Anya POV
The neon sign outside my window buzzed like a dying insect, casting intermittent red stripes across the contract lying on the bed. It stared at me, a paper beast waiting to devour my freedom. A placeholder. The word echoed in my mind, bitter and sharp.
I was just reaching for my phone to delete Declan's number when the screen lit up. It wasn't him. It was the hospital.
My stomach dropped to the floor. It was past midnight. Hospitals didn't call at this hour for good news.
"Miss Carroll?" The voice on the other end was clipped, urgent. "This is the ICU nurse at Pack General. You need to come. Now."
The drive was a blur of panic and blurred streetlights. When I burst through the double doors of the Intensive Care Unit, the smell hit me first—antiseptic, stale air, and the metallic tang of impending death.
I found her behind a glass wall. My mother, Marie, looked so small in the hospital bed, her skin the color of parchment. Tubes snaked out of her like vines, and the rhythmic beeping of the monitor was the only thing proving she was still with me.
"Anya."
I spun around. Dr. Evans stood there, his expression grim. He was a Beta, kind but efficient, and right now, he couldn't look me in the eye.
"What happened?" I choked out, pressing my hand against the cold glass. "She was stable yesterday."
"Her heart is failing, Anya. Rapidly," Dr. Evans said, his voice low. He glanced at his clipboard, a frown creasing his forehead. "We've been trying to manage it with medication, but... looking at her charts, it seems the dosage she's been receiving over the last month wasn't the high-grade synthesizer we prescribed. It was a generic substitute."
My blood ran cold. "Substitute? But the Pack insurance covers the best..."
"Someone authorized a switch to a cheaper alternative," he interrupted gently, though his eyes held a flicker of anger. "It wasn't effective. The damage is done. She won't last the week without a transplant."
The world tilted on its axis. "A transplant? Okay. Put her on the list. Please."
Dr. Evans sighed, the sound heavy with pity. "Because she is human and not Pack-born, she is Tier 3 on the donor list. The only way to bypass the wait and secure a heart immediately is through the private sector. We have a specialist in Switzerland, but the cost..." He hesitated. "It's one million dollars. Upfront."
One million dollars.
The number hung in the air, absurd and terrifying. It might as well have been a billion. I was a waitress. A wolfless nobody living in a motel.
"I... I don't have that kind of money," I whispered, my voice trembling.
"I'm sorry, Anya," Dr. Evans said softly. "I wish there was another way."
He left me standing in the hallway, the silence of the hospital pressing against my eardrums. I felt like I was drowning.
With shaking fingers, I dialed the only person I had left.
"Anya?" Camryn answered on the first ring, her voice thick with sleep. "What's wrong?"
"It's Mom," I sobbed, sliding down the wall until I hit the cold linoleum floor. I curled into a ball, hiding my face in my knees. "She needs a heart. Now. It costs a million dollars, Cam. A million."
There was a stunned silence on the other end. Then, I heard the rustling of sheets.
"Okay. Okay, listen to me," Camryn said, her voice fierce and desperate. "I have savings. My grandmother left me some bonds. It's about twenty thousand. I can transfer it to you right now. Maybe we can get a loan for the rest? Maybe the Pack will—"
"Twenty thousand," I repeated, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in my throat. Tears streamed down my face, hot and stinging. "Cam, that's... that's everything you have."
"I don't care! Take it!"
"It's not enough," I whispered, the fight draining out of me. "It's not even close."
"Anya..." Camryn's voice broke. "Am I supposed to just accept this? Is this the Moon Goddess's punishment for being wolfless? For being us?"
Her question hung in the air, unanswered. The unfairness of it all choked me. We were good people. We worked hard. But in this world, power was the only currency that mattered. And I was bankrupt.
"Keep your money, Cam," I said, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. My voice sounded strange to my own ears—hollow, dead. "I know what I have to do."
"Anya, don't—"
I hung up before she could finish.
Slowly, I stood up. My legs felt heavy, but my mind was suddenly, terrifyingly clear. The tears had stopped. There was no room for grief anymore, only survival.
I looked through the glass one last time at my mother's fragile chest rising and falling. One million dollars.
Declan Blackwood had offered me a deal. I had thought it was a trap, a cage for a placeholder wife. But looking at my mother, I realized it wasn't a trap. It was a lifeline.
I turned away from the ICU and walked toward the exit. The automatic doors slid open, revealing the city skyline. In the distance, the penthouse of the Blackwood Hotel pierced the night sky like a dark obelisk.
I wasn't going there to negotiate. I was going there to surrender.
