Chapter 3

VALENTINA

The mansion stood like a fortress of glass and steel in the heart of New York City. I had barely stepped out of my cab when the front doors swung open.

"Valentina!"

Zuria, my best friend, came charging toward me. I dropped my bags as she threw her arms around me, pulling me into a hug that smelled like expensive perfume. It had been so long since she’d moved to the city to dominate the fashion industry, and seeing her thrive made my chest ache with a mix of pride and envy.

She dragged me inside, her heels clicking against the marble floors of an apartment so luxurious it felt like a movie set.

"You can stay as long as you want," Zuria said, her eyes flashing with protective fire. "I’m barely here anyway. I never thought Harold was that kind of coward, Valentina. And your stepmother? That bitch deserves a special place in hell for what she did."

"Please, Zuria," I whispered, holding up a hand. "I don’t want to talk about them. The game is tomorrow and I have zero plans. I don’t even think I want to go anymore."

"Of course you’re going," Zuria snapped, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "Because I will be there, too."

My eyes widened. "Wait, you're going?"

"Yes, I am. I already bought my tickets, and I got one for you, too. Front row, baby."

"Zuria, I think it’s a bad idea," I protested, thinking of my bruised face and my shattered heart. "I'm a mess."

"No, it is not a bad idea. It's a debut," Zuria said, grabbing my wrist and dragging me toward a closet that was larger than my entire bedroom back home. "Now come with me. You’re going to let the best fashion stylist in NYC dress you. But first we have a party to attend this night and you’re coming with me. 

Your look tonight needs to kill Valentina. You’re going to eat, you’re going to freshen up, and then we are going to make you forget him and tomorrow we will show Harold exactly what he threw away."

I looked at the rows of designer silk and leather. For three years, I had dressed in cheap clothes to sit in the cold stands for Harold. Tonight, the good girl was staying home.

Hours later, the grime of the car crash and the salt of my tears had been scrubbed away. Zuria worked like a woman possessed, her makeup brushes moving with the precision of a surgeon. She leaned in for the finishing touches, a swipe of dark, lethal red across my lips.

"Done," she whispered, stepping back. "Look at yourself, Valentina."

I stood up and faced the mirror. I didn't recognize the girl staring back.

I was poured into a midnight-black dress that hugged every curve of my body like a second skin. The neckline was dangerously low, pushing my breasts up and framing them in a way that felt both elegant and predatory. 

The dark fabric made my pale skin glow and turned my blonde hair into a halo of white light. I didn't look like a good girl anymore. I looked like a siren.

"My God," I breathed, touching the silk at my hip. "Is that really me?"

"That is a woman who is about to start a war," Zuria said, stepping beside me.

She looked just as incredible in a structured emerald green blazer dress with thigh-high gold boots. She looked like the CEO of a fashion empire, radiating the kind of confidence I had spent three years hiding in the shadows.

"You are about to get laid tonight, baby," Zuria teased, winking at me in the reflection. "I can practically hear the hearts breaking from here."

"No, no! I don’t want that, Zuria," I laughed, a genuine sound that felt foreign in my chest. "I’m here for revenge, not sex."

"Honey, sometimes the best revenge is a sex with a man who actually knows what to do with a woman like you," she insisted, grabbing her clutch. "And tonight, everyone is going to be looking at you. 

The night was freezing, but the heat inside the SUV was rising. Zuria leaned over, her eyes wild with excitement. "Tonight, Valentina, you aren’t the girl who cries. You drink, you dance, and you find someone to make you forget that coward ever existed. Have the time of your life, baby. No holding back."

When we stepped into The club, the bass hit me in the chest like a physical blow. The air smelled of drinks and pheromones. It was a sea of power, Alphas in tailored suits, Betas flanking them, and high-society wolves draped in silk.

I thought the staring was for Zuria’s fame, but it wasn't. All eyes were glued to me, to the way the black silk clung to my hips and the skin I was finally showing. 

We hit the dance floor, grinding against each other like lovers. I tried to dance the sorrow out of my bones, my body slick with sweat and the alcohol finally numbing the ache.

"I have to go talk to someone," Zuria whispered, her eyes dark as she spotted a handsome wolf at the bar. "Will you be okay? I might be… busy for a bit."

"Go," I laughed, the tequila making me brave. "I’m fine."

I stayed on the floor, dancing with a group of girls, letting the music consume me. But then, the crowd parted, and my heart stopped. Across the floor were the Vipers, Harold’s teammates. Jax, a massive Beta who knew me too well, locked eyes with me. His jaw dropped.

Panic flared. I wasn't ready for the humiliation of them seeing me like this, or worse, reporting back to Harold. I spun around and bolted, ducking through a velvet curtain toward the Executive VIP Wing. I could hear Jax calling my name, his heavy footsteps trailing behind me.

I shoved open the first heavy door I found and threw myself inside, gasping for air as the lock clicked.

The room was silent, bathed in dim amber light and the scent of black musk. It was a private lounge. 

"You're late," a low vibrating growl that made the hair on my arms stand up. I stayed frozen against the door, my heart hammering so hard I thought it would burst.

"I… I'm sorry," I whispered, my head spinning from the tequila.

"I don't pay for apologies, sweetheart. I pay for performance," the voice continued. "Get over here. Now."

I stumbled forward, my heels sinking into the thick carpet. As I moved into the amber light, my breath caught. Sitting on a leather sofa was a man who was shirtless, his massive chest and stomach covered in hard, rippling muscle and dark, intricate tattoos.

My stomach did a somersault. It was Horace.

The Ice Reaper. The Captain of the Ravagers Wolves and Harold’s most hated rival. He was undeniably beautiful in a way that felt dangerous, like a storm that could swallow you whole.

He thought I was the stripper he had ordered. 

"Step closer," he commanded.

I knew his reputation. Horace was ruthless. He didn't just win games, he broke people. If I didn't obey, he might throw me back out to the hallway where Harold's friends were waiting to humiliate me. I moved closer, my legs shaking until I was standing right in front of him.

Horace stood up. He was a giant, towering over me, radiating a heat that smelled like heavy black musk and raw power. For a split second, his eyes softened as they traced the curves of my body, but then they sharpened into a dark, disgusted frown.

He reached out, his hand blurring as his fingers caught my chin in a grip of iron. He forced my head back, his thumb pressing hard against my jaw.

"Who let this stupid blonde in here?" he spat, his voice dropping to a predatory crawl. "I told the agency no blondes. I don't like blondes. They’re a waste of my time."

"I… I didn’t… this was a mistake. I didn’t mean to," I stammered, my eyes welling with pure terror.

"A mistake?" He leaned down, his face inches from mine. His eyes scanned my face, and I saw the exact moment he recognized me. The air in the room vanished. "You aren't a stripper. 

He didn't let go. Instead, his grip tightened, his other hand sliding around my waist to pull me flush against his bare, burning skin. I could feel the thud of his heart against my chest.

But when he pulled me close, the drum of my heart wasn’t from fear. It was a traitorous, pounding need. I didn’t want him to let go. I wanted to get laid, fucked into oblivion, until the memory of Harold and that video was scrubbed raw from my brain. 

But this man, all sharp angles and darker intent wasn't the right choice. He’d said it himself, sneering at me that he can’t stand blondes.

And I was very, very blonde.

The courage that hit me was liquid and warm, fueled by the drinks swirling in my veins. I tilted my head back, meeting his gaze. “Can I go now? Since you don’t like blondes.” My voice was a challenge, but my hand on his arm was a plea, my soft palm pressing against the hard muscle beneath his sleeve, holding on as much as pushing away.

He didn’t release me. His grip tightened, a possessive band of heat around my waist. “No,” he murmured, the word a low rumble against my temple. “I don’t like blondes.” He leaned in, his nose dragging a slow, deliberate path down the column of my neck. “But you… you smell soooo…”

It was primal. Like a predator inhaling its claim. His nose was cold against my skin, sniffing me raw, and a thought flashed, “is he okay in the head? His breath was hot, filled with whiskey, and it should have repelled me. Instead, a bolt of pure, slick desire shot straight to my core. gods. I was instantly wet, aching, my thin panties soaked through.

I wanted his alcohol-bitter mouth on mine. I wanted those strong, rough hands to tear my dress. I wanted him to fuck me hard and raw against this wall, to split me open. But beneath the hunger, a needle of purpose remained, “Find Zuria.”

“Ohh, please,” I breathed, the protest a weak pant. “Can I go now?”

He didn’t let go. His head lifted, and his eyes softened, just a bit. “Youuuu…” he started, then stopped, as if the word was too much. Instead, his thumb came up, calloused pad tracing the bow of my upper lip, then the fuller curve of the lower. A shiver wracked me. 

He pressed gently, and my lips parted on a gasp. He slid the tip of his thumb inside, and I sucked on it instinctively, tasting it.

His gaze held mine captive. “I’ll let you go,” he said, his voice wrapped in velvet. “Only if you want.” He withdrew his thumb, leaving my lips tingling. “Do you?”

My mind screamed protocols, safety, Zuria. My body was a lit fuse. My inner wolf he’d somehow unleashed was done waiting, done thinking, soaked and horny and ravenous. The word left me before I could cage it.

“No.”

His eyebrow arched, a silent question.

I licked my lips, tasting him there. I leaned forward, until my mouth was a breath from his ear. “No, I don’t want to go.” I pulled back, letting him see the raw want I’d kept buried. “I said, I want you to fuck me.”