Page 3 of Bullied Pretend Mate (Silverville Firefighter Wolves #3)

The lawyer’s office is nice, like I expected. My grandmother was always the kind of woman who settled for nothing but the best in an unfussy kind of way. She’d spend a thousand dollars on a coat if she deemed it to be high quality, but scoffed at the idea of paying for designer labels on principle.

The floors are polished dark wood, with plush carpet in the waiting area.

The leather seats are clean and shining, and there’s a simple coffee table holding several glossy, unopened magazines.

There’s no TV in the corner—the patrons of this office are too sophisticated for watching television while they wait, apparently.

I only wait for five minutes before the secretary gets up from her desk, her heels clacking as she walks over to me. She stops one inch from the edge of the carpet—like a dog trained not to enter the kitchen—and says, “Mr. Stone will see you now.”

Nodding, I grab my purse and stand, following her down the hall and to the left. I’m surprised when we step into an elevator—not many buildings in Silverville are that tall—and go up all the way to the sixth floor.

When I step out, I realize Mr. Stone has Silverville’s equivalent of a New York City corner office.

From here, I can see nearly the entire town stretching out, including the old candy factory up in the hills—which is, no surprise, nothing but a burnt-out shell now.

On one edge of town, I spot the motel I declined to stay in, and on the other, the church’s bell tower, which is actually just a bit taller than this building.

“Thank you so much for coming in, Ms. Villareal.”

My eyes adjust as I look from the sunny view outside the window to the balding man sitting in the chair before me. His posture is pristine, his hands steepled, a serious look on his face.

“I imagine your grandmother would be pleased with your hasty return to Silverville,” he says.

I don’t know what to make of that, or how to respond, so I just make a noise and sit in the chair across from him when he gestures at it.

“Of course,” I say, clearing my throat and glancing out the window again. It’s like I can’t stop—I’ve never seen a view like this in Silverville that shows the entire town, the thick trees surrounding it, rising up slowly into the mountains.

We’re situated in the Rockies, but it’s kind of easy to forget about the mountain range beyond the town when you’re here, the sheer volume of the mountains beyond it. How easy it would be to get lost in them, stranded out there.

That’s the way we all felt on the ridge that night, and we weren’t even that far from town.

“Ms. Villareal?”

I snap out of the memory and return my attention to the lawyer sitting in front of me. “I’m sorry,” I say, clearing my throat and shifting in the seat. “I can’t stop myself from admiring your view.”

“Thank you,” he says, but his tone is all business. “Now, let’s get down to this.”

Any hope I had before coming into this room vanishes. The look on his face says this is not going to be pleasant.

“I am now reading from the last will and testament of Calantha Ellen Villareal. This will was prepared when Calantha was of sound mind and disposing memory, and this document is read to you as declared by her, as her last will and testament, to revoke all wills and codicils before.”

Once again, I’m shifting in my seat, trying to keep up with what he’s saying.

It feels like unnecessary legalese. He reads through an identification and declaration, naming my grandmother as the widow of my grandfather.

Then he lists her various children and grandchildren, which only makes me more nervous.

From what I’ve heard, my parents left town shortly after the second round of fires started up. And none of my cousins, aunts, or uncles are here, which tells me they’re not around, either. If they were, they’d be clamoring for a chance to see if they’re named in the will.

Stone goes on, and I lace my fingers together, forcing myself to sit still. If all this is for my grandmother to tell me to fuck off once more, I’m going to feel very stupid for coming home.

He continues reading—she would like to be cremated, entombed beside my father. She is leaving ten thousand dollars to the Silverville Pack Center and rebuilding efforts.

“‘—for Supreme Xeran Sorel to use as he sees fit. Should the supreme change hands between now and the time of this reading, the funds will not be dispersed.’”

“Xeran Sorel?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. “I thought his uncle was the supreme?”

The lawyer lowers the papers in his hand, looking perturbed, like I’ve just drawn him out of a very good book.

“Declan was,” he says drily. “Xeran returned some time ago and took the position. Thank the gods. Now, shall I continue?”

I nod, mind spinning. What does he mean, returned? I can’t imagine the thought of Xeran Sorel ever leaving this place. His family has been in charge for decades, and we all thought he would be the next supreme.

And what does that mean? Did he have to kill his uncle to take the spot? I have a million questions to ask, but this lawyer probably isn’t the right person, especially since he’s having so much fun droning on through this document.

“Finally, article nine,” he says, clearing his throat, glancing at me, and reaching for a glass of water. “‘Residuary estate and conditional bequest to Maeve Villareal.’”

My brow furrows. Conditional bequest ?

“‘The remainder of my estate, including but not limited to the family residence, valued at $1.2 million, all household furnishings and personal effects, the investment portfolio with Mountainside Financial, valued at $2.2 million, the savings account at First National Silverville with the sum of $125,000, and all other real and personal property not specifically devised above, shall go to Maeve Villareal, my granddaughter, subject to the following mandatory conditions.’”

He stops to take a breath, and I realize my hands are shaking. I must be understanding this wrong. There’s no way all those things he’s listing off—which I had no idea my grandmother even had—are coming to me. This must be a mistake. Maybe she wasn’t actually of sound mind when she made the will.

“Firstly, Maeve must be legally and ritually mated to an alpha within the Silverville Pack, as recognized by pack law and tradition, including the completion of the marking ceremony. This requirement must be fulfilled within one hundred and eighty days from the date of my—Ms. Villareal’s death.

Failure to meet this deadline will result in forfeiture of the entire bequest.”

I’m dizzy, my mouth is going dry.

“‘Upon mating, the union must be verified by both the pack alpha supreme and a licensed attorney specializing in pack law before any assets may be transferred.’”

He continues on, talking about the witnesses, notarization, and other legal things my brain wouldn’t hold onto on a good day. And right now is not a good day.

Right now, I am feeling my grandmother’s spite from beyond the grave. The last time I spoke to her was before I left Silverville, when I stopped by her place to let her know that fact.

“Well, you can’t just run away,” she’d said, stamping her cane angrily on the kitchen’s hardwood floor.

In the past, her declarations had been enough to get her whatever she wanted. But this time was different. Silverville had never been hospitable to me, but now it was downright hellish.

Literally, considering the daemon fire.

“I am not running away,” I’d replied, holding my back as straight as I could. That day, I was wearing a baggy gray sweatshirt and sweating my ass off in it. It was late June in the mountains, and though there was a cool breeze outside, it was too hot for that outfit.

But back then, I still thought it pertinent to hide my body.

“Sure looks like it,” she said, shaking her head and taking a step toward me, placing the tip of her pointer finger on the kitchen counter.

“I’ll tell you what you’re going to do, Maeve.

You’re going to find yourself a respectable alpha and mate.

We may not be the finest family on this mountain, but I can pull some strings and call in some favors.

There has to be an alpha close to the supreme family that would answer to some money. ”

“I’m not going to…to pay for marriage,” I said, cheeks flaming at the thought. Of course, my grandmother assumed a literal dowry would be the only way I could find a man.

Then, the next words came out with little consideration of who I was talking to. In fact, all they did was react to the most recent embarrassment of my life.

“In fact, I’m never going to take a mate at all. Especially not with an alpha.”

My grandmother gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth in a dramatic recreation of an old-timey movie. As suddenly as the shock arrived, she seemed to overcome it, turning back to outrage.

“Now, you listen to me. I know you have these big ideas in your head, but you are an omega , and that means something. It means you have a responsibility to continue on this family’s legacy, and the legacy of this pack. So far, you have been doing a wretched job.”

“I am well -aware of that,” I said, stumbling back, shaking my head, wiping away tears with the backs of my hands. “But you don’t have to worry about that—I’m not going to be around to drag the Villareal name through the mud anymore.”

With that, I turned and ran out the front door.

It only occurred to me much later that the last part could have been interpreted much differently, and even if it was, it’s not like my grandmother even wasted the breath to call after me, to try to stop what I might have been about to do.

“…sign right here.”

I snap out of the memory, eyes rising to the attorney’s annoyed gaze.

“I’m sorry,” I croak, “what is this?”

“To acknowledge that I’ve read you the will,” he prompts, shaking the pen at me as though he’s said all this before. He likely has. “And that you understand the conditions of the inheritance.”

My hand shakes as I take the pen and sign the document. But when I’m done, and the ink of my name is still wet, I know that I’m not going to be fulfilling them.

No matter how nice—no, how life-changing —that money might be, I am not taking the bait.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past few years, learning to live in and love this body, it’s that nothing is worth my freedom. Not even the approval of others.

I’m just stepping out of the lawyer’s office when I hear a familiar voice, and it’s too late to run away.

“ Maeve !”

It’s Phina again, and this time, she’s not alone.

“Valerie?” I practically gasp, eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. It takes me a second longer to recognize Valerie now that her hair is bright green, and she’s gained a little weight. It looks good on her.

Without meaning to, I take a step back from them, the warning bells ringing merrily in my head.

“It’s me,” Valerie says, smiling warmly in a way that’s hard to reconcile with the hard, chilly girl I remember from high school. “How are you? What are you doing here?”

“I—” I clear my throat, glancing around nervously, still not understanding how they’re okay with the three of us being seen together like this. “My grandmother died.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Phina says. “We’re so sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be,” I say too quickly, which makes Phina’s eyes widen and Valerie laugh.

“So it’s like that,” Valerie says, glancing up at the legal offices. “Well, hopefully you at least got something good.”

“I did not,” I say flatly, hefting my purse back up on my shoulder, taking another step back. “Well, good to see you both.”

It’s a lie. Seeing them makes me feel like the whole of Silverville is staring at us. It’s throwing me headfirst into that night again, the burning air in my lungs, the blue flames that engulfed Tara like they were going to carry her home.

“Wait, Maeve—” Phina steps forward, reaching out for me. “We’re having an event at the pack hall tomorrow. You should come.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that—”

“Please,” she says, eyes shining. “We have a lot to talk about, Maeve.”

I tell her I’ll think about it, and as I’m walking away, I can’t stop thinking about the look on her face. There’s something different about Phina. Something that has definitely changed—matured—since the last time we saw each other.

And the way she speaks gives me the sense that the town might not react quite the way I think to my return.