Three

Camelia Pov

Long after Peter and Anya left, I stayed on the floor.

My cheek still burned. Every time my fingers touched it, I remembered Peter's face when he struck me.

He hadn't hesitated. He hadn't even looked sorry.

A hard knock rattled the front door and I didn't move.

The knock came again, louder this time. Slowly, I pushed myself up and crossed the room. When I opened the door, two men in dark suits stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.

One held a document.

"Miss Stewart, you must leave this property. It has a new owner."

I stared at him. "What are you talking about? Peter gave me this house."

"The property has been transferred."

"To whom?"

The man glanced at the paper. "Anya Stewart."

My grip tightened on the door.

Of course. Peter had given my home to the woman who helped destroy my life.

"No," I said. "This is a mistake."

"I'm sorry. You have one hour to collect your belongings."

"One hour? I have nowhere to go."

The man looked uncomfortable for a moment, but his expression soon hardened.

"Those are the instructions."

The two men moved through the rooms without speaking to me. One checked the list while the other folded clothes into a suitcase.

I followed them upstairs, trying to decide what I could not leave behind. A few dresses. My papers. A small box of things I had kept since childhood.

Then I reached for the framed photograph of Anya and me.

We were both smiling in it, our shoulders pressed together.

I stopped.

Slowly, I turned the frame face down and left it on the dresser. I could not carry that memory with me today.

The men brought my suitcases downstairs, and I stood by the window while they packed my life into two bags. I had chosen the curtains. I had arranged the furniture. I had spent evenings planning the home I thought I would share with Peter.

Now strangers were carrying it all away.

They set my bags on the porch and locked the door behind me.

On the cobblestone path, I could feel eyes on me. A few pack members passed and stared. Some looked away.

Others watched with the kind of curiosity that meant the story had already spread.

I pulled out my phone and searched my contacts.

Becca.

We hadn't spoken in almost a year. We had fallen out after Anya insulted her, and although I knew my sister was wrong, I had still taken Anya's side.

Becca had walked away.

I had let her.

Now I had no one else.

We had once been close enough to finish each other's sentences. Then, during one argument, Anya had insulted her, and I had defended my sister instead of the friend who had stood beside me for years. Becca had looked at me as if she no longer recognized me before she turned and left. I had told myself we would make up eventually.

We never had.

Now I stared at her name on my screen, ashamed to ask for help after being the one who let her go.

My thumb hovered over the call button. Becca might ignore me. She might answer only to tell me I had no right to call.

The thought hurt, but the street was growing busier, and I could not stand beside my suitcases forever.

I called.

The phone rang and rang. No answer.

I tried again. Still nothing.

Thunder rolled over the pack territory. Dark clouds gathered above the rooftops. Looking down at my suitcases, I fought back another wave of tears.

A car door shut behind me.

I turned.

Becca stood beside her car.

"I know I should probably leave you here," Becca said. "I was furious with you, remember? But I always knew your sister was trouble."

My lips trembled. "Becca..."

"Don't start crying. I'm not good at this."

But she stepped forward and hugged me.

I broke. Clutching her coat, I sobbed against her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I should have stood up for you. I should have believed you."

Becca rubbed my back. "You made a bad choice. That doesn't mean you deserve this."

I pulled away, grabbed one of the suitcases, and loaded it into the trunk.

"Come on," Becca said. "Before it rains."

I climbed into the passenger seat. Becca started the engine and drove away from the house.

For several minutes, neither of us spoke. Through the window, the streets slid past.

"How did you know something was wrong?" I finally asked.

Becca kept her eyes on the road. "I overheard Anya last night. I was leaving the club when I saw her outside. She was on the phone and didn't see me."

"What did she say?"

"She said everything was falling into place. She said you wouldn't see it coming."

My stomach tightened. "She planned all of it."

"I think so."

I looked down at my hands. "I defended her. I chose her over you, even when I knew she was wrong. I thought she was my family. I never thought she'd do this to me."

Becca's hands tightened on the steering wheel.

"At least you know the truth now."

I wiped my cheeks. "How could she be so heartless?"

"Because you kept making excuses for her," Becca said. "I'm not saying you deserved it. You didn't. But you kept giving her chances to hurt you."

My head dropped.

Becca was right, and that made it hurt more.

By the time we reached her house, the rain had started. Becca carried one suitcase inside, and I followed with the other.

The house was small, neat, and warm. It smelled of food and clean laundry.

Just inside the door, I stood frozen, unsure what to do.

My suitcase stayed near the wall, the clothes still folded inside. Unpacking in a home that wasn't mine felt wrong. Becca had told me to make myself comfortable, but all day, people who did not care where I wanted to go had moved me from one place to another.

I needed time before I could believe I was allowed to stay.

Becca brought me a glass of water and sat beside me without asking for an explanation. I took a few sips, then stared at the floor.

For a year, I had chosen Anya's side whenever the sisters fought, even when I knew Becca had a point. Becca could have turned me away and still been justified.

Instead, she had come the moment I called.

That kindness made me feel ashamed, but it also gave me a little room to breathe.

"Leave your bags there," Becca said. "We'll sort things out later."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. You're going to help me cook tomorrow."

A small, shaky laugh escaped me. It was the first time I had laughed all day.

Then my face fell again.

"I don't know what to do now."

Becca touched my shoulder. "You start again. One day at a time."

I nodded, though I wasn't sure I believed it. In a single day, I had lost my fiancé, my home, and my sister's love.

Still, Becca had opened her door.

For tonight, that would have to be enough.