The call came at eleven thirty at night.
I was sitting at the kitchen island, staring at a stack of alliance reports I couldn't focus on. My phone buzzed. Mom's name flashed on the screen.
But it wasn't her voice.
"Ms. Campbell?" A nurse. Her tone was too careful. "Your mother collapsed at home. We're taking her into emergency surgery. You should come now."
I grabbed my keys and ran.
---
The hospital waiting corridor smelled like disinfectant and old coffee. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. I sat in a plastic chair, my hands clasped tight in my lap. My wolf paced inside me, anxious and restless.
I called Caden.
He answered on the third ring. "Natalia? What's wrong?"
"It's my mom." My voice cracked. I hated that it did. "She's in surgery. I'm at the hospital. Can you come?"
A pause. Too long.
"I'm in the middle of a pack council meeting," he said finally. "It's urgent. I can't leave right now."
"Caden, she might—"
"I know. I'm sorry. But this meeting is critical. I'll come as soon as I can."
He hung up.
I stared at the phone in my hand. Around me, other families huddled together. A man held his mate's hand. A father paced near the vending machines. An elderly woman clutched a rosary.
I sat alone.
My wolf whispered, *He should be here.*
I told her to be quiet.
---
Three hours later, the surgeon came out. Mom was stable. The surgery went well. She would recover.
I thanked him. My voice was steady. My hands didn't shake.
But Caden never came.
---
I drove back to the pack house just after two in the morning. The halls were dark. I climbed the stairs to the Alpha suite, exhaustion dragging at my bones.
Caden's phone was on the nightstand. It buzzed as I walked past.
I shouldn't have looked.
But I did.
The screen lit up with a text from Beta Marcus: *Glad Macy's okay. That fender bender could've been worse. Good thing you got there so fast.*
I stared at the words.
Fender bender.
Macy.
My wolf went very, very still.
I picked up the phone. My fingers moved on autopilot, scrolling through the message thread. There were dozens of texts between Caden and Marcus from tonight.
*Macy hit a mailbox. She's shaken up.*
*I'm on my way.*
*Stayed with her until the tow truck came. She's fine now.*
The timestamps were clear. Caden had left the pack house at eleven forty—ten minutes after I called him. He'd spent three hours with Macy while my mother was on an operating table.
I set the phone down carefully. My hands were steady. My breathing was even.
But inside, something snapped.
Not loud. Not violent.
Just… clean.
Like the last thread holding a frayed rope finally giving way.
My wolf didn't snarl. She didn't howl.
She simply stopped caring.
*He chose her,* she said quietly. *Over your mother. Over you.*
I nodded.
*Good,* she whispered. *Now we know.*
---
I called Phoebe the next morning.
"Meet me at Hank's," I said. "The bar outside territory. Tonight."
"What's wrong?" Her voice sharpened immediately.
"Everything."
---
Hank's Bar sat twenty miles past the Shadowridge border, tucked between a gas station and a shuttered motel. The neon sign flickered. The parking lot was gravel. Inside, it smelled like stale beer and fried food.
Perfect.
Phoebe slid into the booth across from me. She took one look at my face and ordered two whiskeys without asking.
When the drinks came, I told her everything.
The stolen summit seat. The cake I smashed into Caden's chest. The phone call I overheard where he promised to credit Macy for my work. Mrs. Wallace's endless sneering about my "common" bloodline. Five years of marriage. Five years of him delaying the marking ceremony with excuse after excuse.
And last night. My mother in surgery. Caden with Macy at a fender bender.
Phoebe's eyes flashed gold halfway through. By the end, her jaw was so tight I thought her teeth might crack.
"That bastard," she said softly.
I took a long drink. The whiskey burned.
"I need proof," I said. "Real proof. Messages. Files. Bank records. Anything that shows what he's really doing."
Phoebe leaned back. She pulled a tablet out of her bag and set it on the table. Then she pulled out a neon pink straw and stuck it between her teeth, chewing aggressively.
"Give me his email," she said.
I rattled it off.
Her fingers flew over the screen. Lines of code scrolled past. She muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowed in concentration.
"Security's decent," she said. "But not decent enough."
She typed faster. The straw bobbed between her teeth.
Then she grinned.
"Got it."
She turned the tablet toward me. Caden's private cloud storage filled the screen. Folders labeled *Pack Finance*, *Summit Files*, *Personal*.
My wolf leaned forward, predatory and cold.
"Download everything," I said quietly.
Phoebe's grin widened. "Oh, honey. I already am."
