Brendan POV:

I kicked the rotting wooden door of the abandoned motel room open. The rusted hinges screamed in protest. I needed the violence of the action to hide the suffocating panic clawing at my throat.

I walked straight into the filthy bathroom and slammed my hand against the faucet. Freezing water blasted into the stained sink. I splashed it over my face, trying to shock my system out of the pathetic defeat I had just swallowed in the alley.

I looked up. The cracked mirror reflected a monster. A thick, dark red scar crawled from my right cheek down to my neck. It was the parting gift from the river rocks. My werewolf healing had closed the flesh, but it couldn't erase the trauma.

I touched the raised skin. My lungs seized. I felt the freezing river water rushing into my mouth, dragging me down into the dark. But the drowning wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the memory that played right before I hit the water. I saw June’s eyes. She had looked at me like I was garbage. Like I was a disease she needed to cut out of her life.

That look was the source of my madness.

I pulled my fist back and smashed it into the mirror. The glass shattered, embedding sharp shards into my knuckles. The physical pain grounded me. It punished me.

The bathroom door creaked. Marcus stood there, holding a thick stack of files and a roll of bandages. He looked at the broken glass on the floor, let out a heavy sigh, and set the bandages on the counter. He was used to my loss of control by now.

I pulled a jagged piece of glass out of my knuckle. The flesh knit back together instantly, leaving a thin white scar behind. My body could heal from anything, but the rot inside my chest was permanent.

Marcus opened the files. His voice was strictly professional. "We have reclaimed all assets in New York. The elders who betrayed you during your absence have been executed."

I didn't react. I grabbed a dirty towel and wiped the blood off my hands. Power and money used to be my entire identity. Now, the thought of my empire just made me sick.

I walked out of the bathroom and stared out the dirty window toward the faint lights of the town. "What did you find about the spell?" My voice was raw. I needed to know why she didn't feel my aura.

Marcus hesitated. His face paled as he handed me a photocopy of an ancient parchment.

I snatched it from him. My eyes scanned the complex Latin text. I had been trained by the best tutors in the world; the translation formed easily in my mind.

I read the words out loud, my voice trembling. "'Tabula Rasa does not merely erase the mind. It rewires the frequency of the soul, rendering the subject completely and permanently immune to all previous supernatural bonds.'"

The parchment crumpled in my shaking hands. Immune. The mate bond was gone. My claim on her soul was gone.

Marcus lowered his head. "Which means... to her, you are just an ordinary stranger."

I spun around, my eyes flashing with violent denial. "She is mine! Even if I am a stranger, I will make her fall in love with me again."

I marched over to the table and grabbed the stack of asset reports. I needed control. I needed to use the only weapons I had left. If magic didn't work, I would use the human world's ultimate power.

I pointed a bloody finger at the massive numbers on the page. "Mobilize the liquid funds from the Blackstone accounts."

Marcus pulled out his tablet, ready to type. "Which corporation are we acquiring, Boss?"

I sneered. My blood was boiling with desperate arrogance. "Buy the street."

Marcus froze. He looked up, blinking. "You mean... the main street where the antique shop is?"

I nodded. "Buy the shop. Buy the school where that bastard teaches. Buy every single property within a five-mile radius of her. I want it all." I would physically force Frankie out of her world.

Marcus swallowed hard. "Boss, this is a human town. A hostile takeover of an entire zip code will draw the attention of City Hall, maybe even the FBI."

I glared at him, my eyes freezing him in place. "Then buy City Hall too. If anyone gets in the way, suffocate them with cash until they shut up."

Marcus knew better than to argue with a desperate Alpha. He nodded stiffly. "I'll get it done." He paused at the door. "But... how do you plan to approach her tomorrow?"

I looked at my ruined reflection in the dark window. I ripped off my expensive, blood-stained suit jacket and threw it in the trash. I picked up a faded, washed-out denim jacket I had bought at a gas station and pulled it on.

"Tomorrow, I am just a miserable bastard named Bren who went bankrupt and came to a small town to heal."

Brendan POV:

The next morning, I stood outside the heavy oak door of the antique shop. I wore the cheap, faded jacket. I had purposely messed up my hair, trying to scrub away any trace of the ruthless predator I used to be.

I stood there for ten full minutes. I just stared through the glass window, my eyes greedily drinking in the sight of June. She was standing behind the counter, carefully dusting a porcelain vase. She looked healthy. She looked calm. She looked perfectly fine without me.

I took a deep breath that rattled in my chest and pushed the door open.

The brass bell above the door chimed. To me, it sounded like an executioner’s bell.

June stopped wiping the vase. She turned around. The morning sunlight hit the side of her face, highlighting her smooth skin. There were no scars on her face.

My lungs stopped working. I shoved my hands deep into my jacket pockets, balling them into tight fists to stop myself from sprinting across the room and pulling her into my arms.

June looked at me. Her lips curved into a flawless, polite, and completely empty professional smile. It was the exact same fake smile she used to give the corrupt politicians she despised.

"Welcome, sir. Feel free to look around. Let me know if you need anything." Her voice was clear, melodic, and completely devoid of any recognition.

My heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice. I forced a bitter, pathetic smile onto my face. I wanted her to show fear. I wanted her to show disgust. Anything was better than this blank politeness.

I cleared my throat. My voice came out raspy. "Hi. My name is Bren. I just moved to town."

June nodded slightly and went back to dusting the vase. "It's a quiet town. Good for fresh starts. Are you interested in any particular era?" She didn't care who I was.

I looked around the shop. It was filled with Victorian silverware and old pocket watches. Her taste hadn't changed at all.

I walked up to the counter, locking my eyes onto hers. "I... I went through some terrible things. I went bankrupt. I just need something to distract myself." I fed her the lie, shamelessly using pity to force my way in.

June stopped dusting. A flicker of genuine human sympathy crossed her eyes. The spell hadn't erased her kind heart.

I caught that look, and a twisted, sick sense of joy bloomed in my chest. If playing the victim got her attention, I would gladly crawl on the floor.

"The wind is harsh today. If you don't mind, have a cup of hot tea to warm up, Mr. Bren," June said, pointing to the steaming teapot behind the counter.

My eyes lit up like a starving dog being offered a bone. I nodded eagerly. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

June turned her back to pour the tea. My eyes traced the line of her spine, my wolf locking onto his mate.

I inhaled deeply, waiting for the familiar, crisp scent of cedarwood tea. It was the only tea I used to drink. She used to brew it for me every single day to cure my stress headaches. I was so sure she would keep that habit.

June turned back around and handed me a plain white ceramic cup.

I reached for it instantly. I intentionally let my fingertips brush against her fingernails as I took the cup.

Nothing. No spark. No static shock of the mate bond. June pulled her hand back naturally, completely unaffected.

I swallowed the massive lump of disappointment in my throat and looked down at the cup. I took a large gulp, desperate to find comfort in the taste.

The scalding liquid burned its way down my throat. It wasn't the clean, sharp taste of cedarwood. It was cheap, bitter, generic black tea.

I froze. I stared blankly at the dark red liquid in the cup. My existence had been completely scrubbed from her life. Not even my tea remained.

"Is something wrong? Not to your taste?" June tilted her head, asking out of basic courtesy.

My eyes burned. I gripped the cup tightly. "No... it's just, I thought it would be cedarwood flavored." I couldn't stop myself from testing the waters.

June let out a light laugh and shook her head. "I hate cedarwood. It's too pungent. I only ever drink this plain black tea."

Her words were a physical blade stabbing straight into my chest. My hand began to shake violently. She didn't just forget. The spell had rewired her to actively reject everything associated with me.

The hot tea almost spilled over the rim. I jerked my head back and downed the rest of the scalding liquid in one brutal swallow, letting the physical burn distract me from the tearing in my soul.

I slammed the empty cup down. My voice was a hoarse whisper.

"It doesn't matter. The tea is good. As long as it's from you, I'll drink it."

Brendan POV:

The empty teacup hit the wooden counter with a loud, heavy thud. I had tried to set it down gently, but the violent storm of pain in my chest made my muscles jerk.

June frowned. She immediately reached out and pulled the cup away, placing it safely in the sink. She had always been fiercely protective of her belongings, hating when anyone treated things with disrespect.

I realized my mistake instantly. Panic flared in my gut. I wiped my sweaty palms on my cheap jeans, suddenly terrified. I was a man who used to flip massive mahogany tables when I was angry, and now a single frown from her made my blood run cold.

I took a deep breath and leaned over the glass counter, pretending to examine a tarnished brass pocket watch. I needed to get closer. The visual and taste tests had broken me, but my wolf was screaming for her scent. I needed the smell of my mate to calm the raging beast under my skin.

As the distance between us closed, my nostrils flared. I pushed my werewolf senses to the maximum. I waited for the sweet, intoxicating scent of moonflowers that always clung to her skin.

But the smell that hit my nose was wrong. I smelled the old wood of the shop, the metallic tang of the silver, and a heavy, cheap, artificial vanilla body wash.

The spell hadn't just erased her memory. It had completely mutated her pheromones.

My body locked up. The giant wolf inside my mind let out a long, agonizing howl of pure grief. To a werewolf, losing the scent of your mate was like having half of your soul surgically removed without anesthesia.

I couldn't accept it. I leaned in further, my chest almost brushing against her shoulder as I desperately chased a ghost of her scent.

June sensed the aggressive intrusion. Her human survival instincts kicked in. She took a large, quick step backward, putting distance between us.

Her eyes turned hard and guarded. "Mr. Bren, please maintain a proper social distance." Her voice was a wall of cold, modern civility.

I looked at the suspicion in her eyes, and my heart twisted. I realized how I looked. I looked like a creeping predator.

I immediately threw my hands up in a gesture of surrender, forcing a pathetic, self-deprecating smile. "I'm sorry. I'm just... I haven't been this close to another person in a very long time."

The harsh edge in June’s eyes softened slightly at my pathetic excuse, but she stayed firmly out of my reach. She didn't hate me, but she definitely didn't trust me.

The awkward silence in the shop was suffocating. Then, the brass bell above the door chimed merrily.

I snapped my head toward the door, a flash of pure, murderous rage crossing my face. Whoever dared to interrupt my time with her was going to die.

Frankie walked in. He was holding a brown paper bag, bringing a gust of cold autumn wind with him. He looked like the perfect, wholesome savior.

The moment June saw Frankie, the tension melted from her shoulders. A bright, genuine, beautiful smile broke across her face.

Seeing her smile at him was a slow, torturous execution. The golden light of my wolf threatened to bleed into my eyes. My jealousy was a physical fire burning my veins.

"Frankie, don't you have classes today?" June’s voice was light and happy. There was zero defense in her tone.

Frankie walked straight to the counter and set the paper bag down. "Lunch break. I brought you your favorite tuna sandwich." He was marking his territory with domestic garbage.

Then, Frankie reached out and casually tucked a stray strand of hair behind June’s ear.

My breathing turned into heavy, ragged pants. My fingernails sliced through the skin of my palms. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to rip his throat out right there.

Frankie slowly turned his head, acting as if he had just noticed me standing there. His acting was flawless. He pretended the rainy alley last night had never happened.

He offered me a polite smile, but his eyes behind the gold-rimmed glasses were dead and cold. "And who is this?"

"A new neighbor, Mr. Bren," June said casually. "Bren, this is Frankie, my... good friend."

*Good friend.* The words sounded like a death sentence.

Frankie extended his right hand toward me. "Hello, Mr. Bren. I'm the history teacher at the elementary school."

I stared at his long, pale hand. My eyes darkened with absolute hatred.

I slowly reached out my own scarred, calloused hand and gripped his. The second our skin touched, the temperature in the room plummeted.

A cruel, violent smirk pulled at the corner of my mouth. I was going to crush this human's hand into powder.

"Nice to meet you, 'teacher'."