Violet CLAW
Talia was on her knees by the door, clutching the internal comms phone, her face a mask of performative grief.
"Mrs. Mercer, please," Talia wailed into the receiver. "Blake and I are mated, and I’m carrying his heir. But Ivy won't let go. She keeps cornering him, trying to lure him back. I had to come to you..."
Inside the glass, I saw my mother, Elaine. Her hands were shaking so hard she could barely hold the phone. Her eyes were rimmed with red. After the fire and the fall of the Mercer pack, her mind was a fragile thing. The doctors had warned me: no shocks.
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