Chapter 4

The laughter on the deck died instantly.

Dozens of eyes locked onto me, heavy with judgment and cheap amusement.

My knuckles turned white around my glass. My heart hammered in my throat.

Gavin stood dead center in the ballroom, an amber scotch in hand. His eyes flicked across the floor, barely brushing my pale face.

He stayed silent for three long seconds.

"Cut the crap," he said.

His voice was dead, cold as the sea wind. It cut clean across the deck. "Our families have ties. The elders told me to watch out for her. That's all it is."

A burst of ugly laughter erupted around him.

"Told you! No way a pureblood Alpha gets shackled to a defective runt!"

"Family favor. We get it, man!"

I swallowed back the metallic taste in my throat, put down my glass, lowered my head, and hurried through the drinking crowd, fleeing the harsh lights.

I needed air. I had to get away from the wolves trampling my pride into the deck floor.

The second-level balcony had no lights. The ocean wind slapped my face, freezing my skin numb.

I tucked myself into the shadows near the corner. Fast footsteps and low, aggressive voices approached from the dark.

Rival heirs. They had Gavin backed against the rail.

"Don't act untouchable, Silverthorne," the point man hissed, lighting a cigarette. "You swallowed the entire South Port shipping line. Didn't even leave us the scraps."

Gavin leaned back against the iron railing. He sneered. "We took it on strength. Think you can take it from me?"

"We can't touch the shipping line, but you better pray your weak spot never steps out alone," the wolf muttered, his voice dripping venom. "You denied her real fast inside. Everyone knows you protected that broken runt your whole life. If she has an accident in this city, your inner wolf will tear you apart from the inside. Think you'll keep the Alpha throne then?"

My breath hitched. I froze in the dark, unable to move a muscle.

I waited for Gavin to snap. I waited for him to crush their bones like he did at the test center.

Instead, a low, humorless laugh drifted through the dark.

The crystal glass slammed down hard against the steel ledge.

"You're threatening me with her? Did sea water rot your brains?"

Gavin's voice rose, thick with scotch and venom. Every word hit like an iron spike:

"She clings to me like a shadow. She can't walk straight. Every little sound makes her fall apart. She's driving me out of my damn mind!"

He dragged a hand through his hair, his voice turning into a feral bark:

"If you have a way to make her vanish from my sight, I'd thank you for it! If she leaves, I could finally get some damn peace!"

In the corner shadows, the blood in my veins turned to ice.

He said it. Straight from his own mouth.

His distance was never protection.

He hated my presence.

He wanted me gone.

I stepped back, melting into the deeper shadows. My eyes were dry. Not a single tear fell.

Ten years of him standing between me and danger, ten years of his hand holding mine on full moon nights, all of it turned into one giant, pathetic joke.

I never went back to the ballroom. I hailed a water taxi by the lower dock and left the ship alone.

Back in my empty apartment, I left the lights off.

I pulled down my smallest carry-on. I packed three days of clothes and my backup tablet.

The Seattle pack agreement sat on my desk, ready for my signature.

I picked it up, tore it straight down the middle, and fed the pieces into the shredder.

Then I logged into the Morgan executive portal in New York. I opened the senior risk analyst offer and pressed my thumbprint on the acceptance box.

At five in the morning, thick fog swallowed Seattle.

I rolled my suitcase through the lobby and took a cab straight to the international terminal.

At six sharp, the boarding call echoed over the intercom.

I popped the SIM card out of my phone, snapped it in half, and dropped it into the trash can.

Seattle, and the man named Gavin Silverthorne, were dead to me.

Eight in the morning.

Gavin rubbed his pounding temples, fighting off the scotch, and knocked on Nadia's door.

Silence.

He keyed his print into the smart lock. The deadbolt slid back.

He had spent the entire night signing joint kill-orders against the rival packs on the balcony. Red veins mapped the whites of his eyes.

"Nadia?" He loosened his tie and strode into the living room. "Pack your things. The corporate merger signs today. I'm taking you to report to headquarters myself."

The apartment was hollow. Only the faint hum of the air purifier broke the quiet.

The coffee table was bare. No water glass. No shoes by the mat.

Gavin frowned. He crossed the floor and pushed open the bedroom door. The closet doors stood wide open, half the hangers empty.

Without warning, his chest seized violently. The mate bond tore through his sternum like liquid fire.

He bolted back to the foyer, grabbed his phone, and dialed her number.

An automated recording played through the speaker:

[The number you dialed is no longer in service.]

The doorbell rang, hard and frantic.

Gavin ripped the door open. His Beta stood outside, pale and breathing hard, clutching an encrypted printout.

"Alpha, we have a breach!" The Beta's voice shook. "Headquarters just got a rejection notice. Nadia canceled her pack contract. Unilaterally."

Gavin froze. The physical merger files slipped from his fingers, scattering across the floor.

His frame trembled, dark gold exploding in his eyes, sheer panic bleeding into his voice:

"Where is she?!"

The Beta swallowed hard, barely able to speak:

"She caught the six o'clock flight. She's gone to New York."