CHAPTER 3

Mavis Thornefield POV

"Your body is severely weakened, Alpha Benedict," Dr. Ambrose Peverell's muted voice filtered through the heavy oak door. "Mavis has been suffering from extreme physical exhaustion and acute blood deficiency for months. Her wolf is barely hanging on because her core energy has been entirely drained by constant manual labor. The injury on her left leg is minor, just a deep soft-tissue bruise from the fallen bike, but she must remain off her feet for at least a week to let her energy recover."

Mavis Thornefield opened her eyes, staring blankly at the dark grey canopy above the massive bed.

The heavy silk sheets smelled strongly of cedar, crushed winter pine, and pure Alpha aura. It was a scent carved deep into her soul, a familiar weight from five years ago that instantly set her pulse racing with deep, instinctual terror.

The shock of the morning crashed over her in violent waves. Ottilie jumping from the upper balcony. The blood pooling across the marble entryway. Benedict dragging her into Villa Seven, screaming about a missing body and holding up her father's blood-soaked silver watch.

Mavis winced as she pulled her left leg back, a sharp jab of pain shooting up from her wrapped knee.

"She requires complete rest and proper pack nutrition if her wolf is ever going to heal," Dr. Ambrose continued outside in the quiet corridor. "If she continues to push her body under this amount of physical stress, her internal strength will collapse entirely."

Mavis's breath caught in her throat. She threw back the heavy grey comforter, staring down at the thick medical bandages tied neatly around her knee.

She could not stay in this room. She could not stay in this territory.

Ignoring the throbbing ache in her leg, Mavis swung her feet over the edge of the mattress and planted her soles on the cold marble floor. She stood up, her vision blurring for a fraction of a second as her lightheadedness threatened to pull her back down into the dark.

The heavy brass handle turned, and the bedroom door swung open.

Benedict Crowell stood framed in the warm doorway light. He had removed his jacket, leaving his dark dress shirt unbuttoned at the throat, his broad chest rising and falling with heavy, controlled breaths. His towering presence instantly filled the entire room, radiating a suffocating level of Alpha dominance that made Mavis's inner wolf cower in instinctual fear.

"Did you not hear the pack healer?" Benedict asked, his deep voice slicing through the quiet room without a single trace of warmth. "He told you to stay in bed."

Mavis clenched her fists at her sides, her knuckles turning white as she forced herself to meet his piercing amber gaze. "I heard him."

"Then lie back down," he commanded coldly, stepping into the suite and closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

Mavis ignored his order entirely. She ground her teeth against the burning pain in her leg and took a ragged step forward, limping past his towering frame toward the open hallway. She did not look at his face. She did not want to see the cold indifference in the eyes of the man who had ordered her baby destroyed five years ago.

"Mavis," Benedict warned, his tone dropping into a dangerous, dark register.

Mavis kept moving, her left foot dragging slightly against the polished wood floor of the corridor. Her chest burned with five years of buried hatred, every drop of her blood screaming at her to put as much distance between herself and this monster as humanly possible.

Before her fingers could touch the banister of the grand staircase, a heavy hand clamped around her wrist like a vice made of solid steel.

The silver-laced grip burned into her skin, cutting off her circulation in a single second.

"Let go of me!" Mavis spat out, spinning around to glare up at him, her eyes flashing with raw, murderous fury.

"You can barely stand on your own two feet," Benedict growled, his jaw clenching as he tightened his grip, pulling her back toward the doorway. "Where do you think you are going in this condition?"

"Away from you!" Mavis yelled, her voice breaking into a harsh, ragged rasp as she thrashed against his hold. "Release me, Benedict! I am not your pack subject anymore! You revoked my Luna title five years ago!"

Benedict did not loosen his fingers by a fraction of an inch. Instead, he used his raw physical strength to shove her backward into the bedroom, slamming her back against the heavy wooden door frame.

The impact knocked the breath straight out of her lungs. Mavis gasped, her chest heaving as Benedict stepped flush into her personal space, trapping her between his broad body and the solid wood. His hands slammed against the door frame on either side of her head, locking her into his shadow.

"You do not get to walk away from Villa Seven while Ottilie's blood is still wet on the driveway," Benedict whispered, his face inches from hers, his hot breath brushing against her cheeks. "You are going to tell me what happened out there, Mavis. You are going to tell me why your father's heirloom was left beside her body."

Mavis stared directly into his dark eyes, her lower lip trembling with a mixture of agony and pure rage. "I told you the truth! I arrived to deliver the order, I heard a scream, and she fell right in front of my bike! I did not touch her! I have not seen my father's watch since the night your pack enforcement threw me out into the snow!"

"Then how did it get there?" Benedict demanded, his Alpha command flaring, rattling the brass fittings on the door. "Do you expect me to believe someone magically dropped a Thornefield family heirloom at a crime scene right at the exact moment you arrived?"

"I don't care what you believe!" Mavis screamed, tears finally spilling over her eyelashes and cutting clean tracks down her pale, sweat-stained cheeks. "You never believed me five years ago when I begged you for our child! You listened to Ottilie's lies then, and you are doing it again now! Why don't you ask her where she went?!"

Benedict's expression hardened into stone, a dark vein pulsing along his temple as her words hit him.

"Watch your tongue," he growled, his voice dropping into a deadly rumble. "Ottilie was carrying my second child. If you had anything to do with her disappearance..."

"I hope she rots!" Mavis spat, her inner wolf surging forward with venomous hatred, clawing at her throat. "I hope she suffers every single second of the agony you put me through in that maternity ward!"

Benedict's eyes turned pitch black. He grabbed both of her wrists, pinning them above her head against the door with a single hand, his towering frame completely crushing her against the wood.

The heat of his body was overwhelming, his Alpha aura filling her lungs until she could barely draw air.

"You think you are so innocent, Mavis?" Benedict sneered, his gaze dropping to her trembling lips before locking back onto her eyes. "You think you can pretend you had no motive to ruin my bonding ceremony?"

"I came here to deliver coffee!" Mavis choked out, her hips pressed flush against his hard thighs as she tried desperately to twist her arms free. "I didn't even know it was your house until I checked the plaque!"

"Liar," Benedict purred, stepping even closer until there was no space left between them. His gaze burned with an volatile mix of hatred and possessive fury. "You have been watching this estate for months. My guards spotted your bike near the boundary line three times last week."

"I work for the café!" Mavis yelled, her body shuddering against his imposing frame as the physical proximity forced an unwanted electric pulse along her dormant mate bond. "Alwyn assigned the route! Check the café receipts if you don't believe me!"

Benedict leaned down, his lips hovering a breath away from her jawline, his scent invading every sense she possessed. "I checked the receipts, Mavis. The delivery request came from a private account registered under the Thornefield Family name."

Mavis froze, her heart stopping dead in her chest.

"What?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Your father's estate paid for that coffee delivery two hours ago," Benedict murmured coldly, his dark eyes watching her face for the slightest slip. "The order was submitted from an IP address inside the Thornefield ancestral manor—the same manor that has been abandoned for five years."

Mavis stared at him in complete disbelief, her mind spinning into absolute chaos. Her father was dead. The Thornefield Family line had been completely erased from Briarfen City after her exile. There was no one left to access those accounts.

"That's... that's impossible," Mavis gasped, her breath catching in her throat as a cold drop of sweat rolled down her neck. "Someone is setting me up..."

Before Benedict could respond, his private messaging device on the nightstand vibrated loudly, the harsh electronic buzz cutting through the tense silence of the room.

Benedict did not release her wrists. He reached out with his free hand, picking up the device and tapping the screen with his thumb.

An audio file began to play automatically over the speaker.

A high-pitched, distorted voice filled the bedroom, echoing off the grey walls with chilling clarity:

"Alpha Benedict... if you want to see Ottilie Brackenbury alive again, you have thirty minutes to transfer the Crowell Pack Holdings legal territory rights to Leighton Voss. If you alert the pack guards, or if Luna Mavis leaves Villa Seven, the female will be executed."

The message clicked off, leaving a suffocating silence in its wake.

Benedict's grip on Mavis's wrists tightened until her bones groaned under the immense pressure. He slowly lowered his arm, his black eyes locking back onto hers with a lethal, unforgiving glare.

The phone vibrated a second time, lighting up with an incoming video file from an unknown number.

Benedict tapped the screen, holding the device directly in front of Mavis's face.

On the glowing display, a dark basement room appeared. Tied to a heavy wooden chair in the center of the frame was Ottilie Brackenbury, her face bruised and bloody. Standing right behind her, holding a silver-tipped blade against her throat, was Leighton Voss—wearing the official crest ring of the Thornefield Family on his right hand.