lights, recently buffed after a minor scrape I’d gotten dodging a stray pup in the road last week. Back at the estate, Sebastian hadn't even noticed the damage or my shaken state. That, I realized, was the perfect autopsy of our marriage.

To make my earlier lie stick, I called my coach at the Northwest Screen Academy and booked a frantic hour of improv. I’d need every bit of it to survive dinner.

At six o'clock, I pulled into the gated driveway of my childhood home. The door was opened by Sofia Navarro, my father’s "adopted" protégé. She was draped in designer silk, her scent—artificial flowers and ambition—hitting me like a wall.

"Elena! You’re finally here!" Her smile was all teeth until she looked over my shoulder. "Wait... where’s Sebastian?"

"Emergency session at the Blackwood Tower," I said, watching her face drop.

I’d never trusted Sofia. She was a chameleon, playing the perfect daughter my father always wanted. Why can't you be more like Sofia? he’d always ask. She understands the weight of our name. "You should have warned us." The disappointment in her voice was thick.

I eyed her outfit—a backless dress that was far too much for a family dinner. "All dressed up, Sofia? Expecting a special guest?"

She stiffened, her eyes darting toward the foyer mirror. "No. I just believe in maintaining standards."

I brushed past her. The girl had been trying to catch Sebastian’s eye since our wedding day. Some predators never change their stripes.

Dinner was a tactical disaster. My father’s face soured the moment he saw me alone. His businessman's gaze scanned me like a balance sheet, looking for any sign that the Navarro-Blackwood alliance was flickering. Thank the Moon for my training; I kept my expression as cold and neutral as the ice at the rink.

"Let's just eat," Fernando sighed.

I exhaled. I had to keep the peace. If Dad found out I was filing, he’d pull the plug on my mother’s care without a second thought. He’d spent three years slowly stripping her of her shares and her power while she lay in that hospital bed. My marriage was the only thing keeping her alive—it was the price I paid to keep him from divorcing a woman who couldn't fight back.

One wrong move, and my mother would be gone.

The dining room was a tomb. Sofia played her part perfectly, laughing at my father’s dry remarks and feeding his ego. I felt like an intruder in my own bloodline.

"Dad," Sofia purred, leaning in as the main course was served. "I’ve been thinking. I need a vehicle with more... authority. My current car doesn't exactly scream 'Navarro Executive' when I meet with high-profile pack leaders."

"Of course, sweetheart. What are you looking for?"

"Nothing brand new," she said, her eyes sliding to me like a snake’s. "Elena, you barely drive that custom SUV. Since you’re usually with Sebastian anyway, would you mind if I took it over? It’s just sitting in the Blackwood garage gathering dust."

I continued cutting my steak in silence.

"Come on, Elena," she pressed. "Sebastian has an entire fleet. You wouldn't be so petty as to deny your sister a little help, would you?"

I looked up, my eyes narrowing. "Actually, I would. I’ve always been petty when it comes to my territory." I took a slow sip of wine. "Besides, some things aren't meant to be loaned out. Cars... and husbands."

Sofia’s face flushed a deep, angry red.

Fernando’s fork clattered against the china. "Watch your tone! How dare you speak to her that way? Let her use the car!"

"Dad," I countered calmly, "you're a CEO. Would you trust an unproven recruit with the pack’s most expensive assets? It sends the wrong message."

"So now you’re an expert on 'messages'?" he snarled. "You’ve done nothing but live off the Blackwood tit for three years. You don't even work."

The words stung. "Live off them?" I laughed, a sharp, cold sound. "You’re the one who sold me to them. If you wanted a 'golden girl' to manage the Blackwoods, you should have sent Sofia. She’s clearly been practicing."

BANG!

My father slammed his fist on the table. "You think Sebastian is just a piece of meat we can swap? You’re lucky he hasn't traded you in yet!"

Sofia put a hand on his arm, her voice dripping with fake concern. "Dad, please—your blood pressure. It’s fine. If Elena wants to be territorial, I understand."

"See?" Dad pointed a finger at me. "That’s decency. You could learn a thing or two."

"I’m done," I muttered, standing up. "I'm heading out."

Sofia followed me to the car, loading the boxes of white truffles into my trunk with a smirk. As I got behind the wheel, she leaned into the window. "Sebastian wasn't really at a meeting tonight, was he?"

I gripped the steering wheel. "What do you mean?"

Her smile turned predatory. "Just saying, Elena... territory is only yours if you can hold it. And lately, your scent is all over this car, but his? His is nowhere to be found."

She waved and walked back inside. I wanted to shift right there and tear that smirk off her face.

Back at Mason’s, I dumped the truffles on the counter. "My dad’s latest bribe for the Blackwoods," I sighed.

Mason whistled. "That’s a lot of fungus. You going to give it to them?"

"I have to. Dad checks. If I don't, he'll know something is wrong."

But dealing with Sebastian’s grandmother, Doña Carmen, was a nightmare I wasn't ready for. I needed Sebastian to play along. I pulled out my phone and dialed his number.

He declined. I called again. Declined.

Vindictive. Petty. Typical Alpha behavior. I decided to try a different tactic and shot him a text.

Me: Are you there, Sebastian?

Sebastian: No.

At least he was responding.

Me: My dad sent two boxes of white truffles for your grandmother. I’ll drop them at the Tower tomorrow. Can you make sure she gets them?

Sebastian: No.

I gritted my teeth.

Me: Fine. I’ll give you a 60/40 split on the property settlement if you help me out here.

Sebastian: Heh.

Me: 70/30! That’s my final offer. Don't push it.

No reply. I was about to throw the phone when it started vibrating. I picked up, and his voice came through—low, clear, and dangerously smooth.

"Tomorrow. Lucia arrives at the private terminal. Come with me to welcome her home."

"No—" I started.

"Come with me, and I’ll handle the truffles and the old lady," he cut in.

I swallowed my pride. "Fine."

The silence that followed was heavy. For a second, it wasn't the Alpha and his runaway mate—it was just us. He wasn't a bad husband in the traditional sense; he was rich, powerful, and hadn't ignored his manners until recently. His only real "sin" was the ghost of an ex-girlfriend he couldn't let go of.

I was about to say something—maybe a thank you—when a voice cut through the background on his end.

"Sebastian? Who are you talking to?" It was Valentina.

My heart turned to lead. I smiled bitterly, my voice steady as stone. "See you tomorrow."

I hung up. Any thought of "hope" for this marriage was pathetic. I didn't need a husband; I needed a clean break.