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SERAPHINA

T he brain is a fickle thing. It buries what it must to protect us, locking away memories like a jealous guardian.

Sometimes, it hides them so well that we forget they ever existed.

Other times, all it takes is a single trigger—a sound, a scent, a touch—for the floodgates to crack open.

And when they do, the past doesn't return gently.

It rushes in, relentless and unforgiving, demanding to be remembered.

In my case, the trigger was one name.

I overlook the windows, the rolling hills covered in snow, the houses lit up from inside and the children running around in them.

The fathers shoveling the snow off their front porches.

Mothers catching the squealing children and wrapping scarves around their necks.

Soren running around, being chased by an army of angry little girls, with Landon strapped to his front.

The last holds my attention.

His large hand resting carefully on Landon's back, even as he outmaneuvers a snowball being tossed.

It's rather hard to believe the same man lied to me, deceived me. The cunning bastard.

The contract crumples in my grasp and I let it fall to the ground by my feet. I hadn't bothered to take a look at it since that night, too busy chasing my fleeing memories and duties as his wife.

Last night, however, I had dreamt up my entire life, waking up with a vicious start. And I had dashed out of Soren's bedroom to tell him I remembered every single detail, only to be halted in my tracks by his voice, so damn cruel, so damn cold.

Her innocence has nothing to do with her usefulness to me. If she is the key to acquiring everything I want, then I will keep her, use her until you have nothing left to give.

And it came back to me. Everything. That night at the Red Wolf Pack. He already knew my name, even if I didn't tell him. He's known who I was all along. Everything.

Pretending to help me get better to restore my memories, the log he'd created to enter every event so I could refer back to them when I felt better. It was all a farce. A charade. To keep me here for however long he wishes. To use me against Ronan for some long-term beef between the both of them.

And I had fallen for it.

Gods, I had kissed him yesterday like I would die if I didn't have his lips on me. And if I wasn't still healing, I would have begged him to fuck me on the terrace, under the stars.

I don't cry.

I'm too fucking mad to cry.

But the tears fill my eyes anyway, running down my cheeks. My heart aches so severely, I feel as though I am being ripped to shreds from the inside. I had learned to trust him, learned to look in his eyes and trust the intense green of them, trust every word that fell from his mouth.

I should've known nothing came easy in my life. Not love. Not trust. Nothing good came without pain.

I've contemplated it for hours. Leaving. Starting over somewhere else. The possibility of Soren letting me leave at all. But I have to find a way. Because there is nothing left for me here.

At first, I stayed because of what I stood to gain, but over the months, I found my resolve loosening, changing. I loved it here. I found a home here. I grew complacent, gullible and foolish, letting my heart rule me.

I could never see Soren the same way again. All he's taught me is men lie. They ruin. They take advantage of you, use you and discard you once they are through.

That last part will not be my reality. I wipe my tears.

Every month, I received a steady allowance from Soren, into an account he created in my name. I've never had to use or ask for them, because he ensured I had everything I needed.

My heart twists painfully, but I ignore the reaction.

If I hope to truly escape him, I need those accounts.

Running out of here with Landon like I did when I was fleeing from Ronan would be stupid.

And even if my heart bleeds, my body wanting to leave this very instant, and my mind struggling with the idea of taking anything that has been remotely touched by Soren, I did earn my keep here.

I worked hard for every penny.

Turning on my heel, I head for the nightstands, pulling out compartment after compartment. Files. Signatories. I find nothing of importance. Not in the bedroom. Just accounts I've seen and worked on with him before.

Thoughts surface of working with him late into the night, falling asleep against his thighs and drifting off to his adept fingers twining in my hair or his voice vibrating against my cheek as he spoke to someone over the phone.

My fists clench. Foolish. I was extremely foolish to let myself go enough to open up and let him in.

Friends? Fuck that. Friends didn't know the way each other's lips tasted.

Friends didn't have wet dreams about each other, neither did they steal glances at each other at the breakfast table, watching as the other licked the jam off the spoon or spread the goat cheese with his fingers.

Friends surely didn't imagine those fingers between their thighs.

I liked him. I actually liked him.

And he turned out to be just like everyone else. Just like Ronan. A bloody liar. And in the top five things I hated the most in my life, dishonesty was one of them.

I storm out of the bedroom, uncaring of the flimsy garment I have on as I march for his study.

It is unlocked, much like everywhere else that belongs to him.

I always thought him overconfident, but it was merely that no one dared come up here to steal.

Not with the cameras watching every little movement.

And I know he'll get alerted by the security the moment I walk inside.

But hey, see if I care.

The small space is tidy and smells just like him. Spicy. Manly. Sexy.

Motherfucker .

I start with his desk, shuffling through the files atop, the books, the entries, credit cards—credit cards. There are three black cards in my name. Seraphina Winter. I'd never asked, but he somehow figured I'd need them when I left.

Or maybe they only worked as long as I remained his wife. There had to be a catch with Soren. Only one way to find out. I grab the card with gold platings, clutching it tightly and just as I turn to leave, my hand hits the keys of his open laptop.

The screen flares to life and I freeze.

His wallpaper is a picture of me. It wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't from a time when I hadn't even known he existed.

I'm in the short maid uniform from the Red Wolf Pack, taking a nap in the garden. I'd done that way too many times during an errand to remember exactly when the picture could have been taken, but that doesn't change shit.

I click on it, attempting to find the folder, but the laptop requires a password. I try a set of too obvious digits and letters and end up nearly locking myself out.

A hint appears at the bottom of the screen. Four letters that rhyme with ' My era'.

It had to be a joke. He couldn't be that obvious. I hit the keys forming his preferred nickname of me and I stare at the screen, baffled. I'm in. And the bastard's password is my name?

What might have been cute before scares the fuck out of me and though I know this is a bad idea, I can't bring myself to stop going along with it, surfing through different folders of different Alphas, Head Alphas, Betas, more accounts—just the regular kind of information a Head Alpha should have.

Until I find one dedicated specially to me.

My fingers tremble as I click on it. And stop breathing.

There are pictures everywhere, files, receipts, documents he shouldn't have, like the loans years ago and repaid with an absurd amount of interest, like my mother's prescription and the one time I'd broken my rib at school and hidden the doctor's painkiller prescription so that Mom would never find out I was being bullied. ..

When he told me he had pulled information on me, I'd thought it basic. Only now do I realize my error. And the pictures...

Urgent footsteps stomp somewhere along the stairs and I exit the folder, replacing the window with what he'd been working on previously before slamming the screen down and raising it back up, so it appears locked.

I barely make it to the couch before Soren comes bolting in.

And he finds me sitting on the plush, green couch. "Hey," I say, smiling, forcing my heartbeats to slow because I'm sure he can hear them. "I couldn't find you. I thought you'd be here."

Brilliant green eyes flick to his desk and back to me. "I took Landon for a walk. He was crying and I didn't want to wake you."

His words ring true, but the taste of his betrayal is still fresh in my mouth and my smile is more of a grimace. "Thank you. I had another dream," I say swiftly, pulling his gaze from his desk.

I need him thoroughly distracted. Enough for the light on his screen to die out. If I am to believe what I saw, I'd say Soren has been looking into my life for longer than I've known him. Every. Single. Detail.

I'm not sure I want to know what he'll do to me when he finds out I know something. Or that I have regained my memories. Will he put me in the pack dungeons and chain me up to the wall? I'm sure he'd like that very much. Or will he kill me?

Gods, I'm getting ahead of myself. How do I always find myself in these situations with unhinged men?

I force myself to breathe easily, force my vision to cloud over like I am lost in another memory, force my voice to shake a little as I say, "It's getting worse, Soren. I can almost feel the pain when I fall." I shudder and pretend not to notice that he's drawn closer. "I wish it'd just stop."

When he touches me, I don't flinch. Not because I don't want to, but he's tricked my body into feeling safe around him and my stomach tightens when his thumb strokes my cheek. "It will. Soon." He crouches in front of me, free hand holding Landon in place. "I'll go get you breakfast."