Christina's POV

"Don't you think I look like a hooker? Do I really have to wear this?" I said, tugging at my extremely short skirt that would show my panties if I so much as sneezed.

"Sweetheart, it's not vulgar-it's daring sexy," Ysolde said, dressed like a mafia queen and standing tall against the icy wind in her five-inch heels. "Plus, don't cheapen yourself like that."

"But isn't this a little too-" I didn't even finish before a brutal gust of wind slapped me across the face. I immediately wrapped my sinful fur coat tighter around myself and curled up like a frozen prawn.

Ysolde let out a groan."Chrissy, come on. We're going to Highrise City's most exclusive pack club, not an Arctic expedition."

"I'm just glad I won't be hospitalized for hypothermia tonight, thanks," I snapped back.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't you already have a fur coat? You know, the one that comes naturally?" she said, clearly questioning why a werewolf was complaining about the cold.

I bit back, "Because I'm in human form right now!"

I'd thought we'd have to wait in line like everyone else. That was the whole reason I wore this fur coat. But clearly, I had underestimated Ysolde.

She had no intention of following the rules.

With the ease of someone who'd done this a thousand times, she slipped a rolled-up bill into the bouncer's hand, her palm casually grazing his rock-hard chest like a Bond girl who'd forgotten her martini.

Ten seconds. That was all it took. We were in.

Ysolde was the kind of beautiful that made men forget their names and girlfriends in two seconds.

We sailed into Luna's Eclipse. It was the most exclusive club in Highrise City where rich werewolves played politics over overpriced drinks.

The place was thick with heat, perfume, and the effervescent scent of champagne.

I ripped off my coat the second we stepped inside, only to be met with a glare from Ysolde that said it all: Are you trying to humiliate me?

She handed her coat off to a passing server with a flick of her fingers, like she'd personally hired the man.

I tried to copy her moves. Failed miserably. Nearly dropped my purse.

"Moon Goddess!" I gasped, eyes glued to the menu like it was robbing my credit card.

Ysolde gave me a sideways glance and scoffed. "Wait, Niall never spent money on you? What a cheapskate."

"Relax. Tonight's on me."

I breathed a sigh of relief.Considering I'd been rejected by my mate, had my wedding canceled, and my parents were planning to banish me from the territory to become a rogue, I needed a fortune to buy scent-masking spray to prevent Niall from hiring someone to kill me.

Price tags aside,the view was elite-rising young Gammas, handsome future Alphas, and a swarm of finance bros who looked like they gave TED talks on dominating Wall Street in custom suits.

Honestly, it was a room full of show-offs and wannabe flirts, all hiding under the dim lighting.

We found a table near the bar and a bartender locked eyes on us.

Well. He was hard to miss-tall, sculpted features, sleeves rolled to the elbows just enough to show off well-trained forearms.

He shouldn't be mixing drinks. He should be shooting Dior fragrance ads or modeling sexy men's underwear. Or at the very least starring on the shifter romance novel cover.

Maybe that's why this club was so expensive,even the staff had to be perfect.

"Two 75s, whiskey," Ysolde ordered before I could even find the cheapest drink on the menu. "Make it strong."

And of course, she didn't forget to show her perfect smile,chin tilted just enough to say "Oops, didn't mean to flirt."

The bartender reached effortlessly for the gin. "Rough night?"

"More like a rejection-level disaster," she said, casually pointing her thumb at me. "And it's wrapping up real soon."

I glanced at her. "Thrilled that my personal life is now public broadcast."

She patted my hand."Sweetie, this place runs on romantic catastrophes. Without bad decisions, no one would be buying drinks."

Then she turned away and melted into the crowd, flipping into Social Queen Mode like someone had hit a switch.

In under ten seconds, she completed a visual sweep before spinning back around and pointing toward the edge of the dance floor.

"Okay, listen. You need a rebound. Target A: Six-foot-two Manhattan finance bro, suit worth more than your monthly rent, haircut that speaks 'my therapist costs more than your car.' He'll wine and dine you, then ghost you for his stock portfolio."

I shook my head. "Nope."

Her eyes flicked to a new direction. "Target B: tortured Parisian artist type. Looks like he subsists entirely on cigarettes and existential dread. He'll write poetry about your eyes, then ask to 'borrow' money for art supplies that somehow always end up being weed and takeout.'"

"Pass."

She sighed, then pointed again."Fine. Target C: sensitive musician with a 'promising EP dropping next month.' Translation,you'll be supporting him financially while he finds himself through his craft for the next decade."

I groaned into my hands. "Ysolde, please."

She didn't back down. "Chrissy, you cannot sit here like a decorative wall gecko. Tonight is about rebooting your life, not stitching up emotional wounds."

Just as she geared up for a fourth round of rebound recommendations, she suddenly froze. It was like someone had hit mute on her entire system.

Then, far too casually, she said, "Hey, want to hit the bathroom?"

I narrowed my eyes. "No?"

"...Or maybe let's move tables? The vibe here's weird." Her smile was tight.

Weird vibe? We'd only been sitting for ten minutes, and we just ordered drinks.By Ysolde's standards, we were barely warming up.

Then I followed her gaze.

A half-private booth.

Niall.

He had his arm draped around a woman. Her head rested on his shoulder, makeup flawless, smile polished and effortless.

But that wasn't the worst part.

They were kissing. Deep, hungry kisses.

The woman was perched on his lap, her dress riding up, their hands roaming each other's bodies as if they were seconds away from tearing each other's clothes off right there in the club.

My stomach lurched. The sight was revolting, obscene.

I didn't need more details about who she was.

That face, I would never forget it.

Four years ago, the woman generously "gifted" me her boyfriend as my fated mate, left a heartfelt letter, and disappeared overseas.Now here she was, brazenly draped across my mate's lap, turning the whole club into their personal cheating stage.

I had told myself I was over it. We'd broken up. It was done. Time to move on.

Until I heard what came next.

"Honestly, I didn't think she'd completely break down over a picture frame." Beatrice's voice dripped false pity as she pulled away from their kiss.

"I put that photo where she'd see it. She still doesn't know about your 'business trips' to Europe for me. Time she got a hint, don't you think?"

She looked up at Niall adoringly. "Darling, your performance was perfect. Even I almost believed you cared about the photo instead of covering our affair."

Niall chuckled. "I had to act upset. She spends every day trying to be perfect for me. If she knew all her effort still couldn't compete with you, she'd completely lose it."

Beatrice laughed softly, patting his chest. "Don't worry. Knowing Chrissy, she's probably still trying to fix things. She always believes if she just tries hard enough, people will see her worth."

"The harder she tries, the more pathetic she looks." Beatrice smiled. "And I just 'happened' to return home. My parents don't know anything. She ended things herself, so you're blameless."

Niall nodded. "I talked to your parents. The wedding's still on-just a change of bride."

Beatrice smiled triumphantly. "Perfect ending, right? I never gave up on you. Just waited for her to step aside."

She leaned closer. "You know how she tried copying everything about me? The bleached hair, the style changes, even how she talks? God, it was hilarious watching her pathetic attempts."

Niall snorted. "Like a discount knockoff."

"Though I thought fated mates were supposed to be deeply in love?" Beatrice's voice turned curious. "Aren't you two supposed to be...?"

Niall's face darkened.

My hands shook so badly I could barely hold my drink. The pieces were falling into place, and Akira whimpered inside me.

"He's been cheating long before the rejection," she whispered weakly. "That's why we're in such agony."

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. When there's infidelity after being marked, intimacy with another outside the mateship causes extreme pain to the partner. But distance can mask immediate betrayal pain,it festers in the bond instead.

All those "business trips" abroad. All those times he visited Beatrice. The mate bond had been slowly deteriorating, accumulating damage we couldn't feel because of the distance.

When Niall rejected me, that rejection pain combined with months of accumulated betrayal trauma. It was destroying us both.

No wonder I felt like I was dying. I wasn't just dealing with rejection.

I was dealing with months of hidden betrayal finally surfacing all at once.

Beatrice noticed Niall's dark expression and quickly backpedaled. "I'm just teasing, silly. I know I'm the only one in your heart."

The words stung like humiliation dressed up as banter. It was the kind of punchline you'd expect at a comedy club, not from your sister and your mate. Funny, isn't it? How the people who know you best are the ones who can cut the deepest.

Akira stirred inside me, her growl low and hungry for payback.

Ysolde was pleading with me to stay calm, to not do anything stupid. But her voice was nothing but background noise.

I wasn't the same Christina who swallowed her pride for praise anymore.

I slipped free from Ysolde's grip and turned to the bartender."Your best champagne. Put it on Niall Granger's tab."

The bartender handed me the bottle.

With the bottle in hand, I strode straight toward Niall and Beatric-their embrace so tangled, so theatrical, it looked like a scene from a midday drama.

I raised the bottle and smashed it, with all my strength.

The glass shattered with a sharp crack. Niall's forehead split instantly, a thin line of blood tracing down between his brows.

Christina's POV

Beatrice screamed and leapt off his lap. "Christina?! Are you insane?! What are you doing here?!"

She scrambled to find a lie,"You're misunderstanding, it's not what you think-"

Niall cut her off, his hand gripping her arm."Don't bother explaining, Beatrice.It doesn't matter. Your parents will take our side. We're just correcting an old mistake."

Beatrice's panic instantly turned into smugness. She curled into his side and cooed, "Oh, honey, your head's bleeding. We have to get to the hospital."

Niall calmly took a tissue from one of his guards, dabbing at the blood on his forehead. "So now you know everything."

Before I could respond, Ysolde rushed forward, her hand raised to slap Beatrice. "You filthy bitch-"

Niall's hand shot out, gripping Ysolde's wrist brutally. His voice was ice-cold. "My woman isn't for some nobody from a backwater pack to insult. Playing the hero? Know your place."

My heart sank. Right. He was a powerful Alpha. I couldn't fight him head-on.

But I still had the glass shard in my hand.

I moved quickly, yanking Beatrice in front of me and pressing the jagged edge to her cheek. "Let go of my friend, or I'll make sure your woman's face matches her personality. After all, even with werewolf healing, scars still show, don't they?"

Niall's eyes flashed dangerously. "You wouldn't dare."

"You've been having an affair with my sister for four years behind my back," I said calmly. "How do you think it'll look when that story gets out? Not great for your reputation, I'd imagine."

Niall hesitated, then slowly released Ysolde's wrist.

The moment he let go, I sliced the glass across Beatrice's cheek.

She screamed.

"Now get your woman and get out."

--

As soon as they were gone, Ysolde dragged me out of the club.

"Chrissy... I'm so sorry. I had no idea they'd be there tonight. I didn't even know Beatrice was back." Ysolde's eyes were full of regret.

I gave a bitter laugh and shook my head."Neither did I. But I heard it loud and clear,they've been screwing around for a while. To them, I was just in the way."

"Those goddamn assholes!" Ysolde hissed through clenched teeth. "You should tell your parents. Let them know Beatrice isn't the perfect angel they think she is. What about Niall's parents? No way they'll tolerate a scandal like this."

I was quiet for a moment. Ysolde had a point-Niall's mother Louisa was the only person who had supported me. But he was her son. She wouldn't choose me over him. Not in the end.

And my parents?I let out a breath."You know better than anyone,they only care about Beatrice. No matter what I do, I'll never replace her."

Ysolde grabbed my shoulders, worry darkening her gaze. "So what now? You're just going to let them humiliate you?"

"Maybe." My voice dropped to a whisper, a weariness weighing it down. "Maybe if I accept it, it'll finally be over."

Suddenly, Ysolde's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, her brows knitting in frustration. "Chrissy, my agent just called. There's a last-minute ad shoot, I have to go now. Can you get home on your own?"

I nodded, managing a faint smile. "Go. Don't worry about me. I'll call when I get back."

After she left, I hailed a cab. Instinctively, I gave the driver my home address. But barely two minutes into the ride, a wave of suffocating pressure settled over me.

"Actually," I said, "take me to any bar. Preferably one where people go to forget their names, not celebrate them."

The driver barely shrugged.In Highrise City, heartbreak was just another traffic pattern.

Ten minutes later, I was sitting at the bar, working on my third whiskey sour. Maybe fourth. I'd lost count. The bartender kept giving me that "you should probably slow down" look, which I was completely ignoring.

"Another," I demanded, pushing my empty glass forward.

"Ma'am, maybe-" the bartender started.

"Did I stutter?" I cut him off, sliding my credit card across the counter like it was a weapon. "I'm trying to drown my sorrows, not baptize them."

The bartender sighed but obliged.

"That guy's right," a deep voice came from behind me. "Unless you want to wake up in a stranger's bed tonight?"

I turned, ready to snap at whoever dared interrupt-then froze.

It was him. The sexy neighbor.The one who'd helped me after I'd kicked his door by mistake, politely pointing out the right one.

Tonight he was dressed in an expensive suit, his hair slicked back, revealing striking features that would make Michelangelo weep with envy and beg to sculpt him.

"Well, look who it is," I slurred. "The Moon Goddess's envoy. Did she text you my GPS, or do you just have some built-in radar for women making terrible decisions?"

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm like expensive brandy."Let's just call it a finely tuned savior complex."

"You should've been Captain Rescue instead of an Alpha," I sighed dramatically. "Or maybe Don Juan, offering therapy sessions to every heartbroken woman in Highrise City."

"And here I thought you'd be signing up for the therapy sessions yourself," he said, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"You offer your services to every neighbor?"

"Only to the ones who seem hell-bent on self-destruction at any given moment."

"Well, I'm basically a pro at that," I said, lifting my glass. "My life's basically glitter in a carpet-messy, impossible to clean up."

He didn't laugh, rush to comfort me, or even deny what I'd just said. He just watched me quietly, like a spectator observing a disaster movie.

"You're not wrong," he finally said. "Your talent for chaos is impressive. I was right to call you hurricane. You can barely stand, yet here you are, drinking more wine."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he continued, "But somehow you always seem to find someone who refuses to walk away...right when you're about to self-destruct completely."

"Are you flirting with me, Bad Alpha? Or is this some kind of weird rescue mission?" I narrowed my eyes.

His smile was slow, "Would either answer make you drink less?"

"Probably not," I admitted. "But one might make the hangover worth it."

I really looked at him then. He wasn't just good-looking. He was dangerous-looking. The kind that meant trouble and temptation, all wrapped in one.Not the pretty boys with trust funds and spray tans who populated most of Highrise's elite clubs.This was a man who knew exactly what he was and didn't need anyone's permission to be it.

Maybe it was the alcohol or his devastatingly handsome face. Either way, the thought that had been haunting me since the moment I first saw him slipped into my head again.

Before I could think better of it, my hand was on his arm.

"So, Mr. Helpful Neighbor," I said huskily "since you're so dedicated to intervention, why not intervene all the way?"

A flash of surprise, then he got serious. But he didn't pull away. Just held my gaze and said,"Only if you'll own this decision when you're sober."

"Trust me," I said without hesitation. "This is the first clear thought I've had all night."

Christina's POV

The suite door had barely shut when he kissed me, hard and needy. I kissed him back just as desperately, like we couldn't get enough of each other.

Just from kissing him, I could feel myself getting wet.

It wasn't just me-he was obviously hard too, his erection pressing against me through his pants.

His hands were everywhere, burning hot against my skin. He pushed me back against the wall and lifted me up like I weighed nothing. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer.

I ground against him, the hard ridges of his muscles rubbing against my most sensitive spots, sending waves of pleasure through me.

"Fuck," he growled against my neck. "I've wanted this since I first saw you."

He kissed my neck, my earlobe. I gasped and pressed against him.

We tore at each other's clothes. His jacket hit the floor, then my dress. When his shirt came off, I couldn't help but stare. I ran my hands down his chest, trailing lower to his sculpted abs.

I worked his pants off completely, his hot length springing free and slapping against my face. His cock was flushed deep red, the head rounded and glistening with moisture.

So thick, I thought, reaching to wrap my hand around it, barely able to encircle him completely.

I flicked my tongue across the tip. His cock twitched in my hand immediately, burning hot and rock hard, almost like heated steel. More wetness leaked from me, the emptiness inside driving me nearly insane. I wanted nothing more than to sink down on him right then, to be filled completely in one deep thrust.

He picked me up and carried me to the bed, setting me down gently despite the hunger in his eyes. But that didn't last long.

He touched and kissed every part of me, making me moan in ways I never had before. He was incredible at foreplay, kissing my breasts, circling with his hands. He carefully stretched me with his fingers, but all I wanted was for him to get inside me already.

When he finally pushed inside me, I moaned with satisfaction-it was so intense it almost hurt.

"You feel so fucking perfect," he growled, "So tight around me."

He started moving. His cock filled me completely while his head buried deep in my neck, each powerful thrust sending waves of intense pleasure through me, easily filling the bottomless emptiness in my heart. My walls clenched and spasmed around him, my whole body trembling with ecstasy, white light flashing behind my eyes.

He pulled me tight against him and kissed me deeply. The kiss was messy and desperate, leaving me weak in his arms.

On the bed our bodies were completely entwined, him pressing me down as his hips drove relentlessly, burying his thick length inside me again and again. We held each other without any space between us, our sweat-slicked chests pressed together.

I lifted my legs, wrapping them around his waist so he could thrust even deeper and harder.

He flipped me over, positioning me with my back to him. His frame was so much larger than mine, his workout-hardened muscles solid and strong, covering me like a mountain. In this position he barely needed to exert any force,just his body weight alone let him slide impossibly deep.

"Fuck, you feel incredible like this," he groaned, his breath hot against my ear.

I felt like he was going to split me in half, terrifying waves of pleasure crashing over me as every inch of my skin became saturated with his scent.

That relentless cock was buried deep inside me, claiming me completely. I arched my neck to kiss him, trailing from his throat to his jaw to his lips, then pulled him into another deep, desperate kiss.

He fucked me through another climax, but his cock remained hard, showing no signs of pulling out. My nails dug into his arms, but he seemed immune to pain, simply gripping my ass and shifting me to my side, keeping me locked in his embrace.

"I can't... it's too much," I gasped, my words broken.

"Yes you can, baby. You're being such a good girl."

In this position he drove even deeper, his powerful thighs trapping me beneath him, my ass cheeks pressed together as his pelvis slammed against me, creating ripples across my flesh. I clawed at the sheets, wave after wave of pleasure pushing me far beyond my limits. My orgasms became short and continuous, my walls clenching nonstop, my vision blurring.

"Please... I need..." I whimpered, not even sure what I was begging for.

"I know what you need," he whispered hotly against my ear. "And I'm going to give it all to you."

He pressed against my back, his burning skin scorching mine as he held me close.

Even though I was already overwhelmed,I still tried to lift my hips to meet his movements. He clearly wasn't ready to come yet, fucking me while lowering his head to capture my earlobe between his teeth.

I was so fucked out I couldn't even form words, this was hands down the most incredible sex of my life. What the hell had I been doing with Niall all those years? That was nothing compared to this.

In the moonlight, this made him look like some kind of large predator, and I was his prey for the night,a dying gazelle or doe about to have her throat torn out. Perhaps because his full weight was pressing down on me, his thrusts weren't large in scope, but each one was deep and heavy, as if he wanted to merge with me completely and thoroughly.

He let out a muffled grunt, his cock growing even harder inside me. He nuzzled my neck, easing some of the pressure holding me down, and I turned to face him, looking into his eyes.

"Look at you, so beautiful when you're fucked out," he murmured, his hand moving to my breast.

His palm easily cupped my sweat-dampened breast, and with a forward thrust of his knee he spread my weak legs apart, sliding into me again. After what felt like my hundredth orgasm, this seemed like it would never end.

By the time he finally came,I was so exhausted I was nearly unconscious, my strength completely depleted.

He got up to clean me gently afterward, then pulled me into his arms, his breathing becoming steady and even.

I drifted off to sleep too.

The clock read 10:07 AM, way too bright for my eyes.

I groaned as last night came flooding back. The bar. My neighbor. The hotel.

The sex.

My whole body ached in the best way possible. I sat up and started searching for my clothes, trying not to make my headache worse.

I'd just pulled my skirt out from under the bed when a voice stopped me cold.

"Leaving so soon?"

I turned around slowly, partly from the hangover, partly from embarrassment, and saw him standing in the bathroom doorway with just a towel around his waist.

He was still wet from the shower, water running down his chest. His hair was slicked back and damp. Somehow he looked even better in daylight.

Images from last night hit me-his mouth on me, his hands all over me, the things he whispered in my ear.

My throat went dry.

"We need to talk," he said, and it wasn't really a question.

He stood in front of me, his voice disturbingly calm-as if he were announcing the fridge had broken, not that I had thrown him onto a bed the night before.

Talk?

My brain instantly began sorting through possibilities. Talk about what? A debrief? A review? Was he proposing some kind of "long-term sexual partnership"?

Well, considering how incredible he was in bed last night, being fuck buddies was honestly a tempting option. Oh god, could I please stop making bad decisions for once in my life?

But definitely not a proposal. That sort of thing only happens in soap operas written by people with hopelessly romantic minds.

Was he worried I'd cling to him?

After all, it was me who started this.

I was the one who dragged him out of the bar, opened the suite door and pinned him down without a second thought.

"Look," I said, adopting the most mature, responsible tone I could muster, "Last night shouldn't have happened. It was reckless. Impulsive." I paused, my gaze slipping despite itself. "And. undeniably good."

I tried not to look at his shoulders, his chest or the water droplets sliding down his collarbone, tracing over sculpted muscle. Akira stirred inside me, unnervingly interested in this man's scent.

"I'm not asking for anything from you," I went on, clearer now. "No responsibility, no dramatic phone calls. That's not who I am."

He didn't say anything. But his expression looked slightly annoyed

Seeing no reaction, I turned to the door-aiming for a graceful exit, complete with a closure monologue.

But just as my hand reached the doorknob, a warm, wet palm landed on the back of mine.

I froze and turned around slowly.

He was looking at me with an expression I couldn't place, somewhere between surprise and... seriousness.

"You don't remember me?" he asked softly.

I blinked, caught off guard. I answered quickly, almost defensively. "Of course I do. You're my new neighbor."

Technically true. Totally accurate.

That face was unforgettable, or, more precisely, that face standing in front of me in just a white towel, with water dripping down those abs... yeah. Not something easily erased from memory.

I swallowed hard.

The silence stretched.

Then he said, "It's fine. Doesn't matter."

I blinked. What?

"Can I go now?" I asked dryly. His hand still hadn't moved.

He looked at me again, then said, "Will you marry me?"