Chapter 3: The Ghost of the Devil’s Drop

The sensation of falling is something you never truly forget. The way the air screams past your ears, the weightlessness in your stomach, and the absolute, terrifying certainty that you are about to die. When I hit the black water of the Atlantic, it didn't feel like liquid. It felt like concrete.

The cold was an physical assault, instantly numbing my limbs and stealing the air from my lungs. But as the darkness tried to pull me under, a tiny, defiant spark of heat flared in my womb. The baby. That one thought was a jolt of electricity to my heart. I wasn't just Elara anymore; I was a mother. I fought the current, clawing my way toward the jagged rocks of a hidden cove, my fingers raw and bleeding as I dragged myself onto the sand.

Above me, on the cliff, I heard a roar. It was Silas. His howl was filled with a grief that sounded so real, so gut-wrenching, that for a second, I almost believed he cared. But I knew better now. He didn't mourn me; he mourned the placeholder he had lost control over.

I watched through the freezing mist as a silver sedan—the car he’d given me for my birthday—tumbled over the edge, sent down by Genevieve’s men to act as my coffin. It hit a ledge, exploding into a ball of orange fire that illuminated the night.

"Goodbye, Silas," I whispered, my voice lost in the crashing waves. "The woman you knew died tonight."

Five Years Later

New York City looked different when you owned a piece of it.

I stood in my penthouse office on the 80th floor of the Vance International building, the floor-to-ceiling glass offering a view of a world that was finally beneath my feet. I wasn't wearing emerald silk tonight. I was wearing a white power suit, tailored to perfection, with a pair of four-inch Louboutins that sounded like a countdown on the marble floor.

"Mommy, Leo is being a CEO again," a small, melodic voice chirped behind me.

I turned, my Ice Queen mask melting instantly. Luna was sitting on the velvet sofa, her violet eyes—the ones I had to hide with specialized drops whenever we went out—sparkling with mischief. She was holding a holographic tablet, her silver-blonde hair braided into neat crowns.

"I am not," Leo countered, his voice sounding entirely too deep for a five-year-old. He was sitting at my mahogany desk, his small face scrunched in concentration as he scrolled through a list of stock fluctuations. He looked so much like Silas it was a daily ache in my chest—the same slate-gray eyes, the same stubborn jaw, the same air of natural authority. "I’m just checking the Northern Territory’s quarterly losses. They’re down another twelve percent."

"Leo, you’re five. You should be checking the cartoon schedule," I said, walking over and ruffling his dark curls.

He looked up at me, and for a second, I saw a flash of the Alpha King he was destined to be. "I want to be ready, Mom. You said we’re going back. I need to know the enemy’s weaknesses."

The enemy. My heart tightened. I had raised them to be strong, to be brilliant, and to know that they were their own pack. But I had also raised them with the truth: their father was the man who didn't want them.

"We are going back," I confirmed, my voice hardening. "But we aren't going as beggars. We’re going as the solution."

A knock at the door signaled my assistant, Sarah. She walked in, clutching a tablet to her chest, her face pale.

"Ma'am, the dossier on Vane Enterprises is complete. It’s worse than the rumors suggested. Since Silas Vane married Genevieve St. Cloud, the pack's assets have been bled dry. There are reports of embezzlement from the St. Cloud family, and the board of directors is in a state of panic. They’ve sent out a formal plea for an emergency investment."

I took the tablet, scrolling through the numbers. Silas was a warrior, a king, but he was losing his empire to the woman he thought was his destiny. It was poetic justice.

"They don't know who owns Vance International?" I asked.

"No, Ma'am. To them, you’re just a nameless venture capitalist from the city. They’ve invited you to the Northern Territory for a buyout negotiation. They’re desperate."

"Desperate people make for the best deals," I murmured.

I looked at my reflection in the glass. My hair was longer now, a sleek platinum blade, and my gaze was colder. I reached into my desk drawer and pulled out the small, silver scent-masker. To the world, I would smell like nothing. Not an omega, not a wolf, just a woman with a checkbook.

"Book the private jet," I told Sarah. "And send a message to the Vane Board. Tell them CEO Vance accepts their invitation. But make it clear: I don't negotiate with Betas. If they want my money, I want the King at the table."

"Are we going to the big woods, Mommy?" Luna asked, her eyes widening. "The place with the big dogs?"

"Yes, sweetheart," I said, kneeling down to look her in the eye. "But remember the rules. Scent-blockers on. No shifting. And if you see a man with eyes like Leo’s..."

"Don't talk to him," Leo finished, his small hand balling into a fist. "Because he’s the one who threw us away."

The drive to the airport was a blur of neon lights and cold determination. As I boarded the jet, I felt the ancient pull of the North, a tether I had tried to cut five years ago. Silas Vane thought I was a placeholder—a temporary fix for a permanent throne.

He thought he had watched me burn.

He was about to realize that you can't burn the woman who was born from the fire. I was coming back for my land, my dignity, and the crown he never realized I was already wearing. The Vane Pack was about to learn that the "weak omega" was gone.

In her place was a Queen who didn't just want an apology. She wanted an empire.

As the jet engines roared to life, I leaned back and closed my eyes. The hunt was finally beginning. And this time, I wasn't the prey.