Kimberly POV:

The airport was my sanctuary.

My phone buzzed. Transfer complete. Malibu is yours. Pack Dissolution filed.

I sat in a quiet corner and opened the cooler. The vial sat in dry ice—my unborn child, suspended in time.

I pulled out the parchment. The Blood Pact.

I sliced my palm with a silver penknife. Blood hit the paper. It hissed.

I, Kimberly of the White Wolf, reject you, Alpha Graves.

The bond in my chest ripped open. It felt like a heart attack, sharp and blinding. Then... silence. The constant background noise of Graves’ emotions vanished.

I packed the parchment and the vial into a bio-hazard box. I labeled it clearly.

"Courier," I told the clerk. "Kramer Tower. Priority."

I dropped my phone on the tile and crushed it under my heel.

"Flight 815 to Bali," the announcer called.

Graves was taking Alex to Paris tomorrow. Let him have Paris. I was going where the sun would burn his touch off my skin.

Graves POV:

The penthouse felt haunted. The smell of ash from the garden wouldn't leave.

We were leaving for Paris in an hour. Alex was packing, humming a tune. Why did her humming grate on my nerves? Why was the silence in my head so loud?

"Alpha," Dustin knocked. He looked pale. "Priority package. Strange energy signature."

He placed a box on my desk. It radiated cold. And blood.

I ripped the tape. An envelope. A parchment.

I, Kimberly... reject you...

The words were written in dried blood. My breath hitched. Rejection wasn't just a breakup; it was spiritual amputation.

I looked at the bio-hazard container. Your Heir. Returned.

The world tilted.

I opened the lid. Dry ice mist curled out. Inside was a medical vial. A suspended fetus.

I could smell it. Cedar and rain. My scent. And milk.

My pup.

"No," I croaked.

The realization hit me like a freight train. She was pregnant. When the Enforcers beat her? Pregnant. When I cut her open? Pregnant.

"Graves?" Alex waltzed in. "Ready for Paris?"

She saw the vial. "Ew. Did she send a dead animal?"

The smell of her perfume shifted. It wasn't strawberries anymore. It was chemical. Fake. It smelled like the poison that killed my family.

"Get out," I whispered.

"Don't be silly, baby—"

"GET OUT!" I roared.

I reached for the Mind-Link. I slammed against a wall of solid ice. She was gone.

I looked at the vial. My legacy. Dead in a box.

Graves POV:

I didn't go to Paris. I went to Mount Luna.

It was raining, turning the soil to mud. I dug the grave with my bare hands, ruining my nails, ruining my suit. I wanted the ruin.

I buried the vial.

"I didn't know," I sobbed into the dirt.

Liar, my wolf hissed. You didn't look. You were too busy staring at the shiny fake thing.

I sat there until the moon rose. The cold clarity of grief settled in. Wait.

Why did the chandelier fall exactly on Alex? How did she survive 'silver poisoning' for three years? Why did she glow after the surgery?

I pulled out my phone.

"Dustin," I said, my voice hollow. "Cancel the flight. Bring me the security footage. All of it. Three years back."

"Alpha, that will take weeks."

"Then hire more eyes. And put a detail on Alex. If she tries to leave, break her legs."

I looked at the fresh grave. "I will burn the world down to find the truth," I vowed. "Starting with myself."