Chapter 1

The night before the mating ceremony, I came across a post.

"What do I do if I've fallen for the Alpha who shares my morning commute?"

The poster wrote: "He drives a black Maybach. Same hours, same route, every day."

"One morning I got rear-ended at a red light. I hit the pavement. He got out and helped me up…"

The top-voted comment read:

If you don't tell him, how will he ever know?

What if he likes you back?

I scrolled down.

The post had a photo of the accident.

A hand reaching out.

A watch on the wrist.

A limited-edition Patek Philippe.

I zoomed in.

I stared at the watch for a long time.

I had chosen it myself.

Our initials were engraved on the back — mine and Damon Hawthorne's.

…

The post had been up for a while, but the engagement kept climbing.

I clicked into her profile and read a whole quiet history of one girl's unrequited crush.

Six months ago she'd thanked the commenters who told her to be bold, and announced they were together.

After that, it was sweet dating posts.

Flowers. Weekends together.

Last month he gave her a ring.

She'd posted it.

Fingers laced with his.

"He slid it on me himself. Said he'd propose when the time was right."

I zoomed in on the photo.

I looked for a long time.

Long enough that my eyes began to sting.

I designed that ring.

Nine drafts. Countless nights without sleep.

Every time I was ready to give up, Damon would come up behind me and put his arms around me, kiss me softly.

I'd lean back against him. "Almost there. One more revision."

He'd say, "I'll stay with you."

Then he'd sit beside me, working on his own files, waiting.

The draft files are still on my laptop.

The design is one of a kind.

Later, Damon told me the jeweler had lost the ring.

I believed him. I cried for hours.

He kissed the tears off my eyelashes that night and promised he'd find me a better ring. He told me to stop crying.

Now I understood.

The ring had never been lost.

It had been on her hand.

Two days ago she'd posted, He's been so busy lately, he has no time for his girlfriend anymore.

I kept scrolling.

I didn't like. I didn't comment.

I just flipped the phone face-down on the desk,

looked out the window at the soft rain,

and thought of him — busy planning the mating announcement with me.

The phone buzzed again.

A new post from her, with a location tag. A restaurant.

"He said to come here at eight tonight. He wants me to meet his friends."

The proof was overwhelming.

I had chosen the watch. I had designed the ring.

And still I couldn't let myself believe it.

That the man was Damon.

Almost without thinking, I changed clothes.

I called the family driver and had him take me to the restaurant.

Seven-twenty.

I got there early.

The hostess smiled and asked who I was meeting. I gave her Damon's number.

She looked it up and led me down to a private room.

The corridor was long, carpeted in dark red.

My heels made no sound on it.

I got to the door of the private room.

It wasn't fully closed. Voices leaked through the gap.

"Damon, you really do fuss over your little mate. You called the eight o'clock table for seven-thirty just to get your boys lined up first?"

"She's shy. I wanted you lot here ahead of her so you'd learn to keep your mouths shut."

"Relax. We'll behave."

Laughter. The clink of glasses.

Somewhere in all that, someone brought me up.

"Damon, what are you going to do about the one at home? She basically grew up with us."

"Come on, be polite. Wren Calloway is the pup of the Omega who took a bullet for him."

"And if we're being blunt, she's just some maid-Omega's leftover pup."

"She's his playmate, that's all. Pity pet."

I still wouldn't accept it.

I kept waiting for Damon's answer.

He would shut them down. He had to.

Like that time in school when someone had called me an orphan, and he'd dragged the wolf to the ground and beat him bloody.

He'd come back to me afterward with red-rimmed eyes, aching for me.

"Next time someone says it, I'll hit him too."

He would. He had to.

He'd make them stop.

He'd tell them Wren wasn't a leftover pup.

"Crude, but not wrong."

Damon's voice drifted out through the gap in the door.

Light. Offhand.

Like he was saying the weather was nice today.

"Just —" he paused. "Don't say it in front of her."

"She's thin-skinned."

Someone whooped. "Oh? Our Alpha's getting soft?"

"Soft for what." His voice was lazy. "My mother made me promise on her deathbed. I owe the girl that much."

"She lives under my roof, I feed her. It's the least I can do."

"Think of it as keeping a pet."

"It's not any trouble."

More laughter.

I froze in the doorway with tears all over my face.

My whole body was shaking.

Pet.

I didn't care how I looked anymore. I shoved the door open.