Helena reclines on the edge of the king-sized bed. Her hair tumbles in loose waves down her back, and her eyes are shimmering with a desperate desire. She wears nothing and her smirk shows how confident she is in exposing herself to me. Her voice is a whisper, a blood-boiling plea that lingers in the air. "I thought we could have a romantic evening together, just the two of us." I sigh, frustration simmering within me. My silence and my disinterest makes her lips tremble, and she rises from the bed, her steps measured and graceful. She approaches me slowly, her eyes never leaving mine."Braxton," she purrs again, her voice an irritating, trying-hard temptation as she trails a finger along my chest, "Why resist the inevitable? We’re about to get married soon anyway. Besides, the night is young, and you seem to have so much pent-up tension. Let me help you release it." My jaw clenches this time. I have little patience for distractions, especially not tonight. I tilt down my head to
ELOISE’S POV: In the last twenty-four hours, the room remains an abyss of darkness, the air heavy with a palpable sense of foreboding. But in the midst of this inky void, I’ve never, not even for a split second, let go of my Maddox whom I clutch so tightly to my chest. I can sense his heart pounding in unison with mine like a desperate, synchronized drumbeat. He’s a fragile wisp of innocence, trembling in the safety of my embrace. He clings to my shirt, fingers grasping at the fabric as if it’s a preservation of sanity. This makes me imagine how he looks right now: pale with wide, fearful eyes reflecting the unknown terrors that lurk beyond the shadows. With determination overlaying a trembling core of terror, I whisper soothing words into his ear. My voice, though shaken, is reassurance in the abyss. "Shh, my love," I murmur, my lips brushing against his earlobe. "We'll be okay. I promise."I press my cheek against his, feeling the warmth of his skin against my own, taking solace
"Don’t be too happy about our agreement," says the male kidnapper. "Some of our 'associates' may not agree with the decision to let you and the kid go." My heart drums again. What’s that supposed to mean? Are they backing out that fast? I thought that their conflicting motives might offer a glimmer of hope, a chance to escape their clutches. But now, even that thought seems to be slipping away. The female kidnapper leans closer to me, but pauses when I take a step back."Listen carefully," she whispers, her eyes darting nervously towards the door. "You've got a small window of opportunity. We can't guarantee how long it'll last, but we'll let you escape. If you follow our instructions to the letter, you and your son might get out of here alive. So you can give us the fortune you promised."That makes the aggressive beating of my heart stop. I nod, my voice barely more than a whisper. "Tell us what we need to do."The man sets his jaw forward and begins to outline his plan. "First
The moon hangs low in the ink-black sky, casting a silvery glow upon the dense canopy of leaves that stretch above us. It’s the kind of night when the forest comes alive with a variety of mysterious sounds—the rustle of leaves, the hoot of an owl, the distant howl of a coyote. Under this celestial canopy, we move silently, our every step cautious and deliberate. I prowl with a determined grace, my eyes darting from tree to tree, scanning for any signs of danger. My hand is still clutched tightly to my Maddox’s tiny fingers while he clings to my hand back with an unspoken trust. Beside us, limped Ethan, whose rugged face bears fresh scars. His clothes are tattered and ripped, his breathing labored, but his eyes remain sharp and vigilant. He no longer has the lantern in his hand, but what he has is a determined look that suggests he’ll do whatever it takes to ensure our safety. I lead the way, my footsteps barely making a sound as I navigate the forest floor. Every twig that snaps und
My eyes glint with a feral, primal instinct as I listen intently to the distant sounds of creaking footsteps, prowling closer and closer. Danger is approaching, and my Maddox safety is my primary concern. With him nestling against me, I scan the room with my eyes, searching for any possible means of escape. There’s a broken window to the right, but it’s too small for me and even for my Maddox to fit through. ‘Snow, let’s switch now.’ Snow stays silent, but her eyes are laser focused on the kitchen’s door. ‘Snow, what’s wrong?’ -”The one who’s coming isn’t one of the kidnappers.”- My eyebrows twitch, curiosity piques. -”His footsteps are that of man’s feet, not of wolf’s paws. His scent is something I’ve not smelled from any of the kidnappers’.”- As the sounds outside draw nearer, my heart pounds in my chest. I can hear the heavy breathing, the click of a rifle being cocked. Panic threatens to consume me, but I can’t afford to lose control. Not now. Then, a soft whimper escapes
HELENA’S POV: The wedding gown boutique stands at the heart of the city's fashion district, its pristine white exterior adorned with lavish displays of bridal elegance. Inside, the air is suffused with the scent of delicate fabrics, and the shimmering gowns seem to whisper promises of fairy tale weddings to come. But amid the satin and lace, there’s this phone call that suddenly commands my attention for all the wrong reasons. My fingers move with grace as I retrieve my cell phone from my handbag. With a glance that can cut glass, I silence the discordant jingle and answer, my tone irate. "What is it?" I hiss into the phone, capturing the gazes of the boutique’s employees. With one arch eyebrow and a glare, the employees veer their gazes away from me and move on with their businesses. On the other end of the line, one of the rogues I’m paying for a ‘special’ mission, Victor, hesitates for a few seconds before finally delivering the news to me. -["The woman you wanted us to take c
The well-lit, restaurant exudes an air of sophistication that matches the elegant attire of its patrons. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting a soft, warm glow over the well-dressed diners below. At a corner table draped in fine linen, I sit regally, my hair cascading in perfect waves over my slender shoulders. My eyes, cold and calculating, survey the room with a sense of ownership. Beside me is Braxton. His tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, and perfectly knotted tie speaks of wealth and influence, but his eyes, hidden behind a mask of indifference, reveal a mind far removed from the glittering world they inhabit. As the waiter serves the first course, a delicate amuse-bouche, I lean across the table. "Braxton, darling," I purr. "I can't believe our wedding is just a few weeks away. Aren't you excited?"Braxton’s gaze remains fixed on his plate, his fork delicately spearing a bite-sized piece of seared foie gras. He takes a moment to savor the flavors before rep
BRAXTON’S POV: Helena’s phone buzzes insistently on the tablecloth, startling her. She fumbles for her phone, her graceful demeanor faltering as she stares at the incoming call. Her face is drained of color. "Helena, aren't you going to answer that?" I ask. Her bottom lip trembles as she forces her response. "It's nothing important, just business." I pick up my wine glass and through its rim, my gaze continues to observe her. After pretending to take a sip on my wine, I lick my lips then casually says, “Go ahead.”Without ado this time, she rises abruptly, excusing herself in a shaky voice. "I'm terribly sorry, Braxton. I’ll be quick.”I watch her go, perplexed and suspicious. Whatever call has just come in has shaken her to the core. She steps away from our table, her posture tense as she engages in a hushed conversation, her expression a mask of fear.‘Did you see that, Squall? The fear in her eyes when she took that call. It's not like Helena to show such fear.’-”I saw it. She
Life has a peculiar way of throwing storms at you when you least expect it. It's as if the universe conspires to test the strength of the bonds we hold dear. And there were times when I thought the storm had won, that the thunder and lightning would tear us apart. But here we are, still standing, still together. First, there's the soft warmth cradled in my arms – our Brayleigh, a delicate blossom of life that has graced our family. In the hush of the night, her tiny breaths become a lullaby, a reminder that life, in its purest form, is an exquisite gift. Each flutter of her thick curly eyelashes, every tiny yawn, is a manifestation of hope and renewal. She has brought a new chapter, a fresh narrative of love and laughter that continues to unfold with every passing day. And then, there's the triumphant cadence of our Maddox’s recovery. The journey through the shadowed corridors of illness has transformed into a sunlit path of resilience and healing. His laughter, once muffled by the wei
I sit by the bedside, my fingers intertwined with those of Braxton’s as we wait for the verdict that’ll release our hearts from the cold grip of anxiety. Through the small mirror hanging on the wall, I stare at my reflection. My eyes bear the telltale signs of sleepless nights, etched with soft lines of worry and dark circles that betray the emotional toll of the past few days since our Maddox has undergone his much-needed surgery. My hair, usually neatly pulled back, now falls in loose waves around my face. The soft glow of the bedside lamp reflects in my hazel eyes, which flicker with exhaustion and a tenacious hope that refuses to waver. Braxton has his arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders. His eyes, tinged with weariness, still have a glimmer of resilience. The almost non-visible lines on his forehead mimic the burden we’re both carrying, but his stoic demeanor offers a sense of stability in the face of uncertainty. Our attention shifts to the small figure of our Maddox l
It’s been hours since I laid back on the crisp sheets of the narrow hospital bed. The faint hum of machines and the antiseptic scent create an atmosphere that both comforts and haunts me. I glance at the empty space at the corner where my Maddox and his bed were there earlier before the nurses took them away. Braxton, sitting on a leather chair, his eyes fixed on the door as if willing the doctor to appear. His hands clutch a small notebook, its pages filled with medical jargon and hastily scribbled notes. His fingers tap a restless rhythm on the armrest, a physical manifestation of the tumultuous emotions churning within. The ticking clock on the wall echoes the anxious beats of my heart. The weight of our Maddox’s fate rested heavy in the room, casting a solemn shadow on us. Braxton looks at me, his eyes conveying fear and determination. He reaches for my hand, fingers intertwining as if seeking strength from the touch. Our silent exchange speaks volumes, a language formed through
The hospital room, a space that has become my world, harbors the echoes of countless emotions—joy and sorrow woven into the fabric of its sterile walls. Months have passed since the persistent hum of medical equipment became the backdrop to our days, and days since the arrival of the newest member of our family. I remember the first time I stepped into this hospital, the antiseptic scent clinging to the air, contradicting the warmth of life growing within. It's been years of watching my Maddox battle an illness that’s insurmountable, of holding his hand through the long nights and finding solace in the fact that every sunrise means another day of fighting. Then, the arrival of my Brayleigh, a burst of sunshine in the midst of the storm. Her cries mingle with the beeping of monitors, a symphony that encapsulates the bittersweet nature of life. The joy of her arrival, tempered by the reality that her blood can hold the key to her brother's recovery. As I perch on the edge of the bed,
The labor room is like a controlled chaos, with the rhythmic beeping of monitors, the hushed conversations of medical professionals, and my occasional muffled moans of pain and discomfort. In the midst of it all, I lay exhausted yet triumphant on the sterile hospital bed, my damp few strands of hair clinging to my forehead. Beads of sweat glisten on my skin as I prepare to cradle my newborn daughter in trembling arms. Dr. Miller carefully places the tiny bundle into my arms. The baby, swaddled in a soft blanket, seems to attempt opening her still close, swollen eyes. The weight of new life settles against my chest, a tangible affirmation of the incredible journey I’ve just traversed. Tears of joy and relief blur my vision as I gaze down at the fragile creature in my arms. The baby's delicate fingers wrapped around one of my own, creating an instant and unbreakable connection. To my side is Braxton. His eyes, filled with awe and adoration, meet mine as his hands reach out to wipe
-Two Months Later- The hospital room hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights, casting a clinical pallor over the otherwise hushed atmosphere. I sit by the bedside, my hand gently stroking my sleeping Maddox’s fevered brow. The scent of antiseptic and the rhythmic beeping of the machines meld into the backdrop of my weary vigil. My pregnant belly, now swollen and prominent, presses against the fabric of my hospital gown as I shift on the couch. Time seems to warp and stretch in this place, a strange concoction of minutes that drags on and days that disappear in a blur. It feels like just yesterday that I’ve discovered the joy of new life growing within me, and now, here I am, navigating the labyrinth of a hospital with a child in one bed and the promise of another in my womb. I gaze out the window, watching the city move with the same rhythm as the hospital's routine. My mind oscillates between the present reality and the impending future. A juxtaposition of hope and despair prob
ELOISE’S POV: The sterile scent of antiseptic greets me as I step into the hospital once again, my heart heavy with worry. The familiar surroundings, while offering a semblance of routine, only serves to amplify the ache in my chest. I thought we’re past this, believing the worst was over when we finally brought Braxton home just a few hours ago. But life has a cruel way of reminding me that hope is a fragile thing. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting a pallid glow on the tiled floors that echo with the muffled footsteps of nurses and the distant hum of medical machinery. My steps are hesitant, my fingers trembling as I clutch the edges of Braxton’s suit jacket draped over my shoulders. I round the corner and approach the nurse's station, where a tired-looking woman with a sympathetic smile sits. "Ms. Garcia?" the nurse asks, her voice a soft murmur. I nod, my eyes darting anxiously toward the corridor that leads to the rooms. "Dr. Tiu will meet you in a few minutes,
The gravel crunches beneath the sleek tires of my black Bugatti as it glides to a stop in front of the imposing iron gates that guard the entrance to the pack’s vast estate. Dad’s mansion looms in the distance, a grand and ancient structure cloaked in ivy, a silent witness to generations of power and influence. I step out of the car, my posture straight, accentuating my broad physique and confident demeanor. My Gammas flank me and my family, their eyes scanning the surroundings with a vigilance born from years of experience. Beside me, Eloise, who steps gracefully onto the gravel, her hand delicately cradling the small form of Maddox, whose eyes wander around, oblivious to the tension that hangs in the air. As we approach the mansion's entrance, a group of high-ranking pack officials awaits us in the front yard. Some wear expressions of cold indifference, while others struggle to conceal their disdain. My gaze sweeps over the assembly, meeting the eyes of those who dare to look dire
As I lay in the crisp sheets of the narrow bed, the steady beeping of the heart monitor keeps reminding me of the ordeal I’m faced with. Eloise sits on the chair by the bedside, her lips are stretched and curled at the corners, her eyes twinkle with elation as she stares at the engagement ring on her finger. While Maddox, who’s seated on her lap, plays with a stuffed bear. Moments later, the door creaks open, and Dr. Reynolds, a middle-aged man with kind eyes, enters the room. His white coat seems to glow under the harsh fluorescent lights, and the smell of antiseptic billows in the air as he approaches me. "Good morning, Mr. Guttierrez," he greets with a warm smile. "How are you feeling today?" I manage a weak smile in return, my voice a rasp. "Better. A lot better." The doctor glances at the monitor and nods, satisfied. "Your vitals are stable, and the wound has healed remarkably well. You're a resilient one as I should expect from a CEO and an Alpha, I must say." Eloise grips