I snap out of my thoughts and focus on the present. Zalie’s excited voice echoes off the shimmering walls as Ivanna spins in the middle of the living room, her arms stretched wide to soak in the grandeur of the space. Sunlight filters through the sleek walls—glass or silver, I still can’t tell—spilling light across the polished floors and bathing the massive windows that overlook the sea. “My sugar daddies were very useful,” I say with a shrug, throwing a quick glance at Lyla, whose mischievous grin spreads wider. “You actually listened to our idea!” Lyla says, practically bouncing where she stands. I chuckle, shaking my head. “Well, you did make a convincing argument.” “This place is insane!” Ivanna exclaims, whirling around again. Her gaze shifts to the driveway, where a collection of gleaming, custom-built cars sits in neat rows, each one polished to perfection. “Are those your cars?” “Yep,” I reply nonchalantly, leaning back against the sofa. “All four of them. Custom-bu
“So,” Lyla begins, her voice quiet but probing, “how was your treatment?”The question lingers, wrapping around me like a heavy blanket. I shift my gaze to the ceiling, the soft coral-purple light reflecting faintly from the walls. Memories I’ve tried to bury stir, threatening to rise.“Partially lonely,” I begin, my voice distant. “Terrifying. And… eye-opening.”Lyla props herself up on an elbow, her expression thoughtful. “Why?”I sigh, the words bubbling up despite the ache they bring. “Lonely because the monks weren’t exactly friendly. They only interacted with me when they had to teach or check on my progress. They weren’t cruel, but they weren’t companions either. I had two friends there, but one left a few months after I arrived. That left me… isolated.”The room seems to hold its breath, the quiet hum of the sea breeze filtering in through the slightly cracked window.“And terrifying,” I continue, my voice wavering. “Because their methods were intense, and the fear of dying ne
Lynette’s POVThe next day, we find ourselves at the shopping mall, an air of excitement swirling around us like the scent of new leather and expensive perfume. Hats and oversized sunglasses shield our identities, though they don’t hide the fact that we’re clearly not ordinary shoppers.Store after store, we roam like kids on a treasure hunt, trying on outfits, giggling over ridiculous accessories, and debating over which shade of lipstick makes the best statement. Normally, I don’t fuss over my looks—being a public figure has trained me to dress well but not obsess. Today, though, I feel a need to be different.I’m buying clothes—sexy, eye-catching ones. For him.It’s stupid, I know. Hell, I can call myself pathetic if I want to, but it doesn’t change the truth. Zalie says it’s normal, that she felt the same when she met her boyfriend. But for me, it’s strange and unnerving. I’ve never dressed to impress anyone before, let alone someone who shouldn’t even be on my mind.The worst par
“Zalie, what is it?” I ask, suddenly alert.She blinks, snapping out of her trance and smiling nervously. “Nothing. Just felt like someone was watching me.”“Do you want to leave?” I offer, glancing around for anything suspicious.She shakes her head quickly, brushing it off. “No, no. Don’t worry about it.” Her voice is chipper again, and the momentary tension dissolves. “Anyway, as I was saying…”I sit back, waiting for the rest of her story.“I agreed to the private dance,” she continues, smirking. “I figured it would add to the authenticity of my acting. So, I danced. I gave them my best moves, and girl, let me tell you—I was ‘on fire’. But then, of course, they took it too far. They asked for sex. In public.”I wrinkle my nose. “Men are goats.”“Exactly! I mean, I know people do it, but I’m not one of them. Shame isn’t just a word, it’s a lifestyle, and those men clearly don’t have it. Anyway…” She pauses again, her gaze darting around the café once more, as if she senses somethin
The meeting with the producer goes better than I expect, though it’s not perfect. He doesn’t hand me a lead role—how could he? I’ve been gone for so long, and my reappearance is sudden. But luck seems to favor me, if only a little. One of the main actresses, though not the lead, has fallen critically ill, and they need a replacement. That’s where I come in.He hands me the script, his tone brisk yet encouraging. “We’ve already started shooting,” he says. “We’ll need you ready. We’ll have to reshoot her scenes, but thankfully, it’s early in production, and nothing’s been revealed to the public yet.”I nod, smiling as confidently as I can, though inside, I’m a bundle of nerves.---Now, hours later, I’m back in my room, fresh from a shower and sprawled across my bed. The script sits on the bedside table, untouched, as my thoughts spiral into a familiar storm—him. It’s like every thought, every breath, finds its way back to him.I don’t just want him—I need him. My body, my heart, even m
I scroll through my contacts until I find Evan’s number. My brother’s son. He always has a way of making me smile. The phone barely finishes dialing before he picks up.“Aunty Lynette!” Evan’s excited voice bursts through the line, his energy infectious even over the phone.I smile despite myself. “Were you—”“Yes!” he interrupts, practically yelling. “Mom is pregnant, Aunty! I’m going to be a big brother!”“Aww, really?” I coo, my heart softening. “That’s so sweet! Is she there? I need to congratulate—”“Mom! I told Aunty the news, and she wants to talk to you!” he shouts, his voice muffled slightly as I hear the rapid slap of his feet against the floor. Moments later, there’s a shuffling sound as he hands the phone over.“Good evening, Lynette,” Daniella says, her voice warm but weary. “How was your day?”“Stressful,” I admit, exhaling heavily as I glance at the wall clock. “But congratulations on the pregnancy.”There’s a pause on the other end before she responds, her tone hesitan
Kassian’s POVThe text from Lynette lingers in my mind like a stubborn echo, bouncing off the edges of my thoughts.“Good morning, Cherry Cake. Hope you slept well. Just texting to make sure you aren’t dead. Call me back when you see this.”Her words play on a loop, distracting me from the task at hand. I sit at the head of the long, polished conference table, papers spread out before me, but they might as well be blank. A presentation unfolds on the wall behind the nervous presenter, but I’ve caught none of it.I’m supposed to be focused. I’m supposed to be in control. Yet, the sound of her voice lingers in my mind, soft and teasing, as though she’s right beside me.It’s maddening.No, she’s maddening.I haven’t replied. Of course, I haven’t. I’ve ignored every message, every call since the night we spoke. I tell myself it’s better this way, but every time her name lights up my screen, it sets something off in me. Something raw and restless.She’s driving my wolf insane, and Fenrir,
The conference room feels stifling. The hum of the air conditioning isn’t enough to cool the tension prickling at my skin. The faint scent of varnished wood mingles with the sharp tang of coffee, abandoned in cups scattered across the table. The room is dimly lit, save for the harsh glow of the screen in front of me, which vibrates insistently in my hand.My grip tightens around the phone, its edges digging into my palm. The phone buzzes again, the sound sharp and grating against the silence. My breath feels too loud, my heartbeat heavier than it should be. Fenrir stirs, no longer sulking in the background of my thoughts. His excitement is a pulse, a rhythm hammering at my control.‘Answer it! Please, please, please!’ he pleads, his tail wagging in my mind’s eye. The usually ferocious wolf, now acts like a pup eager to play.My thumb hovers over the screen. A video call.The thought makes my stomach twist in knots. I can barely handle her voice without feeling my composure crack. Seei
I press the doorbell again, my thumb jamming down harder each time, the repetitive chime echoing in the still night air. I know she hears me. She has to. My persistence is a reminder that I’m still here, standing on her porch like a fool. At first, I think she’ll keep ignoring me, just as she has for the past hour. But then—faintly, almost too faintly to trust—my ears pick up the soft sound of her footsteps.My heart slams against my chest like a drumbeat, and a hopeful bliss surges through me, lighting up my senses like fireworks. Her scent grows stronger as she nears the door, flooding out from the small crack beneath it. It’s intoxicating—floral and sweet, like spring itself wrapped around my lungs. But with the hope comes a rush of anxiety that tightens its grip around my chest.What if she’s coming out just to slam the door in my face?What if she says something cruel?What if she despises me?The questions spiral uncontrollably, and my mind races to keep up with the dread clawin
Kassian’s POVThe night sky stretches above me, a dark canvas speckled with faint stars. The crescent moon hangs weakly, its pale glow almost drowned by the vivid lights illuminating the mansion’s exterior. Strings of soft white, yellow, gold, pink, and lilac lights cast a dreamy haze over the grand facade, their glow reflecting off the neatly manicured garden below. The air hums with the constant chatter of crickets, their rhythmic song mingling with the occasional rustle of leaves as a gentle breeze passes through. The breeze carries a medley of floral scents, sweet and calming, from the meticulously arranged flowerbeds dotting the compound.But none of it compares to her.Lynette’s scent cuts through everything, rich and unmistakable. It’s as if she’s the embodiment of nature itself, her fragrance a symphony of fresh blooms and sunlit meadows. Sweet yet sharp, soothing yet overwhelming. It pulls me in like a tide, drowning out the world around me. Even here, standing on her porch,
“Oh, you little—!” I choke on my own breath, breaking into laughter so hard my sides ache. “It’s not like that! We’re not there yet!” I protest between gasps, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.Ivanna just smirks knowingly, folding her arms as she leans back. She doesn’t need to say anything—her smug expression says it all. She knows exactly what’s going on, and she’s been waiting for the perfect moment to throw me off balance.Zalie collapses onto her bed, clutching her stomach as she laughs harder, and I can’t help but join her, the weight of my embarrassment dissolving into the infectious joy of the moment.“It’s really not like that,” I say softly, my voice tinged with shyness.“Mm-hm,” they chime in unison, their teasing smirks lighting up their faces. The room feels alive with their playful energy, a sharp contrast to the soft, cozy warmth that lingers from the blankets and faint jasmine and gardenia scent of fabric softener. I roll my eyes dramatically, stretching my ar
Lynette’s POVI tap the bottom of my pen against my chin, the faint plastic click echoing in the stillness of my room. My legs sway lazily in the air, brushing against the soft, cool fabric of my sheets as I lie on my stomach. The warm glow of the bedside lamp casts a golden hue over the crumpled papers scattered haphazardly across my bed—lyric drafts and scribbles abandoned in creative frustration. On my laptop screen, Zalie mirrors my position, sprawled across her bed with a mischievous smile, her butterscotch hair spilling like ink across her pillow. Her room is no tidier than mine; sheets and notebooks are tossed around like the aftermath of a brainstorming storm.In the background of Zalie’s frame, Ivanna sits cross-legged on the edge of the bed, leaning heavily on a plastic table she’s clearly dragged into the scene for the sake of convenience. Her posture is casual but focused, one hand propping up her chin as she skims over notes. The subtle hum of life fills the shared spaces
I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts, and lean backward slightly. “Make her yours.”Kassian scoffs, the sound bitter and sharp. “And what about my identity as a werewolf? The fact that I’m not Ro—” His words cut off abruptly as he bites down on his bottom lip. His fists clench, and a low growl rumbles deep in his chest, vibrating through the air like distant thunder. He looks away, his gaze distant, his expression clouded with conflict.I wait, watching him carefully. The seconds stretch, his silence filling the room like a weight. Finally, he sinks back into the chair, the movement stiff and deliberate. “Even if it endangers her life?” he asks quietly, his voice carrying a note of resignation.“Life is a risk,” I reply softly, watching as he leans his head back against the chair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. The faint light above casts shadows across his sharp features, highlighting the tension etched into every line of his face. I let the silence settle, hoping my words wil
Kassian tilts his head, his expression unreadable. “That’s what makes her perfect for you.” I add cautiously.The air grows tense, the only sound the faint creak of wood as he shifts his stance. “She’s human,” he deadpans, his voice flat, yet there’s a flicker of something behind it—doubt, perhaps, or disbelief. He looks at me with a bored expression, but his eyes betray the storm churning within him.“And I’m a fish,” I snap back, sarcasm dripping from my tone as I wave my hand in mock dismissal. He scoffs, a short, sharp sound, but I catch the faint twitch of his lips as though he’s fighting a smile.The tension breaks slightly, like a taut string slackening. “Look, Rowan,” I say, leaning forward, the chair groaning beneath me. “I’ll tell you this from firsthand experience. A true mate is a gift—rare, incredible, and something not everyone gets to have. You’ve been given this chance, her. So, tell me, how do you feel when you’re around her?”For a moment, his mask slips. His brows k
“Bloody Rowan,” Kassian snarls under his breath, the sharp edge in his voice cutting through the damp, cool air. The faint metallic scent of blood lingers in the room, mingling with the earthy smell of wood and the faint tang of old leather from the chair Kassian had kicked over earlier. My heart pounds in my chest, but that’s the least of my worries. His wolf’s eyes—blue? Since when? Last time I saw Fenrir, they were royal purple, like molten amethyst under the moonlight.Kassian’s wolf, Fenrir, is a stark contrast to Rowan’s Rune. Fenrir is larger, faster, stronger—an overwhelming force of raw power and ferocity that Rune, with his quieter, more agile presence, could never match. Yet, it isn’t just size or strength that sets them apart. It’s their eyes—those unmistakable marks of their deviance. Fenrir’s were a regal, commanding royal purple, while Rune’s shimmered a softer, almost ethereal lilac. Together, the Draven brothers were known for this rare and legendary trait. No shifter
Lynette. Of course, it’s her.The realization lands heavily, though I can’t say it surprises me. It’s shocking, yes, but not unexpected. Anyone who had been paying attention could have guessed this was coming.Rowan’s obsession with her had always been suspicious, the way he watched her, talked about her. Once, he even mentioned he thought she might be his mate, but his stepmother had silenced him before he could say more. At the time, none of us could confirm it, not with Kassian missing and no tangible evidence to back up Rowan’s feelings.But now, with Kassian here and the mate bond undeniable, it all makes sense.“Damn,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair as I lean back in my chair. Thank the Moon Goddess the truth never came to light back then. If Kassian’s father had even suspected Lynette could be his son’s mate, he would have done everything in his power to destroy her—or worse, force Rowan to mark her.That’s how much that pathetic excuse for a father despises Kassian.
Oliver’s POVThe silence that follows Kassian’s confession is heavy, suffocating almost, wrapping around us like an unspoken weight. I press my lips into a thin line, my gaze fixed on him as disbelief and shock swirl in my chest. His words replay in my head like a broken record, each repetition hammering in the magnitude of what he just said. Kassian, of all people, has found his mate.And the poor, unfortunate woman? I can’t even begin to pity her.Kassian sits slouched in the chair across from me, his broad shoulders tense and his hands twitching against his knees. The faint scent of cinnamon, sage, and rosewood clings to the air around him, a smell that’s always been distinctly his but now seems sharper, almost frantic. His heartbeat echoes in the room, loud enough to join the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock, the two sounds merging into an almost oppressive cadence.“She’s…” he starts hesitantly, dragging a hand through his hair. The movement is nervous, jerky, so unlike the usu