Kimberly POV:
Graves dragged me back into his orbit with a legal summons. Pack Law Section 4: Mandatory Attendance. If I didn't show at the Charity Gala, I’d be declared a deserter.
I wore black armor—high-necked, long-sleeved.
Graves met me at the door. He looked haggard. The forty-million-dollar loss had stung.
"Smile," he hissed, gripping my bruised arm. "Harrison is watching."
Alpha Harrison. A lecherous old moneybag from the North.
"Harrison," Graves smoothed his voice. "You remember Kimberly? We’re looking for liquidity. Perhaps Kimberly could give you a private tour of the gardens? She’s very... accommodating."
My stomach turned. He was pimping me out to cover his losses.
"I’m not property, Harrison," I said icily. "And I bite."
I yanked my arm free and headed for the restroom.
Alex was there, applying lipstick. She looked like death warmed over—grey skin, tremors. The Rogue Rot was eating her alive.
"You look terrible," she rasped.
"And you smell like a corpse," I countered.
Alex laughed, a brittle sound. She stepped closer. "Enjoy your freedom, Kimberly. Graves thinks selling you to Harrison is punishment. I have a better idea."
"Your kidneys," she whispered, eyes gleaming. "Rogue Rot causes organ failure. I need a transplant. A high-vitality donor. An Alpha bloodline."
"You're delusional."
"Graves already agreed," she smiled. "He thinks it's 'silver poisoning.' He’d do anything to save me."
A chill went down my spine. This wasn't just a threat. It was a plan.
