Lahat ng Kabanata ng Tethered To Fate : Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

Chapter 1: Stale Cookies and Worse Memories (Nayla’s POV — First Person) I was halfway through my second box of oatmeal cookies when Kayla flung open the living room curtains like she was staging an intervention. “Get up,” she said, hands on her hips like some tiny, furious general. I grunted from the couch, pulling the blanket higher over my head. “Go away.” “No.” She marched across the room and snatched the cookie box out of my hands. “You’re one emotional binge away from starring in a My 600-lb Life: Werewolf Edition special. I’m saving you from yourself.” I groaned and buried my face in a pillow. It had been three weeks. Three weeks since Nikolai had marked Alara as his Luna. Three weeks since I stood in front of the entire pack, pretending my heart wasn’t being carved out of my chest with a rusted spoon. Three weeks of oatmeal cookies, daytime TV, and ignoring the way my wolf sulked in the back of my mind like a wounded animal. “You need fresh air,” Kayla said, yanking

Chapter 3: Rescue and the Scent of Trouble(Nayla’s POV — First Person)I ordered another drink.Probably a mistake, judging by the way the room tilted slightly when I turned back to lean against the bar.The music was louder now, the lights harsher, and the edges of the world felt fuzzier than I liked.But the numbness was good.Safe.It smothered the ache still living under my ribs.I was halfway through my drink when a guy slid onto the empty stool beside me—smelling like cheap cologne and even cheaper ambition.“Hey, gorgeous,” he slurred, flashing a grin that probably worked better when he wasn’t three shots past charming. “What’s a girl like you doing here all alone?”I didn’t answer.Didn’t even look at him.Sometimes ignoring them worked.Sometimes it didn’t.He leaned in closer, the heavy scent of beer rolling off him. “You don’t have to be shy, baby. I don’t bite. Unless you’re into that.”I shifted slightly away, my wolf snapping her teeth in the back of my mind, but my bod

Chapter 5: Ashes in My Mouth(Nayla’s POV — First Person)I woke up with my mouth feeling like it had been stuffed with sandpaper and regret.The ceiling above me wasn’t mine—it was Kayla’s, painted a soft blue with tiny cracks spidering toward the corners.I groaned, rolling onto my side, clutching my pounding head.How the hell had I gotten this drunk?Werewolves weren’t supposed to get hangovers.Our metabolism usually burned through liquor like paper in a bonfire.It would take a fifth of whiskey just to get a decent buzz.But apparently grief…grief made everything hit harder.I sat up slowly, clutching the blanket around me.Every bone in my body ached.My stomach rolled.I needed water.A shower.Maybe an exorcism.Kayla’s guest room was a mess—clothes thrown everywhere, a half-eaten slice of pizza on the nightstand, an empty water bottle lying sideways on the floor.My dress—the red silk she made me wear—was hanging off the bedpost like a warning flag.I groaned again and stum

Chapter 7: Names That Echo (Nayla’s POV — First Person) I scrambled back a step, almost tripping again on my broken heel. Heat flooded my cheeks. “I’m sorry,” I blurted, eyes glued to the floor. God, I couldn’t even look at him. Not when I could still feel the strength of his hands steadying me. Not when his scent was wrapping around me like smoke. “I’m so sorry,” I said again, clutching my broken shoe like it might shield me from further humiliation. He didn’t say anything right away. The elevator hummed softly around us, the tension thick enough to choke on. I forced myself to glance up through my lashes. He was watching me. Not with amusement. Not with annoyance. Just… watching. Like I was something he couldn’t quite figure out. I swallowed hard and looked away again, pressing myself against the opposite side of the elevator, wishing I could melt into the wall. “Bad day?” he asked finally, his voice low and rough, but somehow gentle. I nodded, mortified. “Could

Chapter 9: Eyes Dont Lie (Dominic’s POV — First Person) The meeting was wrapping up. Another alpha. Another negotiation. More land disputes and pack alliances whispered behind glasses of whiskey and fake smiles. I stood to leave, adjusting the cuffs of my jacket, when it hit me. Her. Lavender and salt. Stronger than a memory. Sharper than the smoke curling through the room. I stiffened, scanning the crowded bar. Sloan caught the shift immediately. He raised an eyebrow. “Problem?” I didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. He followed my gaze to the far end of the room—where a cluster of women sat near the bar, laughing over drinks. And there she was. Nayla. Wearing tight black jeans and a deep green top that made her skin glow like honey under the dim lights. Her hair—dark, thick, layered—tumbled in messy waves around her shoulders. Her eyes—those storm-gray eyes—flashed when she laughed at something one of the girls said. She didn’t see me. Didn’t know I was watching. My