ARIEL

The rain outside fell in a relentless sheet, resuming shortly after Sterling came back from his trip to Dean’s place.

He didn’t elaborate on what had happened, but I could sense that something big had shifted in the relationship between the two brothers.

He stood by the wet bar, his back to me and his fingers tight around a bottle.

His shoulders were tense as he poured our drinks, like he was ready to snap at any moment.

The liquid sloshed in the glasses, catching the glow of the bright city lights outside.

I accepted a glass from him, our fingers grazing just enough for me to feel the tremors in his hand. I hit record on my phone and set it on the coffee table between us. “Are you sure you still want to do this?” I asked, watching his face carefully.

Sterling sat down slowly and took a sip. The ice clinked as he swirled the whiskey in his hand. He let out a long exhale before he nodded. “I still have a story to tell.”

“Okay, then.” I forced myself to keep my tone light, like we were talking about the weather instead of poking and prodding at his hidden wounds. “Dean mentioned your father taught you to shift. What was that like?”

The question was a grenade, and I watched it detonate in slow motion. His shoulders stiffened. For the briefest moment, his fingers flexed around his glass. Crack. The whiskey glass shattered in his fist and shards of glass and drops of liquor scattered across the floor.

“We’re not discussing him.” His growl vibrated through my bones. Blood welled between his fingers, and dripped onto the rug.

I should’ve backed off. He was silent, the raw power in his body ready to explode at any moment.

But I didn’t flinch. Instead, I leaned forward.

“You hired me to tell your truth. Right now? It’s full of holes and the public already has their shovels ready to fill them with rumors and lies. Is that what you want?”

Sterling got up and stalked across the room.

He slammed a palm against the glass, leaving a bloody handprint on the surface.

For a long time, he said nothing. Then, he spoke, so quietly that I almost missed it.

“My father believed that everything could be taught with pain. We had a room in the family home. The white room. There were no windows. Only white tile on the floor, walls, and ceiling. Nobody could hear you scream from inside. He locked me in there with him. If I couldn’t control the beast, then I didn’t deserve to be a Nightfang. ”

My pen paused, ink soaking into the page and spreading like blood. “How old were you?” I asked softly.

“Six.” He turned slightly. “Those scars you saw on my ribs? That’s where he used a cattle prod on me for whimpering like a pathetic human.”

My stomach churned. I set my pen down, all thoughts of the book forgotten. “Sterling—”

“Don’t,” he barked. “I don’t want pity. You wanted unfiltered, and I’m giving it to you.”

I swallowed hard, then thought better and took a gulp of whiskey. We had to keep going. I picked up my pen and drew a new line. “The incident in Barcelona. The tabloids called it a violent outburst. They blamed it on roid-rage. What really happened?”

He let out a bitter laugh. “I tore a teammate’s throat out with my claws. Not enough to kill, just a warning he would remember every time he looked in the mirror. He drugged a girl in the VIP section. Let’s say that my wolf disagreed with the defense he gave.”

I tilted my head. “You never told anyone about this?”

His eyes locked onto mine. “Not until now.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Happy? That juicy enough for your book?”

I closed my notebook with a snap. “This isn’t about juicy.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “It’s about showing the man behind the monster they’ve painted you as.”

Sterling stood there at the window, blood still dripping onto the floor. I reached out, brushing my fingers over his hand. He took in a shuddering breath, then his shoulders dropped.

“I’ll help you clean this,” I whispered.

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t pull away.

And that was enough. Like a docile puppy, Sterling followed me to the bathroom.

I worked in silence, disinfecting the cuts and tweezing out pieces of glass.

As I bandaged his hand, Sterling watched me with an intensity that would have sent me running just weeks ago. Now, it only captivated me.

When I finished, he caught my wrist. Not hard. Just enough to make me look up.

“Why does it matter to you? The truth. The scars. All of it.”

The bathroom light caught the gold flecks in his eyes, the ones that only appeared when his wolf was close to the surface.

I could lie. Say it was professional curiosity.

But Sterling wasn’t the only one who was done running.

“Because no one’s ever fought for you before.

” My thumb grazed the edge of his bandage.

“Not the way you fight for everyone else.”

His grip tightened. Just for a second. Then he let out a breath, long and slow before he lowered his head and rested his forehead against mine. We stayed like that, breathing the same air in silence.

“Tomorrow, we talk about Violet,” I said softly.

His lips curved, not quite a smile, but he let out a chuckle. “You’re going to kill me, Hayes.” And when he squeezed my hand this time, he didn’t let go.

The next morning, the storm had passed, leaving the city washed clean and glistening.

Sometime during the night, the housekeeper had cleaned up the living room, removing all traces of glass and bloodstains.

By the time I padded out to the kitchen, Sterling was already there, his bandaged hand wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. He looked up as I entered.

“Ready?” I asked, setting my notebook and phone on the counter.

He nodded. “Let’s get this over with.”

I took a seat across from him. “Tell me about Violet. What was she like as a mother?”

“Violet wasn’t a mother. She was a strategist. Every move she made was calculated, every word a jab. She didn’t raise us. She molded us. Dean was her golden boy, the heir apparent. Rafe was her enforcer. And me?” He laughed bitterly. “I was the spare. The one she could afford to break.”

The pain in his voice made me want to find Violet and force her to feel every bit of abuse she inflicted on Sterling. Instead, I focused on jotting down my notes. “Did she ever show you any kindness? Any affection?”

He shook his head. “Affection was a weakness in her eyes. The closest she ever came to praise was when I scored my first professional goal. At least you’re good for something, were her exact words.”

“And your father? How did he fit into all of this?”

Sterling’s expression darkened. “My father was Violet’s puppet. He did whatever she told him, no questions asked. He was the one who enforced her lessons.”

I swallowed hard. “Why did you stay? Why not leave like Dean did?”

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and sorrow. “I tried. More times than I can count. But every time I got close, she’d find a way to drag me back. Threats, blackmail, manipulation. She had a way of twisting the knife until I had no choice but to comply.”

I leaned forward, my voice soft but insistent. “But you did leave eventually. What changed?”

For a moment, I thought he might shut down again.

“The injury. When I tore my ACL, it was the first time I couldn’t fight back.

I was vulnerable, and she saw it as an opportunity to tighten her grip.

But it was also the first time I realized I didn’t have to live like that.

I didn’t have to be her pawn. So I walked away. Cut ties. Built something of my own.”

I nodded, scribbling furiously. “And now? She’s still trying to control you. I need to understand. What drives her? What does she want?”

Sterling’s expression darkened, his voice low and venomous.

“Power. Control. She’s obsessed with the Nightfang legacy, with maintaining her grip on the family name.

To her, we’re not her children. We’re tools.

Pieces on a chessboard. And if we don’t play our part, she’ll eliminate us without a second thought. ”

“What about Dean? How does he fit into all of this?”

Sterling’s expression softened slightly at the mention of his brother.

“Dean’s always been the only one who saw her for what she was.

He tried to protect me when we were kids, but there was only so much he could do.

Eventually, he had to save himself. Even if it meant leaving me there in hell, it was the only way he could break free.

I don’t blame him for it. Not anymore. The past is what it is. All we can do is move forward.”

I nodded. It seemed like whatever rift had existed between Dean and Sterling had been resolved. My heart ached for the boy he had been and the man he’d become. “And Rafe? Do you think there’s any chance of reaching him?”

He shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips.

“Rafe’s too far gone. Violet’s made sure of that.

He’s her weapon, her enforcer, and he’ll never see it any other way.

I’ve tried to get through to him before, but…

” He trailed off, his voice heavy with regret. “Some people are too broken to fix.”

I set my pen down. “Sterling, I know this is hard, but thank you for trusting me with this. It’s not just about the book, it’s about understanding who you are. The man behind the bigger-than-life persona.”

He looked at me, his expression filled with a mixture of vulnerability and resolve. “You’re the only one who’s ever asked, Ariel. The only one who’s ever cared enough to dig beneath the surface.”

I reached across the counter, my fingers brushing his. “I want to know you. Not just the superstar or the billionaire or the wolf. Just you.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his expression unreadable. Then, with a soft sigh, he turned his hand over, his fingers intertwining with mine. His grip was firm, but gentle, as if he was anchoring himself to me in the midst of the storm.

We sat like that for a moment, the silence between us comfortable. Then I pulled my hand back, picking up my pen again. “One last question. Your soccer career, was it just a way to escape, or was there more to it?”

Sterling leaned back in his chair and sipped at his coffee.

“At first, it was an escape. A way to prove I was more than just Violet’s pawn.

But then, it became something else. Soccer was the one thing she couldn’t control.

The one thing that was mine. When I was on the field, it didn’t matter who my family was or what they wanted from me.

All that mattered was the game. The rush of the crowd, the feel of the ball at my feet. It was freedom.”

I nodded, scribbling down his words. “And when you had to leave it behind? How did that feel?”

“Like losing a part of myself. But it also forced me to find a new purpose. When I was forced to build my own empire and create something that wasn’t tied to the Nightfang name, it became a different kind of fight. But it’s mine.”

“You’ve been through hell, Sterling. But you’re still standing.”

He looked at me with a piercing gaze. You make it sound so simple."

“It’s not,” I admitted. “But it’s the truth.

And that’s what this book is about, showing the world the man behind the scars.

The man who’s still fighting, even when the odds are stacked against him.

The man who’s more than his past, more than his family’s reputation.

That’s who you are, Sterling. And I’m going to make sure the world sees it. ”

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze locked on mine. Then, he reached across the counter and grabbed my notebook. “You really believe that?”

I leaned my elbows on the counter and watched as he flipped through the pages. “I do,” I said firmly. “And I think deep down, you do too. You just need someone to remind you of it.”

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Should I be?”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a rush of warmth through me. “Most people are. My family, my reputation, the wolf, it’s enough to send any sane woman running for the hills.”

I met his gaze head-on, my voice steady. “I’m not most women. And some would argue that I’m a bit crazy. Besides, I’ve seen the man behind the growl. He’s not so scary.”

“Careful,” he said, his tone teasing but with a hint of warning. “You might just start liking me.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

He didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes said more than words ever could.