The door burst open with such force that it slammed against the wall. Nolan stood there, his eyes blazing with fury as he took in the scene—Kylie's tears, the wine stain spreading across the ceremonial robe, the torn silk.

"What happened?" he demanded, his voice deadly quiet.

Kylie sobbed dramatically. "She attacked me! Out of jealousy, she—she deliberately made me spill wine on my robe!"

I stood frozen, my mind racing. "That's not true. She did it to herself."

Nolan didn't even look at me. His hand shot out, grabbing me by the throat. He slammed me against the wall, lifting me until my feet barely touched the floor.

"Jane," he growled, my name a curse on his lips. "What have you done?"

His claws dug into my skin, drawing blood. I could smell it—copper and salt—as it trickled down my neck.

"Please," I gasped, struggling to breathe. "I didn't—"

"Silence!" His grip tightened. "You dare touch my Luna? You dare?"

Black spots danced before my eyes as his fingers pressed against my windpipe.

"If you ever touch my Luna again," he hissed, his face inches from mine, "I will kill you."

He released me suddenly, and I crumpled to the floor, gasping for air.

"The robe costs twenty thousand dollars," he said coldly. "I'll deduct it from your wages."

My heart sank. Twenty thousand—that would wipe out everything I'd earned so far. Gordon's surgery...

---

"To make up for your... mistake," Nolan announced two days later, "you'll oversee the catering for our weekend run in the Hamptons."

I nodded numbly, still feeling the phantom pressure of his fingers around my throat.

"The pack leaves tomorrow morning," he continued, his eyes glittering with malice. "You'll need to be there early to prepare."

"I'll drive up after work," I said.

"No." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "No vehicles are allowed on the estate grounds. You'll need to take public transportation."

I blinked in surprise. The nearest bus stop was five miles from the estate.

"And," he added, "you'll need to bring the supplies yourself. No pack transport for you."

---

The bus dropped me at the dusty roadside just as the sun began to set. I hoisted the heavy bag of catering supplies onto my shoulder and started walking.

Five miles had never felt so far.

By the time I reached the estate gates, my shoes were caked with mud, and my arms ached from the weight of the supplies.

"Jane Ellis," the guard said with surprise. "Alpha didn't mention you'd be walking."

He escorted me to the service entrance, where I dropped my bags with relief.

---

The next morning dawned bright and clear—perfect for the pack run.

"Since you can't shift," Nolan announced to the gathered pack members, "you'll serve as a hare for the younger wolves to track."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

"They won't hurt you," he assured me, his voice dripping with false concern. "Just chase you until they catch you."

The young wolves grinned eagerly, their eyes already shifting to gold.

I stood at the edge of the forest in my human form, wearing jeans and a light sweater that would offer no protection against the elements.

"Begin!" Nolan commanded.

I ran.

The forest floor was treacherous—roots snagged at my feet, branches whipped against my face. Behind me, I could hear the excited yips of the young wolves as they tracked me.

My sweater tore on a bramble. My jeans ripped as I stumbled over a fallen log. Blood trickled down my arm where a branch had scraped it raw.

From a ridge above, I caught a glimpse of Nolan watching me. His massive black wolf form stood motionless, observing my struggle with those piercing blue eyes.

Something strange happened then—his wolf whined, a low sound of distress that echoed through the clearing.

For a moment, our eyes met across the distance. I saw conflict there—his wolf wanting to protect me, while Nolan suppressed the instinct.

---

Night fell, and the pack gathered in the main lodge for their feast. I sat outside by the service entrance, cleaning the scrapes on my legs with cold water from a garden hose.

My hands trembled as I dabbed at the wounds. Each breath still hurt from where I'd been running all day.

"Here."

I jumped at the voice. Beta Marcus Thompson stood before me, holding out a first aid kit and a plate of food.

"Why?" I asked suspiciously.

He looked uncomfortable. "You need it."

I flinched away from his outstretched hand. "What's the price?"

"No price," he said quietly. "I just..."

From the window above, I felt Nolan's gaze burning into us. His chest tightened as he watched Marcus offering me aid—and my fear of accepting it.

A strange, sharp pain lanced through him, and he pressed his hand against his chest, frowning.

"What are you doing, Marcus?" he called sharply.

Marcus straightened. "Just checking on the catering staff, Alpha."

As he walked away, I caught a glimpse of something in Nolan's eyes—something that looked almost like regret. But it vanished so quickly I must have imagined it.

After all, men like Nolan Davis didn't regret anything. Especially not when it came to women who'd rejected them.

Or so I thought.

My phone vibrated in my pocket as I was organizing the catering supplies for tomorrow's event. I pulled it out, hoping it wasn't another demand from Nolan.

"Ms. Ellis?" The voice on the other end was clinical, detached. "This is Nurse Patel from Manhattan General."

My heart skipped a beat. "Yes? Is everything okay with Elder Gordon?"

"I'm afraid not." Her voice softened slightly. "Mr. Gordon went into cardiac arrest thirty minutes ago. We've stabilized him for now, but the doctor says the surgery needs to happen tomorrow. Otherwise..."

She didn't need to finish the sentence.

"Tomorrow?" I gripped the phone tighter. "But the surgery isn't scheduled until next week."

"His condition has deteriorated significantly. The doctor says we can't wait any longer."

I closed my eyes, fighting back tears. "What about the cost? I've already paid the deposit."

"That's the other thing I needed to discuss with you." She hesitated. "Because of the complications, the procedure is more complex than originally anticipated. The price has increased."

My stomach dropped as she named the new figure.

"I understand," I whispered, though I didn't. How could this be happening?

After hanging up, I pulled out the check from Nolan—the one that had seemed like salvation yesterday. With the amount he'd deducted for Kylie's robe, it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

---

The pawn shop was tucked away on a side street, its neon sign flickering weakly in the afternoon light. I stood outside for several minutes, my hand clutching the small velvet pouch containing my parents' mating rings.

"These are all I have left of them," I whispered to myself, feeling the cool metal through the fabric.

With a deep breath, I pushed open the door. A bell jangled overhead, announcing my presence.

"Help you?" The broker was a heavy-set man with kind eyes that belied his gruff demeanor.

I approached the counter, my hand trembling as I placed the velvet pouch before him.

"I need to sell these."

He opened the pouch carefully, his expression changing as he examined the rings. "These are quality pieces. Antique?"

I nodded. "They were my parents' mating rings."

He looked up at me, something like understanding passing through his eyes. "You sure about this?"

"No," I admitted, my voice breaking. "But I need the money."

As he examined the rings under a magnifier, tears welled up in my eyes. I couldn't help it—these were the last physical connection I had to my parents. The last pieces of my former life.

"Five thousand," he offered finally.

It wasn't enough, but it would help. I nodded, wiping away tears.

"I'll take it."

The broker reached for his paperwork, but before he could speak again, the bell above the door rang out.

"Interesting choice of establishments, Jane."

My blood froze at the sound of that voice. Nolan.

I turned slowly, finding him filling the doorway, his presence overwhelming in the small shop.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, instinctively stepping back.

"Following my property," he replied coldly. His eyes flicked to the rings on the counter. "Selling your parents' legacy just like you sold ours?"

The accusation hit me like a physical blow.

"You don't understand," I whispered.

"I understand perfectly." His lip curled in disgust. "You're either buying drugs or planning your next disappearance."

The broker looked between us, clearly uncomfortable.

"Five thousand for the rings," Nolan said abruptly, pulling out his wallet. "I'll take them."

"Nolan, no—" I started, but he cut me off.

"Six thousand." He slapped the cash on the counter. "And a check for ten thousand more."

The broker's eyes widened.

Nolan pulled out a checkbook, wrote quickly, then tore out the check and threw it at my feet.

"Take it and get out of my sight," he said, his voice deadly quiet. "I'll keep the rings until you learn what loyalty means."

I stared at the check lying on the dirty floor. Ten thousand dollars—enough for Gordon's surgery.

Slowly, feeling every eye in the shop on me, I bent down and picked up the check.

"Thank you," I whispered, though the words tasted like ash in my mouth.

Nolan's eyes flashed with something—surprise, perhaps, that I would thank him after such humiliation. But it was gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

He turned to leave, the rings now in his possession—my last connection to my parents, gone.

"Wait," I called out suddenly.

He paused at the door.

"Why?" I asked. "Why did you help me?"

For a moment, something vulnerable flickered across his face. Then his expression hardened again.

"I didn't do it for you," he said coldly. "I did it because no one deserves to lose everything they love."

The door closed behind him with a finality that echoed through my chest.

The dimly lit shop smelled of incense and something darker—something that made my wolf whimper inside me. I shouldn't have been there, but curiosity had gotten the better of me after seeing Kylie slip out during the final ceremony preparations.

I pressed myself against the wall outside the back room, straining to hear the conversation.

"You're certain this will work?" Kylie's voice was sharp with anxiety.

"Absolutely, my dear." The practitioner's voice was like dry leaves rustling. "The Hate Potion is quite potent. Just a drop in his drink before the ceremony, and he'll remain aggressively hostile toward your... target."

I risked a glance around the corner. Kylie stood at a cluttered counter, her manicured hand extended toward a small vial filled with liquid the color of dried blood.

"And it will suppress the mate bond?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.

The old woman cackled. "Oh yes. Nothing breaks a bond like pure hatred. He won't feel anything but rage when he looks at her."

Kylie's lips curved into a smile that sent chills down my spine. "Perfect."

I ducked back into the shadows as she turned, clutching the vial like a precious gem. My heart pounded so loudly I feared she would hear it.

---

The rehearsal dinner glittered with silver and white decorations—my work, though no one would credit me for it. I stood in the corner, making final adjustments to the floral arrangements while pack members mingled and laughed.

"More champagne!" someone called out.

I moved to the bar, careful to keep my head down as I collected empty glasses. From my peripheral vision, I could see Nolan holding court near the head table, his powerful frame commanding attention.

Kylie appeared at his side, her red dress clinging to every curve. She leaned close, whispering something that made him smile—a rare sight these days.

"Alpha," she purred loudly enough for me to hear, "you look tense. Let me fix you a proper drink."

I watched as she moved behind the bar, her back to the crowd. With practiced casualness, she uncorked a bottle of scotch and poured it into a crystal tumbler. Her hand dipped into her clutch, producing the small vial I'd seen earlier.

Just one drop, and she stirred it with her finger before adding ice and a splash of water.

"Your favorite," she said, returning to Nolan's side. "To our perfect ceremony tomorrow."

Nolan took the glass, his eyes never leaving hers as he drank deeply.

I turned away, my stomach churning. Whatever was in that potion, it couldn't be good.

---

Exhaustion weighed on me like a physical burden as I finished adjusting the last of the white roses. The ballroom was transformed—silver archways, crystal chandeliers, and thousands of white flowers created the perfect setting for tomorrow's ceremony.

I sank into a chair at the edge of the dance floor, my legs finally giving out. The room spun slightly as I closed my eyes.

"Just for a minute," I whispered to myself.

My hand reached automatically for the napkin on the table beside me. Without thinking, I sketched the modification I'd been considering for the archway—a subtle change that would frame the couple more elegantly.

The pen moved across the paper almost of its own accord, my architect's mind taking over even as my body begged for rest.

I didn't hear him approach.

"Still designing for me?"

I jerked awake, my eyes flying open to find Nolan standing over me. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—usually cold when looking at me—held something different. Something conflicted.

He was staring at my sketch, recognition dawning on his face.

"This is..." he started, then stopped.

I scrambled to my feet, knocking over the chair in my haste. "Alpha, I was just—"

"Shh." He held up a hand, still looking at the napkin. "This is how you used to draw when we were together."

My heart stuttered painfully in my chest. For a moment, I saw the old Nolan—the one who had admired my talent, who had loved me.

He reached out slowly, his fingers almost touching my shoulder.

Then something shifted in his eyes—a flash of gold, quickly suppressed. His face hardened, and I knew the potion was working.

"You think you can manipulate me?" he snarled suddenly. "With memories? With your little drawings?"

Before I could respond, he kicked the leg of the chair I'd knocked over. It skidded across the polished floor, the sound echoing through the empty ballroom.

"Get out," he growled. "Now."

I backed away, my sketch still clutched in my hand. As I reached the door, I glanced back to see him standing alone in the center of the ballroom, his shoulders rigid with tension—and something else. Something that looked almost like pain.

The potion was working, but even its darkness couldn't entirely extinguish what had once been between us.