The forest lays shrouded in an eerie silence, as if nature itself has hushed to bear witness to the confrontation that’s about to transpire. A thick canopy of ancient trees block out the moonlight, and the only illumination comes from the cold, distant stars. The air is heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine. I stand in the center of the small clearing. By my side stand my Gammas, loyal to the core, unflinching in their devotion to me. Jackson, my right-hand man, a towering figure with a rugged face etched with years of unswerving loyalty. Sarah, my brilliant cousin, holds herself with an air of quiet authority, her mind always a step ahead in this high-stakes game. Next to her is Ethan, a man whom I trust won't betray Eloise’s trust. Across from us are Helena’s three rogues, weary and shocked. I say in a voice that’s like a whip in the stillness. “You do what I will demand, I’ll pay you more than what Helena is and will be paying you, and I will make sure no harm will come y
I gaze out of the window of the living area, the cityscape beyond shrouded in the early morning twilight.My enemies, those who have tormented me, who have dared to take away my mate and my child from me, they loom like specters in the periphery of my thoughts. They give me more than enough reasons to harbor a burning desire for retribution, for vindication. The injustices they’ve heaped upon me and my family have festered like an open wound, and I’ve sworn to myself that I won’t rest until they pay for their transgressions. I can’t fail this time, I have to be the protector, the guardian, that my growing family needs. My unborn child and Maddox, innocent and pure, deserve a life unburdened by the vendettas that’s consuming me, but I gotta do what I gotta do. As I clench my fists, the promises I made to myself echo in my mind like an unbreakable oath. Then, Squall’s voice echoes next.-”We will dismantle our enemies, not out of vengeance, but out of necessity. For every plot they ha
HELENA’S POV: I stand in front of the full-length mirror of Laurant Duval’s luxurious bridal boutique. The gown, an exquisite confection of silk and lace, cascades around me like a waterfall of ivory. Its intricate beading sparkles like a thousand stars, and the train stretches out behind me like a river of satin. Though there are still a few more missing details, it still looks as gorgeous as I imagine it to be. My excited reflection gazes back at me, brimming with anticipation. "Helena, aren’t you ready yet?" calls a voice from behind the changing room door. I can’t suppress a sly smile as I take my time, relishing the moment. This is my special day, my moment to shine even brighter. With a final, exaggerated sigh, I sweep the door open, the gown trailing behind me, and reveal myself to Braxton. His eyes widen at the sight of me in the breathtaking gown, but before he could utter a word, I cut him off with a triumphant flourish. "Isn't it divine, my dear? I mean, it's worth ever
The tranquility of my rest is shattered when the heavy oak door to my bedroom creaks open. Someone enters, based on the scent, it’s Liza. Her steps are as hushed as her apologetic voice. "Miss Helena," she whispers, barely daring to intrude upon my realm of dreams. My eyes flutter open, and my irritation is immediate. My glare blazes with anger, and my voice is a sharp lash as I demand, "What is it?! Can’t you see I’m in the middle of my sleep?!" Liza, her cheeks pale and voice trembling, stammers, "Forgive me, but there’s something you need to know. The gown designer, Mr. Laurent Duval, who was to deliver your wedding gown earlier today, had been ambushed on his way here." My eyes widen in surprise, then they narrow when my fury intensifies at the unwelcoming news, my slender fingers clenching the sheets. I get up, swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stand, my regal bearing disappears in my disheveled state. "Ambushed? How dare he delay the delivery of my gown!" Liza he
My bedroom is abuzz with the preparation for the most anticipated event of my life. As the ornate drapes are drawn back, revealing a breathtaking view of the lush lawn and garden, I recline on a chaise longue, my porcelain complexion unblemished and untouched by the anxious lines that’s ruining my usually composed features. My gaze bears a haunted expression as I stare into the distance, the past events of yesterday still fresh in my memory. At my side, the renowned makeup artist, Mrs. O'Hara, meticulously brushes a subtle blush of rose across my high cheekbones. Her hands move with grace, a testament to her years of experience working with the elite. "Are you quite well, Miss Helena?" Mrs. O'Hara inquires. I offer nothing but a quick glance at her before returning my sight back to the distance, which is very different to my usual commanding presence. "I'm just...preoccupied, that's all. It's a wedding day, after all." Meanwhile, the hairdresser, Mr. Thorne, stands poised with a
I stand paralyzed at the altar. My body trembles, my heart heavy with anticipation and fear, my eyes dart nervously around, my fear grows with each passing moment. The projector continues to whir to life. The scene continues to unfold on the screen, and I watch in disbelief and terror as Alpha Trayton, several of his Betas and Gammas, and of course me, begin discussing elaborate methods to cause a car accident against the ‘nobody’ and her son and make them appear as a tragic accident. We speak of tampering with brakes, sabotaging steering systems, and creating dangerous distractions for them. ‘This can’t be happening! Someone stop this!’ These are the words booming in my head, but these words are stuck in my throat that I’m almost choking. Hazel, in my subconscious, is speechless, suffering the same torture I’m suffering with. Her eyes wide, her mouth, partly open.The video continues, and we also continue to speak with a cold, calculated indifference, as though discussing the mos
BRAXTON’S POV: The blazing sun is high in the sky, casting relentless rays upon the lush green terrain. The scent of dry earth and the calls of the police officers behind Squall fills the air as they sprint across the landscape. Squall’s fur glistens with sweat under the harsh sun. His sharp, golden eyes are fixed on Helena’s wolf ahead, racing in tandem with him. They race towards the edge of a cliff, knowing that the world that’s plummeting beneath them is a yawning abyss. Helena’s wolf pulls up short, skidding to a halt at the precipice. She lets out a deep, primal growl as she peers over the edge, her body trembles, her posture doubtful. “Helena!” Squall yells, catching his breath as he continues to progress forward. Helena’s wolf either doesn’t hear or ignores Squall’s calling coz she doesn’t look back let alone glance back. Suddenly and shockingly, the hesitancy in her posture magically vanishes. Now showing no such restraint, with an undaunted gleam in her brown eyes, she le
ELOISE’S POV: The television screen illuminates the hotel living area with images of chaos and despair. I sit on the edge of my seat, a chilling sense of foreboding gripping my heart. I stare at the unfolding tragedy on the news, clutching the remote control tightly, my heart racing like a frightened animal in the wild. My fingers tremble as I turn up the volume, and the cacophony of news anchors fills the room. The scene is surreal, almost dreamlike. The camera pans across a breathtaking garden perched on the edge of a sheer cliff, where Braxton and Helena’s wedding ceremony has been transformed into a nightmarish ordeal. The cliff's edge is like a precipice to my own emotions, teetering on the brink of disaster. Helena, in her white dress with a bouquet of flowers in her hands, looks lost and terrified. Trayton, standing at the front bench just behind the altar, looks way more composed than her while watching what’s happening with narrowed eyes. Braxton, on the other hand, stands
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