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Chapter Three

L ILA WINTER

The morning air had been crisp, but it had done nothing to cool the burn of humiliation on my cheeks. My heels had clicked against Alaric’s penthouse floor as I raced for the elevator, trying not to let him see what his accusations had done to me.

My dress was wrinkled from our night together. My heart was racing, not from pleasure like a few hours ago, but from sheer shock. The space between my legs throbbed and ached, but the warmth that had been there was replaced by a hollow gnawing pain in my chest.

His accusations had sliced through me, raw and merciless, leaving nothing but ashes in their wake.

Alaric Hells had looked at me like dirt under his foot. I have no idea how I made it down the elevator and into a cab in one piece, but I did right before I let a waterfall of tears choke my throat.

When I arrived at my apartment, completely shattered, Julian was gone and so were his belongings. A fitting goodbye, I guess. The bastard didn’t even leave a note or anything.

Sighing, back to reality, I shake the thoughts of what happened that morning away.

I can’t continue to think about that when I have more pressing matters to attend to, such as my past.

My past has always been painful to me. So much so that I grew tired and started to accept it.

I have no knowledge of my past. No knowledge of my family or who I am.

I started looking for my family and origins a few years ago, but with all the dead ends, I grew disappointed and hurt.

But was it the dead ends, though?

Six years ago, I found a clue about where I might have come from, but I didn't act on it because, apart from being disappointed, I was blinded by faux love.

I had been alone so long that I started looking for my family, and when I fell in love with Julian and moved in with him, Goddess, I thought he was family.

I thought I didn't need anyone anymore because I had Julian freaking Hells as my family, my knight in shining armor and my world.

I was wrong.

If that’s not pitiful, now I’ve met my so-called Fated Mate. The man the Goddess had crafted just for me.

I felt it when our bond snapped into place that night, I felt it in my bones and my soul, but he didn’t. No, Alaric practically slapped me in the face when he told me I'd tricked him into bed so I could bring him to his knees and make him lose his precious Alpha position. Whatever that meant.

And now I have no one, so I have decided to chase my last lead—the only clue that can take me to my family and prove that I matter to someone. That someone out there loves me and has been looking for me.

The sun beats down on the traffic, and my gaze wanders to some of the humans on the street smiling and going about their day. To them, I'm just another woman nursing a broken heart and not a wolf with a wounded heart vibrating in my chest.

Sitting straight inside my car, I read the address that was sent to me.

Six years ago, I met a woman at a grocery store who told me I looked familiar.

She told me her friend, who was a healer, had a picture of a young girl who looked a lot like me.

Apparently, the young girl had run from a hospital in Phoenix, the same city where my old hometown was located, and the healer never found out where she went or if she was okay.

I’d dismissed it, but the woman had given me her number in case I wanted to call. I never called her.

Today I called her though, begging for the healer’s address.

Although I don't remember much of my childhood, maybe I'm that young girl. Maybe the healer has a clue about where I really come from.

I look at the horde of cars in front of me again, begging the Goddess to at least do something about the traffic.

I’m sweaty.

I’m anxious.

And I'm hungry.

And the three things are eating at my spine.

I stay in traffic for about ten minutes before it clears. I divert from the main road, taking a lane into the area of white suburban houses.

My heart thumps when my eyes land on the address I'm looking for.

It’s a blue and white suburban house with a white picket fence and a front yard big enough for children to play in.

In front of the house is a large, black pickup that looks too pricey for this kind of neighborhood.

More than that, the truck looks familiar. I just can’t place where I’ve seen it.

A hopeful smile rests on my face as I whisper, “This is it.”

Deciding to park my car a few houses away from the healer’s home so I won't scare her, I wipe sweat off my forehead, fix my makeup, take my purse, and get out of my car.

The minute I close the door, it happens again.

The pull.

The violent, familiar, and invisible pull that sends a shockwave down my back. My wolf surges forward and claws at my skin. My muscles coil tight like a spring ready to snap.

Pain.

Humiliation.

A bruised heart, shattered into so many pieces that I still haven’t figured out how to put them back together.

They all come back, knocking the breath out of my lungs.

I know before I turn. Before my breath stutters and the ache in my chest blooms into something unbearable.

He’s here.

Dread curls in my stomach. I don’t want to look. I need to leave. Right now. But my traitorous body doesn’t listen. My gaze follows the pull like a puppet on strings, drawn to the presence that has haunted my nights, my thoughts, my every waking moment since that night.

And then I see him.

Alaric.

Standing outside the pickup truck wearing a crisp dark suit.

He’s wearing black sunglasses that make him even more handsome than he usually is, but there’s no denying his eyes are fixed on the healer’s house.

He has a phone against his ear, and if he turned in my direction, we would lock eyes.

And if we did, I don’t think my heart could take his cold stare and the words he threw at me in accusation. Because even now, I can hear those haunting words, and they make my chest feel tighter than usual.

My stomach twists, the same nausea I felt in his penthouse hitting me a hundredfold. I try to force a breath past the knot in my throat, even though all I want to do is to disappear.

Alaric Hells made me feel minuscule and used.

All those memories of the pain he caused?

They go right for my heart and destroy me.

I can’t let him see me.

I can’t…I can't face the humiliation again.

More than that, only a naive person would think that she would find her family based on a random picture. It was stupid for me to come here, and it’s an even dumber idea to face the man who ripped my heart to shreds.

Fumbling for my keys, I yank my car door open and slip inside. My hands shake as I grip the steering wheel.

One last glance at him. One last memory of the man who hurt me.

Then my foot slams on the gas.

I don’t look back.

He never sees me.

I drive until the city is nothing but a blur in my rearview mirror.

I need a fresh start, one far away from this place, from these ghosts, from the life that has only ever brought me pain.

The town hums with life outside the window.

Car horns, distant chatter, the faint melody of a street musician playing for coins on the corner.

It all filters inside my little apartment, a cramped one-bedroom with peeling paint, a leaky faucet, and a heater that only works when it wants to.

The walls are thin enough that I can hear my neighbor singing off-key every morning, and the pipes groan like an old man clearing his throat every time I turn on the shower.

It’s nothing special, but it’s mine.

I grip the edge of my sink with one hand, my knuckles turn white as I steady myself.

It’s been thirty-two days since I left New York.

Thirty-two days since I abandoned my search for the truth. Since I drove out of the city with no real destination in mind but the overwhelming need to disappear.

The first few nights, I slept in my car at gas stations, too afraid to stop moving. I told myself I’d go somewhere new, somewhere I could start over. Eventually, my dwindling cash pushed me to make a choice, and Fair Haven was as good a place as any.

It’s a quiet town. A little too polished, too perfect, like something from a postcard.

The people here are the type of welcoming folk who smile at you when they pass you on the sidewalk.

The streets are lined with flower boxes, and there’s a farmers’ market that everyone in town seems to flock to.

Fair Haven is the kind of town where nothing really happens, and that’s what I was aiming for.

I found a job within the first week. Nothing really fancy—just a cafe bookstore that smelled like old paper and freshly brewed coffee. The work was easy, and I spent my days stacking books, making drinks, wiping down counters, and engaging with customers.

At night, I went home to my tiny apartment, curled up on my secondhand couch, and watched whatever late-night sitcoms were on until exhaustion took over me. I told myself I was fine. That I was doing okay.

But then the exhaustion started hitting harder. The nausea came in second, subtle at first, then worse.

It had been easy to ignore at first.

The first time it happened, I blamed the cafe’s cheap coffee.

The second time, I blamed the stress.

Then today happened.

I had been in the middle of wiping down the counter when the dizziness hit. My stomach lurched, and I barely made it to the restroom in time. The moment I saw my reflection right after I'd vomited my guts out—pale, wide-eyed with lips trembling—I knew.

I knew, but I still made myself buy the test, stand in this tiny bathroom, and stare at the two pink lines.

I squeeze my eyes shut before I open them again.

Positive.

The air seems to thin around me. My stomach lurches, but I don’t know if it’s from the nausea I’ve been ignoring for weeks or the weight of this realization settling in my chest.

Pregnant.

The word doesn’t feel real yet.

And yet, the proof is right there. It’s staring right at me like a big neon sign.

I smile, my tears on the way down my cheeks.

But then the happiness evaporates as my mind starts to race, going over the possibilities, the timelines, and the last men I want to think about.

Julian.

Alaric.

Oh Goddess.

Either of them could be the father.

Bile rises up my throat. The question of who could be the father rings in my head sharply, no matter how I try to ignore it.

But right now, this isn't about them.

This is about me and my baby.

It doesn't matter who my baby's real father is. The fact remains that I'm the mother and I'll do everything I can so that my baby never feels like I'm not enough for her or him. I'll be their support system, just like she or he will be for me.

I press my palm against my still-flat stomach, my chest tightening.

I don’t have a family. I never have. And now, the Goddess has given me one.

A part of me wants to break down, to cry, to scream at the universe for making me face this alone.

But the other part? The part that has always fought to survive makes me straighten my spine.

I can do this.

I’ve always done well on my own.

A slow breath fills my lungs.

This baby is mine.

Not Julian’s. Not Alaric’s.

Mine.