Abby I’m still standing, frozen, just inside the threshold of the kitchen. The air is silent as John and Anton suddenly halt their cooking, their eyes meeting each other for a moment before they slide over to me. “Abby?” John’s voice is somewhat incredulous, seeing as how I haven’t set foot in h
Abby Five years ago. It was the day before the annual Alpha party. I was standing in front of the mirror on a little platform while the seamstress worked her magic. My dress hugged my body perfectly in all the right places, an elegant black with flutter sleeves and a hem that trailed down to my
Before I know it, I’m inside, the bell above the door announcing my entrance. “I’ll take it,” I’m telling the saleswoman, and it’s as if my body is moving of its own accord. The price pops up on the screen, my card swipes, and my fingers tremble slightly as I walk out of the shop with the bag in m
Karl The silence in the mansion is a stark contrast to the hum of the restaurant. I’m sitting at my desk amidst paperwork, meetings, and preparations for tomorrow’s luncheon. The pack is buzzing with excitement; their Alpha is looking for a date, potentially even a new Luna. It’s the talk of the t
No matter what tomorrow brings, no matter who I meet, they won’t be Abby. They won’t be my Luna. And as the night stretches on, I can't shake the feeling that no one ever will be. No one except for her. … The meeting room is lined with stern faces, pack businesspeople and advisors all waiting
Abby The sun is barely up when I begin to stir, but I can’t sleep any longer. Today is the day. My second chance. My redemption. I stretch, feeling a blend of excitement and nerves course through my body. My second chance with the judges, a redemption—or another fail, depending on how things go.
Abby My hand trembles slightly as I dial Mr. Thompson’s number, each ring sounding like a warning siren against my ear. The kitchen is still flooded, and the chaos is like a perfect mirror image of my inner turmoil right now. “Mr. Thomson,” I breath, my voice shaking, as the line clicks to life.
Abby “Shit!” I call out, tossing the soggy spinach into the trash. “Wet. All of it.” My ingredients got wet from the mini-flood—almost all of them, at least. I’ll have to buy new ingredients, and in this city, driving is slower than walking. Before Anton or John can utter a word, I’m already bol