C5

Elowen Hartwell grips the thin leather strap of her worn shoulder bag, stepping out of the billing office of the Sterling Crown Medical Center. The heavy scent of silver-infused antiseptic and commercial floor wash stings her sensitive nostrils, making her wolf whimper in discomfort beneath her skin. She slips the official payment receipt into her inner pocket, her dark fingers still cold from the icy wind outside.

She scans the wide, marble-tiled lobby, hoping to spot Doctor Wallace Pembroke to thank him for holding the medical ward's isolation unit, but the high-ranking beta physician is nowhere in sight.

Elowen adjusts the surgical mask covering her mouth and nose. Being the only unbonded Omega in a pack facility dominated by territorial betas and volatile alphas makes every breath dangerous. If her natural scent slipped past her disguise, the whole floor would lock down. She moves quietly toward the heavy metallic elevators, her head held low.

When she was sitting in the pack transport cab earlier, exhaustion had pulled her into a fitful sleep. Her mind had replayed every agonizing, scorching second spent beneath Calloway Sterling in the executive suite. The absolute weight of his muscular frame, the territorial heat radiating off his dark skin, and the terrifying power of his alpha knot pinning her to the silk sheets still made her skin flush beneath her coat. She had woken up with her heart hammering against her ribs, completely terrified, only relieved when the driver pulled up to the central financial terminal where she deposited five thousand pack credits into her private account, keeping the rest for her mother's immediate care.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime. Elowen steps inside, leaning her back against the cool steel wall as the lift ascends to the high-acuity terminal ward.

She steps out onto the quiet floor, her heart sinking slightly as the muffled sounds of medical monitors echo through the corridor. She walks down the hallway, reaching the glass door of the private room. She grips the brass handle, pushing it open quietly.

Inside, a pack nurse is carefully swapping out an intravenous line attached to the bedside stand. On the narrow bed lies Evelina Hartwell, her dark skin pale and hollowed by years of forced wolf suppression.

"Elowen..." Evelina whispers, her tired brown eyes fluttering open. She shifts slowly, struggling to sit up against the white pillows. "You returned..."

Elowen forces a warm, radiant smile onto her face, stepping quickly to the bedside. "Mom." She leans down, pressing a soft kiss against her mother's temple. Evelina's skin feels unnaturally cold, devoid of the baseline heat a healthy wolf should radiate. "How are you feeling? Are you hungry? Did the ward staff bring you warm broth?"

"The beta nurses brought a tray an hour ago. I ate enough," Evelina says softly, reaching out with a trembling hand to take Elowen's fingers, wrapping them in her frail grip. "Did Benedict keep you at the Hartwell Estate all night? It was freezing outside. Your hands are like ice."

Elowen’s throat tightens, but she keeps her smile fixed. "I am perfectly fine, Mom. The weather is just rough."

Evelina’s gaze shifts upward, catching sight of the bright synthetic strands peeking out from beneath Elowen's dark hood. Her faint eyebrows draw together in confusion. "Your hair... Elowen, what is that?"

Elowen freezes for a fraction of a second. She pushes the hood back slightly, running her fingers over the sleek blonde wig she had been forced to wear to mimic her twin sister.

"Oh... this," Elowen lies smoothly, her voice light. "It was Marlowe's idea. When I went to the main house to discuss the family account with Benedict, Marlowe was having her hair styled for the pack alliance. She insisted I try on one of her imported human wigs. Does it look strange on me?"

Evelina shakes her head gently, a touch of sadness softening her features. "No... it looks beautiful. For a moment, you looked so much like Marlowe. I am just... glad to hear you two spoke without fighting."

"We handled it," Elowen says, carefully guarding her eyes. "We are blood sisters, after all."

Evelina sighs, her gaze drifting toward the small window overlooking the snow-covered grounds of Sterling City. "Did she... did Marlowe mention anything about coming to see me?"

The raw hope in her mother's voice nearly shatters Elowen's composure. She knows Marlowe despises their mother, viewing Evelina as an embarrassment to the family's social standing.

"She did," Elowen lies again, squeezing her mother's cold hand. "Marlowe said her schedule with the Lagos Holdings trade committee is completely packed today, but she will come down to the ward the moment her meetings wrap up."

The faint spark in Evelina’s eyes dims slightly. She is no fool; she knows Marlowe rejected her biological mother the moment Benedict brought her into the main pack house under Cordelia Ashbourne’s care. Yet, the old Omega mother clings to the desperate wish of seeing her eldest twin one last time.

"Don't lie to make me feel better, my sweet girl," Evelina murmurs quietly. She shifts her weight, pulling Elowen closer until Elowen rests her head gently against her mother's shoulder. "Listen to me, Elowen. You must promise me something. Do not go back to the Hartwell Estate to ask Benedict for any more help. Cordelia Ashbourne looks at you with pure venom. If she realizes Benedict is giving you access to family resources, she will make your life a living hell. My wolf is already fading. There is no reason to degrade yourself for a dying body."

"Mom, stop," Elowen cuts in sharply, lifting her head to look into her mother's eyes. "Do not say that. The medical bills are fully cleared for the next three months. I secured the funds, and the treatment will work. You are going to recover."

Evelina smiles weakly, resting her hand over Elowen's dark cheek. "You carry too much weight on your shoulders, Elowen. You are an Omega in a world built for ruthless Alphas. You need to protect yourself."

"Benedict gave me his word that I can access the secondary account whenever we need it," Elowen adds, stacking lie upon lie to keep the peace in her mother's heart. "He knows his duty to us."

The following afternoon, Elowen walks down to the lower level of the medical facility toward the cafeteria to grab a warm drink. As she steps near the seating lounge, a loud commotion draws her attention toward a large wall-mounted monitor broadcasting the Sterling City local pack news.

A group of hospital workers and beta nurses are gathered around the screen, talking loudly.

"Look at him!" a beta nurse named Martha exclaims, pointing at the display. "High Alpha Sterling looks absolute ruthless today! And Marlowe Hartwell is practically glued to his arm!"

Elowen stops dead in her tracks, her breath catching in her throat. She steps closer to the crowd, her amber eyes wide as she stares at the live broadcast.

Standing on a raised podium inside the executive briefing room of Lagos Holdings are Calloway Sterling and Marlowe Hartwell. Calloway looks towering and dominant in a dark tailored suit, his broad shoulders easily commanding the entire room. He wears his signature clear-lens glasses over his sharp eyes, radiating an aura of calm, unyielding authority. Beside him stands Marlowe, wearing a striking crimson silk dress, smiling radiantly for the flashing cameras while holding onto his massive arm.

A swarm of territory reporters press forward, thrusting microphones toward the stage.

"High Alpha Sterling!" a senior reporter calls out over the noise. "The Hartwell Family has officially submitted the territorial alliance papers! Are you confirming your formal mate engagement to Marlowe Hartwell today?"

The entire room goes silent as Calloway steps up to the microphone. Marlowe bites her lip nervously, casting a quick, possessive glance up at the massive alpha beside her.

Calloway’s expression remains cold, distant, and utterly unreadable. Slowly, he reaches out, taking Marlowe's hand in his large grip.

"The Sterling Family hereby confirms the territorial merge with Lagos Holdings," Calloway announces, his deep voice carrying through the television speakers with clear alpha authority. "My mate engagement to Benedict Hartwell's daughter, Marlowe, is officially established."

The room explodes into a frenzy of camera flashes. Marlowe covers her face in dramatic shock, burying her head against Calloway's chest as if overcome with emotion.

Elowen stands frozen near the cafeteria entrance, her stomach churning violently. You fake bitch, Elowen thinks bitterly, her nails digging into her palms. If I hadn't surrendered my body to his knot in that bed last night, he would have thrown your contract into the trash.

A news banner flashes across the bottom of the screen in bold letters:

TERRITORIAL ALLIANCE FINALIZED: HIGH ALPHA CALLOWAY STERLING TO MATE MARLOWE HARTWELL.

"They are the absolute peak of the Metropolitan hierarchy!" Martha swoons, clapping her hands together. "Calloway Sterling is the most lethal alpha in the state, and Marlowe is stunning. They were made for each other!"

Elowen turns away from the screen, her heart heavy as iron, and walks back toward the elevators.

Inside the top-floor executive suite of Lagos Holdings, Calloway Sterling sits behind his massive mahogany desk, reviewing the final territorial distribution files. Standing beside the leather couch is Marlowe, still hovering near him, her high heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor.

"Did you sleep well after I brought you back to the estate, Marlowe?" Calloway asks, his voice smooth and controlled as he signs a document without looking up.

Marlowe smiles coyly, stepping closer to his desk and leaning over the polished wood. "I slept wonderfully, Calloway darling. Knowing that our engagement is public now makes everything feel like a dream. I've loved you since I was a young girl."

Calloway sets his pen down. He slowly reaches up, taking off his clear-lens glasses. He folds them closed, one temple at a time, and sets them beside his terminal. His dark blue eyes lock onto Marlowe's face with intense scrutiny.

A sudden, intense ache throbs in his lower back and thighs—a lingering physical reaction from the raw, aggressive mating heat he had unleashed the night before. Just thinking about the tight, slick heat of the female he had pinned to the mattress makes his blood surge with possessive desire.

He rises from his chair, his tall, muscular frame towering over her as he walks around the desk. He reaches out, his large fingers lightly tracing the side of her neck.

Marlowe flushes, lifting her chin to invite his touch. "Calloway... what is it?"

Calloway leans down, burying his face near her collarbone, taking a deep, deliberate breath to inhale her natural scent. His brows instantly knit together in sharp confusion. The rich, intoxicating aroma of wild vanilla and ripe strawberries that had driven his wolf wild all night is completely gone. In its place is the heavy, artificial scent of expensive commercial perfume.

He pulls back slightly, staring down at her. "What perfume are you wearing?"

Marlowe blinks, startled by his cold tone. "Oh... it's an imported fragrance from the Western territory. Do you not like it?"

Calloway does not answer. He uses his thumb to brush her dark hair away from her neck, inspecting the smooth, dark skin along her jawline and nape. His eyes narrow dangerously.

There is nothing there.

During their intense encounter in the dark, his teeth had repeatedly grazed a distinct, raised mark on the left side of her neck—a small, crescent-shaped birthmark that he had licked and bitten while driving his knot into her. But Marlowe’s neck is completely clear, smooth, and unmarked.

"Where is your birthmark, Marlowe?" Calloway demands, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low rumble.

Marlowe’s face pales slightly, but she quickly lets out a soft, nervous laugh. "Birthmark? Calloway, I don't have any marks on my body. My father would never allow his heir to have imperfections or tattoos."

Calloway stares at her, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitches in his cheek. He steps back, pulling his hand away from her skin as if she had burned him.

"Calloway, darling? What's wrong?" Marlowe asks, stepping toward him with her arms outstretched to wrap around his waist. "If you don't like the perfume, I will wash it off immediately!"

"It's late, Marlowe," Calloway says coldly, turning his back on her and stepping toward the floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooking Sterling City. "Harrison will have the driver take you back to the Hartwell Estate."

Marlowe's smile vanishes, replaced by a flash of deep frustration. "Are you not coming with me? We are supposed to celebrate with my father tonight!"

"I have Lagos Holdings trade documents to clear," Calloway replies, his voice devoid of any warmth. "Go home."

Marlowe stamps her heel in irritation, but knowing better than to push a dominant alpha when his aura sharpens, she snaps her bag shut and struts out of the suite, slamming the heavy door behind her.

Calloway stands alone in the silent office. He pulls a black cigarette from his silver case, lighting it with a snap of his flame. He takes a long, deep drag, letting the bitter smoke fill his lungs before exhaling a grey cloud against the cold glass window.

His mind is racing. The scent was wrong. The skin was wrong. The body he held in his arms last night had trembled with a raw, desperate Omega vulnerability that this arrogant female standing in front of him did not possess.

A sharp knock echoes at the office door.

"Enter," Calloway commands growlingly.

Harrison Beckett steps into the room, holding a leather folder under his arm. "High Alpha. Miss Hartwell has departed with the security detail. Also, the schedule for tomorrow morning is finalized."

Calloway doesn't turn around. "Move the ten AM meeting to a location near the medical district."

Harrison pauses, checking his tablet. "Sir, Malcolm Hartwell requested we meet at the Sterling Crown Medical Center. His contact, Doctor Wallace Pembroke, is holding the secondary security files there and cannot leave the floor."

Calloway takes another drag of his cigarette, his blue eyes tracking the falling snow outside the window. "Fine. Prepare the convoy for the medical center at nine AM."