LOGINCASPIANI don't know why I said come with me.I had walked into that archive room with every intention of doing exactly what a Lycan King should do — assess the woman, confirm she was real, confirm she understood the numbers behind her brother's empire, and leave. Ten minutes. Fifteen at most. I had a Pack to run and eleven other appointments before sunset, and Roger Brimstone's family arrangements were, in the grand order of my responsibilities, close to nothing.Then she looked up at me.And something in my chest did a thing it hadn't done in six years. It dropped. Not fell — dropped, the way a stone drops into still water, sending rings out in every direction long after the stone itself has vanished beneath the surface.She had Vastri's stillness.Not her face. Naraya was nothing like Vastri to look at — softer where Vastri had been sharp, warmer in colouring, her hair a deep wavy brown instead of Vastri's straight black. But the stillness was the same. The particular quality of si
NARAYAI had never had to learn how to be silent before. I had spent five years learning how to be quiet, which is a different thing entirely. Quiet is choosing your words carefully. Silent is having none at all.Roger drilled me the whole drive to VoxTin.“You don't speak. Not one word, not even to a cleaner who greets you in passing. If anyone asks you something, you nod, or you shake your head, or you point to whatever's in your hand.”“What if I need to explain something complicated?”“Write it. I'll get you a notepad.”“And if they ask why I can't write instead of talk?”“Nobody's going to interrogate my sister's disability, Naya. People have manners.” He glanced at me sideways, his silver eyes hard in the morning light. “Most people.”I pressed my hand flat over my belly, hidden beneath the loose cardigan Zilla had once teased me for owning. Four months now. Not showing enough for strangers to notice, not yet, but enough that I felt it every time I sat, every time I stood, a sma
ROGERThe boardroom at VoxTin always smelled of leather and wealth, and I had learned to love that smell the way other men loved perfume on a woman's neck. Today it just smelled like sweat. Mine.Caspian Zachary sat at the head of the long glass table like he'd been carved into it, one ankle crossed over his knee, grey eyes half-lidded in that lazy, dangerous way that made every executive in the room sit a little straighter. He didn't raise his voice. He never had to. Rooms simply obeyed him, the way water obeys gravity.“Alpha Brimstone,” he said, sliding a folder across the table without looking up from it. “Walk us through the expansion blueprint for the eastern warehouses. Page fourteen.”I opened the folder.Page fourteen wasn't there.My stomach dropped through the floor.I flipped through it twice, three times, my thumb going numb against the paper, as though the missing pages would simply appear if I was patient enough. They didn't. Naraya had drafted three separate versions o
NARAYAThe floor tile lifted easier than I expected.I had come to VoxTin under the excuse of a late audit, my oversight badge granting me access to every wing including Roger's private bathroom, a small vanity of marble and gold he rarely let anyone else use. Silas had disabled the corridor cameras exactly as promised, buying me a narrow window I didn't intend to waste.The safe beneath the tile was smaller than the one at the mansion, but its lock was simpler, a single keypad, no fingerprint reader.I typed the same four digits that had opened the first one.1-2-0-4.The panel blinked green.“He really does love repeating himself,” Ava murmured.“Grief does that. It keeps circling the same date.”Inside were three folders, thinner than I expected, and a single sealed envelope with a wax stamp I didn't recognise, a crest of two crossed swords over a crown.I opened the first folder.Financial records. Transfers routed through shell companies, funnelled from VoxTin's trade profits int
ROGERI smelled it before she told me.Not the pup. Something underneath it. Something wrong.She'd been careful for weeks, wearing loose clothes, turning away when I hugged her too long, always finding a reason to leave the room before my nose could settle on anything solid. But that morning she stood in the kitchen doorway with her hand pressed low on her stomach, and the shape of her, the way the fabric pulled tight for just a second before she caught herself, told me everything her mouth hadn't.“Naya.”She froze.“How far along?”For a moment I thought she'd deny it. Then her shoulders dropped, and something in her face went very still, very careful, the way it always did when she'd already decided how a conversation was going to end before it began.“Four months.”Four months.I did the maths without meaning to. Four months ago, the night she came back to me after the apartment, the night I'd held her against the door and told myself it meant something.I stepped closer and reac
CASPIANThe office they gave her was small.A narrow desk pressed against the wall, a single window overlooking the parking lot, no nameplate. I had told Ronan to have her placed directly outside my temporary office, close enough that I could observe the operation myself.I told myself that was the only reason.She arrived each morning at seven, twenty minutes before anyone else, and left after the cleaning staff had already gone home. She spoke to no one. She ate lunch alone, at her desk, a small container of rice and vegetables she never seemed to finish.She wrote everything down. Every instruction I gave, every correction, she scribbled onto index cards in tight, careful handwriting and filed them into a small metal box she kept locked in her drawer.On the third day, I tested her.I gave her a report riddled with deliberate errors, small enough to slip past a careless eye, buried three layers deep in dense financial language.She returned it within the hour.Six errors circled in
NARAYA“Tell me you are joking, Raya.” Zilla's eyes widened behind her glasses. I lowered my gaze, suddenly picking interest in tracing the lines in my palm.“I’m not.”“Geez, Raya, you are twenty-three, not eighteen. How could you let that happen?”Neither of us spoke for a moment as we let the mu
NARAYAMost wolves reluctantly settle for the option of a chosen mate only when they have completely exhausted all hopes of finding their fated mate after decades of waiting. Or perhaps when their true fated mate passes from this world—that’s also after years of emptiness and loneliness.But those
NARAYA“Roger… where are you?” Melissa's voice drifted down the corridor. Her heels echoing closer.The aggressive heat in Roger's eyes melted into a cold panic. He dropped his hand from my shirt, stepping back just enough to break the intimate space between us.“Play along,” he whispered, his orbs
NARAYA“Daddy? Who is this woman?”A cold, unexplainable ache ripped through my chest as the little boy’s words echoed in my head for a few seconds.My Roger... Daddy?I stared at Roger, waiting for an explanation. A laugh. An indication that the pup was lying, joking, or even wrong.But his face w







