Brandon didn't even hint at our bond. Same old story, like always.

Ashley, all smiles, chirped, "We're throwing a party inside. Come join us!"

I wasn't in the mood, but Brandon was already nodding, pulling me along.

The private room was a haze of dim lights and pounding music. The second I stepped in, eyes locked onto me. I'd gone all out tonight-sleek dress hugging my curves, my skin practically glowing.

A few wolves sidled up, asking for my number.

Normally, I'd brush them off without a second thought.

But today? I flashed a smile and gave it out, one by one.

Brandon sat in the corner, his jaw tight, eyes burning holes into me.

Ashley's face soured, and she pouted, "Y'all forgetting this is my welcome-back party or what?"

The crowd laughed it off, shouting, "Let's play a game!"

They spun a bottle, and it landed on Ashley.

Someone hooted, "Loser's gotta kiss someone of the wolves!"

Ashley's gaze flicked to Brandon, but then she pointed to the wolf next to him.

"Him."

Right as she leaned in for the kiss-

Crash!

Brandon kicked over the table, glass shattering everywhere.

He grabbed Ashley's wrist and stormed out, dragging her behind him.

The room went dead silent.

I picked up my bag, gave a polite smile, and said, "Gotta run."

At the hallway's corner, their voices erupted, sharp and heated.

"What the hell was that?" Brandon growled, barely holding back his rage. "I'm right here, and you're about to kiss some other wolf? What was that night to you? Am I just your backup?"

Ashley's voice turned soft, wounded.

"I was just testing you, seeing if you still care..."

"Still care?"

Brandon's voice cracked, veins bulging at his temple.

"Ashley, I'd kill to be bound to you again, and you say I don't care?"

Her tone sweetened, coaxing.

"Don't be mad, okay? I didn't mean it like that. I'm saying... we can be bound again, but it's been so long. I need to know you love me like you used to. So, you've gotta agree to Four conditions."

Brandon, the wolf who never bows to anyone, just clenched his jaw and muttered, "Name them."

Ashley paused, then said, "First, I want you to break a rib and turn it into a ring for me."

I froze mid-step. Is this what young wolves do for love now?

No way Brandon would agree to something that insane.

But then-he spun on his heel and left.

I followed, watching as he jumped into his car, floored the gas, and aimed straight for a pole.

Boom!

The crash echoed, the world holding its breath for a split second. Then came the screams, the calls to enforcers, the wail of an ambulance.

Healers dragged Brandon, bloody and broken, from the wrecked car. With his last ounce of strength, he gasped, "My rib... it's broken... take it... during surgery..."

I stood at a distance, watching quietly.

A laugh slipped out of me.

He must really love her.

Good for them.

When I leave, they'll have their perfect bond, free and clear.

The next few days, Brandon was stuck in the hospital, but I didn't visit.

I was sipping coffee when I scrolled past Ashley's post on my phone.

She was wearing a delicate collarbone ring, captioned,

"Love paid for with a life-I'll take it~" My finger paused, then swiped past it, calm as ever.

My visa was set, plane tickets booked for Four days from now.

I'd been running around, picking out gifts for Daniel-stuff I thought he'd like.

I chose each one carefully, like I was making up for all the years I'd missed with the wrong wolf.

Lugging bags of gifts back home, I pushed open the door and froze.

Brandon was sprawled on the couch.

I blinked, then played it cool. "You're back?"

He looked up, his brow creasing slightly.

He'd been in the hospital for days, and I hadn't shown up-not even a call.

My chat thread with him was dead silent. Seeing me so unfazed now, his chest seemed to tighten.

"You knew I was in the hospital?" His voice was low, edged.

"Yup," I said, setting the shopping bags by the entryway. "What's up?"

"Why didn't you visit?"

"Work's been crazy."

He stared at my back as I turned away, his fingers absently rubbing the armrest.

Work was always crazy, but I'd always put him first before-dropped everything for him. His eyes landed on the bags, all men's stuff.

For me? I could almost hear him wonder.

Then I asked, "You got banged up pretty bad. How're you out so soon?"

"Tomorrow's the global tournament," he said, locking eyes with me. "Hannah, you're coming with me."

I froze.

Brandon was the golden wolf of Argentum Town, born with a silver spoon but chasing esports instead of the family empire.

With millions of fans, he was a legit gaming god.

Tomorrow's match was his shot at a grand slam-the peak of his career.

His dream.

And I'd been his biggest cheerleader.

When he first went pro, the entire Hayes pack, including his grandpa Walter, tried to shut him down.

We'd just gotten together back then, and I showed up at Walter's with a bottle of whiskey.

No one knows what I said, but after that, the Hayes pack never stood in Brandon's way again.

He asked me once,

"Why'd you fight for me? Don't you think I'm just screwing around?"

"Doing what you love isn't screwing around," I'd told him, poking his dimple with a grin.

"I'm kinda jealous of you dream-chasers. My dream's just making bank now, but since my mate's got a dream, I'm happy for you."

After that, he insisted I be at every match.

No matter how slammed I was-billion-dollar deals on the line-I'd be in the stands, cheering. But this time, I shook my head. "I'm not going."

Brandon froze, disbelief flashing across his face. That uneasy feeling in him stirred again. "No, you have to come." He grabbed my wrist.

"Is it that Northside project? Hayes has a stake in it. I'll get them to ease up, handle any roadblocks. Just come to the match with me."

I hesitated, then nodded. "Fine."

He let out a relieved breath.

The next day, the arena was a zoo-fans packed in, waving glow signs, chanting "Brandon for the grand slam!" It was his dream, and theirs too.

At the venue, I said, "Go ahead, I'll park."

Brandon got out, but I noticed his phone left on the seat. As I picked it up, the screen lit up. A message from Ashley:

"Brandon, I'm here for your match too! Second condition: I wanna see you fall from grace. Throw the game-give away eleven kills. Lose it, okay?"

My heart lurched.

Before I could process, Brandon doubled back for his phone. He saw the message, his face twitching briefly before smoothing out. He grabbed the phone and started to leave, but I stopped him.

"Brandon," I said, voice steady, "good luck getting that grand slam."

Don't be an idiot.

He paused, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I will."

Inside the arena, the crowd's cheers were deafening.

On the big screen, Brandon's face loomed larger than life-black jacket, headset on, sharp nose, chiseled brow, those reckless eyes that made fans scream. He was heart-stoppingly gorgeous.

But I saw what they didn't. His fingers tapped the keyboard nervously, his throat bobbing.

I knew what he was wrestling with.

The game started.

Then-

One.

Two.

Four.

...

Eleven. He walked straight into the enemy's trap, screen going gray.

Eleven kills, handed over on purpose.

The crowd gasped. The commentator went silent. Fans stared, stunned, some smashing their signs in rage.

The match was lost.