CELINA POV:
I slipped into a quiet corner booth of the small café, pulling my baseball cap down to shadow my face.
The scent of coffee and baked goods did nothing to soothe the icy knot in my stomach.
A few minutes later, a whirlwind of red-brown curls and frantic energy slid into the seat opposite me.
Ferne Collins, my best friend and a reporter for the Blackwood Chronicle, was here.
"God, you look like hell," she said, her voice a low, conspiratorial whisper as she pushed a hot coffee toward me. "But the eyes are great. Like you're about to commit a murder."
The exhaustion was probably written all over my face, but my eyes were bright with purpose.
I slid my phone across the table.
Ferne glanced at the screen.
Her breath hitched.
Then she slapped her palm flat on the table—hard enough that her coffee cup rattled in its saucer.
"That bastard!" she hissed, voice cracking with restrained fury. "And that bitch Karri! I—I swear to god, I will march right into that house and—"
She actually started to push up from her seat.
I grabbed her wrist and yanked her back down. "Sit."
She dropped back onto the booth, chest heaving, fingers drumming a violent rhythm against the tabletop.
A few patrons glanced our way.
I pulled my cap lower and waited until Ferne's breathing evened out.
"I always knew she was a snake," she muttered, quieter now but still seething. "But this? With your necklace? On your sofa? I want to—"
"Ferne."
"—set his entire wardrobe on fire—"
"Ferne."
She stopped, jaw tight, and looked at me.
Her eyes were bright with the kind of righteous fury only a best friend could summon.
"Focus," I said. "I need to get into the Pierce House. Without anyone knowing."
Her anger shifted—not disappeared, but sharpened into professional focus.
Her eyes lit up.
"Easy. They're setting up for the garden party portion of the auction tomorrow. The company handling the outdoor lighting belongs to one of my informants. I can get you in as an intern."
I nodded.
"I need to plant these in his bedroom, his study, and his private lounge."
I opened my bag and slid a small, nondescript box across the table.
Ferne opened it.
Inside were several devices, smaller than a button.
"Whoa, are these the new 'Dragonfly's Eye' series? Where did you get this tech?"
I didn't answer.
"The signal feeds directly to my terminal," I said instead.
Ferne rubbed her hands together, a grin spreading across her face.
"My inner investigative journalist is screaming right now. Leave it to me, Queen."
She led me from the café to a secure apartment she kept in the city center, a place she used as a safe house for sensitive stories.
"You'll stay here for the next few days. It's completely off the grid. Your stepmother and father won't find you," she said, unlocking the door to a room filled with monitors and communication equipment.
"Thank you, Ferne," I said, looking around at the organized chaos of her workspace.
It was the safest I'd felt in days.
She pulled me into a tight hug.
"Don't thank me. Just promise me you'll grind their faces into the dirt when the time comes."
The next day, just as Ferne had arranged, I was dressed in a plain work uniform, a cap pulled low over my eyes.
I was an intern for a lighting company, just another face in the crowd of workers swarming the Pierce House.
I had sprayed myself with a special herbal mist Ferne had procured.
It masked my Omega scent, making me smell like an ordinary human.
It was my key to moving unnoticed among the werewolves guarding the property.
Using my memory of the blueprints, I moved with purpose, pretending to check wiring and fixtures as I made my way toward Jared's private wing.
My heart hammered against my ribs—not with fear, but with something else.
Something hotter.
This was it.
The gamble.
I'd spent six years being careful.
Six years being the good Omega, the quiet fiancée, the one who never caused trouble.
And now I was walking into his house with a bag full of cameras, wearing a uniform that didn't belong to me, daring the universe to catch me.
A laugh—small, breathless, almost involuntary—escaped my lips.
I caught myself, pressed my palm to my mouth, and realized I was smiling.
Not a cold smile.
Something wilder.
Unhinged.
Finally I was the one holding the cards.
I slipped into his study first.
A small, ornate statue on a bookshelf was the perfect hiding spot.
I placed a micro-camera inside one of its hollowed-out eyes.
Next, the bedroom.
The smoke detector on the ceiling, directly above the bed, now had a new, silent observer.
Finally, the private lounge.
I stuck a tiny audio bug to the underside of the very sofa from Karri's photo.
Just as I was about to leave, I heard footsteps and voices in the hallway.
Jared's voice.
My heart leaped into my throat.
I ducked into a small cleaning closet, pulling the door almost shut and holding my breath.
Jared walked past with one of his Pack's elders, discussing security arrangements for the auction.
He was so close I could smell his familiar, cloying scent.
He had no idea I was just a few feet away.
Through the crack in the door, I saw the arrogant smirk on his face.
The sight made my stomach churn again.
Once they were gone, I slipped out, blended back in with the other workers, and walked out of the Pierce House without a single alarm being raised.
Back at Ferne's safe house, I opened my laptop.
Three clear, stable video feeds appeared on the screen.
Jared's study.
His bedroom.
His lounge.
Everything was in place.
Ferne whistled.
"Perfect. Now we just wait for the rats to walk into the trap."
I stared at the screens, my eyes cold.
I knew it wouldn't be long.
Jared and Karri would soon give me the final piece of evidence I needed.
