Riley’s POV

They said family was supposed to protect you. But as I stood in that sterile hospital room, every word out of ric’s mouth twisted that lie a little deeper into my bones,

“She’s a danger,” he spat. “Anyone who dares lift ba /bknife against her own father will do it again.”

Zara’s voice was btight /bwith hesitation, but she didn’t argue. Not really. She never did when it involved Scarlett. Not when it meant bchoosing /bbetween me and her precious adopted jewel.

“She’s your daughter too, bric/bb,/b” she whispered, voice btrembling/b.

b“/bbAnd /bexactly for that reason, bshe /bneeds to be gone.

Gone

Like trash. Like a burden.

Like a weapon they couldn’t control.

They wanted to marry me off. To bind me to the Alpha of Stormridge Pack from Northhaven–because I was expendable, and they needed a business deal. That’s what I was to them: leverage with a heartbeat.

bZara /blooked back at me before they walked out–bguilt /bin her eyes, but no courage in her bones. She said nothing. -Cowardsb, /ball of them.

They thought I couldn’t hear through these thin hospital walls. They forgot I was a wolf too.

The second the door closed, I clenched my fists so hard my healing fingers throbbed in protest. My ws nearly pierced my own palmb. /b

ric wanted to use me to broker a merger.

Zara just didn’t want Scarlett to suffer.

And me!

I was just a pawn with a price tag.

Laughter burst from my chest, hollow and sharp. The kind ofughter that didn’t bring relief–only a burning rity.

Fine. If they wanted to use me, I’d let them think they’d won. But they’d regret underestimating me.

bI /bslipped out of the room.

My leg was still dragging slightly from the injury, but the burn of betrayal gave me enough strength to limp through the corridor without stopping. I didn’t know where I was going. I just needed to breathe

I pushed open the stairwell door, expecting silence.

But there was someone already there.

A man leaned against the wall, bhalf/bb–/bshrouded in the shadows. The scent of smoke bhung /bin the air–rich, dryb, /bbwith /ba hint of crushed pine ash. Not bcheap /bcigarettes. Something darker. Earthier.

My steps slowed as I looked up.

He stood on the uppernding, half a flight above me, but it wasn’t the angle bthat /bmade him look like ba /bgod.

It was everything.

The way his suit clung to a tall, broad–shouldered frame bbuilt /blike it had been honed for battle. The subtle silver lining on his cuffs. The glint of ba /bsi ring on his right hand. But more than that…..

His face.

Moonlight through the stairwell window sliced across sharp cheekbones, a defined jawline, band /blips shaped like a cruel promise. His eyes, bdeep/b–set and impossibly dark, watched me like a predator sizing up something unfamiliar–but not uninteresting.

His aura was crushing.

Not bwild/b, not reckless–controlled. Deliberate. Dangerous

He was the kind of man you felt before you saw,

bAnd /bbmy /bwolf… stirred.

It blinked inside bme/b. Awake. Alert. Curious.

I should’ve turned around. Should’ve excused myself band /bfound another corner to suffer in peace.

But I didn’t

Because he was looking at me btoo/b.

Our gizes bmet /bacross the bstairwell/b. Neither of us bmoved/b.

Then his brow lifted just barely, and he exhaled another long stream of smoke. The scent curled toward me, invasive and heady. It made bmy /blungs tighten

1 stopped halfway down the stairs, clutching the railing with a tremble I hoped he couldn’t see.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice deep, quiet. Measured. Like thunder you only heard once it passed.

He made a motion to put out the cigarette.

But something inside me–something sharp and bitter and reckless–snapped.

“bWait/b,” I said hoarsely. “Do you have another?”

His head tilted. His eyes didn’t widen. He wasn’t surprised.

bJust /bintrigued.

“Thought you didn’t like the smell,” he said.

“I don’t, I admitted. “But I need something to burn.”

He studied me for a moment longer, then reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled our the silver tin. He tossed it

to me.

I caught it with one hand, wincing at the jolt it sent up my sore wrist.

He watched that too.

b“/bbYou /bdon’t look like you should be walking,” he said.

“You don’t look like someone who loiters bin /bstairwells,” I bshot /bback.

He bsmirked/b. It bwas /ba bsmall /bthing, but it was lethal.

“I bdon’t /bloiter,” he bsaid/b, “I wait. There’s a difference.”

I pulled out a cigarette, lips trembling as I raised it to my bmouth/b. I didn’t even smoke. But I needed the taste of something bitter. Something that wasn’t blood.

He thcked a me for me.

The fire caught.

A DIOKENT Alpine ni

ss nevenge