The Starview Hotel glittered on screen, drenched in light—crystal chandeliers, gold-trimmed tables, violins humming softly in the background. Camille stood radiant in a white fur wrap, Alpha Thorne at her side. Julian and his wife smiled with practiced elegance. Ken and Nolan lifted soda flutes in perfectly tailored tuxedos.
The reporter spoke reverently. “Tonight’s private gathering celebrates the Darkhowl Pack—hosted by Camille Hartclaw. The family behind one of the nation’s most influential shipping empires.”
I wasn’t there.
Not on screen.
Not in name.
Not even as an afterthought.
They raised champagne. I swallowed cold, bitter coffee.
They laughed beneath gold and crystal. I wiped fingerprints from the glass door.
Then came the moment that sliced deepest—Camille leaned toward Thorne, murmured something in his ear, and they both laughed. Julian joined them. I didn’t hear the words, but my wolf bristled hard enough to ache. Some things don’t need sound to be understood. Insults travel through bone and instinct.
Much later—well past midnight—the front door creaked open.
For a heartbeat, foolish hope sparked. Maybe Julian had come back.
But it wasn’t him.