Alessia POV:
I found refuge in a greasy spoon diner on the edge of town. It was run by a human named Sal. Humans were better than wolves sometimes. They didn't care about hierarchy or pheromones. They just cared if you could scrub a grill.
I was scrubbing the grease trap, the harsh chemicals burning my nose, but I preferred it to the smell of the manor.
"You okay, kid?" Sal asked, flipping a burger. "You look like you fought a lawnmower."
"I'm fine, Sal."
The bell above the door chimed.
The atmosphere in the diner changed instantly. The air became heavy, thick, and hard to breathe. The humans stopped eating, looking around nervously, sensing a predator even if they couldn't see one.
It was Alpha pressure.
I didn't turn around. I kept scrubbing.
"Alessia."
Dante's voice was right behind me.
I rinsed the sponge and turned. He was wearing a black trench coat that cost more than this entire building. He looked out of place among the vinyl seats and ketchup stains.
He placed a small white box on the counter.
"Coconut cake," he said. "From the bakery on 5th. It was your favorite when you were ten."
I looked at the box. I remembered that cake. I remembered saving my allowance for weeks to buy a slice for him when his father died.
"I'm not ten, Dante. And I don't eat sugar anymore. My stomach can't handle it."
"It's just a peace offering," he said, pushing the box toward me. "Chiara... she didn't mean to upset you yesterday. Her medication makes her emotional."
"Is that why you're here? To apologize for your mistress?"
"She's not my mistress," Dante growled. "She is my responsibility. I owe her my life."
I froze. My hands gripped the edge of the sink.
"You think you owe *her* your life?" I asked quietly.
"Seven years ago," Dante said, his eyes distant. "When I was poisoned with silver nitrate during the coup. I was dying. My kidneys were failing. Chiara gave me the transfusion. Her blood type is rare. She gave so much she damaged her spiritual core. That's why she's sick, Alessia. She sacrificed her wolf for me."
I wanted to laugh. I wanted to scream until my throat bled.
It wasn't Chiara.
I remembered that night. Chiara had fainted at the sight of blood. I was the one who dragged Dante into the safe house. I was the one who hooked up the tubes. I was the one who lay next to him for six hours, draining my own veins until I went into hypovolemic shock.
My blood healed him because I carry the White Wolf gene. My blood is potent.
My parents had come in when it was over. They saw me unconscious and Dante healing. They swapped us. They put Chiara in the bed and threw me in the cellar to recover. They told me if I ever spoke of it, they would kill Dante.
"Is that the story they told you?" I asked, looking at him with pity.
"It's the truth," he said firmly. "I smelled her scent on me when I woke up."
"Because she doused herself in your cologne while you slept," I muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing." I wiped my hands on a rag. "Take your cake, Dante. Go back to your castle."
His phone buzzed. He looked at the screen, and his face crumbled.
"I have to go," he said, panic edging his voice. "Chiara is on the roof of the West Tower. She says she's going to jump."
"Of course she is," I said dryly. "It's Tuesday. She always needs attention on Tuesdays."
Dante slammed his hand on the counter, denting the metal. "She is suicidal! Have you no heart?"
"I had one," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "But I left it in a silver cage."
He glared at me, torn between the pull of the Mate Bond that urged him to stay with me, and the guilt that tethered him to Chiara.
Guilt won.
He grabbed the cake box and threw it in the trash can as he stormed out.
I watched him go. The humans in the diner let out a collective breath.
I walked over to the trash can. I looked at the smashed cake.
That was us. Sweet, nostalgic, and garbage.
*
