Page 95 of Knotted By my Pack

Too close.

Too dangerous.

I don’t want anyone catching me here. Not like this. Not when I’ve broken in and fixed things no one asked me to. I scroll through my contacts, thumb pausing on Brielle’s name.

She’s probably asleep. She’ll probably think this is something else.

I hit call.

She answers after two rings, voice soft and raspy. “Julian?”

“You awake?” I ask, already hearing the shift in her tone.

“Mmhmm,” she says, the word dripping with hope. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I rub a hand over my face. “I need you to order something for me. Top-of-the-line commercial espresso machine. Quietest model on the market. Ship it priority.”

Silence. Then the sound of her breath catching, colder this time. “Oh. This is a work call.”

“It’s a personal expense. Bill me directly. Don’t mention it to my father.”

Another pause. I don’t fill it. Eventually, she says, “Fine. Anything else?”

“No.” I hang up before the disappointment in her voice does anything it shouldn’t.

I head out the same way I came in, slipping into the quiet of the early morning. My shoes crunch against the gravel near the lot as I walk back to the edge of town.

The sunrise is just starting to crack across the sky, spilling faint pinks into the horizon.

I’m exhausted, but I don’t stop.

The moment I cross my front door, I lock it behind me and lean back against the wood.

All of this?

It needs to stay buried.

I head upstairs without looking back, determined to put it away. The guilt. The night. The pieces of a life I never wanted to inherit.

Let the town have its fresh paint and shiny machines. Let them believe in clean slates and quiet mornings.

I know better.

I sit by the window,coffee steaming gently between my palms. Outside, the streets are just starting to wake. People drift in and out of the bakery, a steady stream that tells me exactly when Cora is alone inside.

The way she moves, a quiet grace even in the early morning, it’s a pull I can’t ignore. I want to check on her, but my mouth tightens. What would I even say? Words seem small compared to the tension knotting inside me.

The knock at the door pulls me back. Lockwood steps in, all polished smiles and calculated calm. He doesn’t waste time. His eyes narrow when he mentions the vandalism, his suspicion clear as day.

He connects the dots between me, my father, and the damage. I don’t answer. He asks what I’m doing with zoning. I meet his gaze, asking why he’s really here.

He slides a folder across the table, the edges worn from handling. Inside, official documents approve the zoning we needed. A nod means construction can finally start.

The relief should hit me, but instead there’s a pit that twists deeper in my gut.

Then he leans in closer, voice low and oily. He says he’ll keep quiet—for a price. The kind of price that makes your skin crawl and your soul weigh heavier.

His eyes gleam with greed, greed that’s been eating away at this town for decades. I nod without speaking, my mind calculating the cost.