3

Chapter 3

The next morning, my home was invaded.

I was sitting at the dining table drinking coffee when the elevator doors dinged open. Two pack enforcers emerged first, carrying suitcases and garment bags.

Scarlett followed behind them.

She wore a pale dress, her face wan as if she'd just escaped a nightmare. But her eyes were steady, sweeping over the living room, kitchen, hallway, finally landing on me, as if confirming her place.

Dominic came in right behind her.

His shirt cuffs were stained dark red, his right shoulder clearly restricted in movement.

"Morning," Scarlett spoke first, inappropriately cheerful. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

I ignored her, looking at Dominic instead.

"What happened to your shoulder?" I asked.

"Ran into some trouble with rogues," he answered vaguely, as if afraid I'd press for details, then immediately directed his lieutenant: "Take her things to the guest room. Keep the personal items outside, don't let anyone touch them."

"Yes, Alpha."

Dominic walked over to me, his tone brooking no argument.

"Help me with this."

He removed his jacket; the shirt at his shoulder was stuck with blood. I brought the medical kit, cutting away the fabric. The wound ran along the lower shoulder blade, edges irregular—clearly sliced by some silver blade, then torn worse by forced movement.

I disinfected it with alcohol. His breathing hitched slightly, but he made no sound. His wolf would be working to heal it, but silver wounds took longer.

Scarlett sat on the sofa, arms wrapped around her knees, looking genuinely terrified.

"Last night was absolutely horrible," she said softly. "I thought I was going to die."

Dominic didn't look at her, but his voice softened, his Alpha protective instincts kicking in: "You won't. I'll protect you."

I sutured, medicated, bandaged—my movements clean and efficient. As I finished the last wrap, Scarlett stood up as if suddenly remembering something.

"Oh," she opened an elegant box. "I brought you cake, as a thank you for... being willing to help him."

The lid lifted, releasing the sweet scent of mango mousse.

I glanced at it.

"I'm allergic to mangoes," I said.

She froze momentarily, then looked apologetic: "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I really didn't know."

Dominic had already buttoned his shirt, moving his shoulder experimentally. The pain made his brow tighten slightly.

"We need to leave the territory for a few days," he said. "It's not safe here."

"Where?" I asked.

"Crescent Bay," he said. "I have a place there."

Crescent Bay.

In our world, that wasn't a vacation destination—it was a safe house disguised as a beach estate. Perfect for pack Alphas to appear relaxed when territorial waters were calm, perfect for hiding bodies when storms came.

Three hours later, we arrived at Crescent Bay.

The estate backed onto the ocean, the front yard manicured like sacred pack grounds. The walls were high, reinforced with silver and protective wards, surveillance covered every angle, sea breeze carried the salt smell but couldn't dispel the vigilance here. Pack enforcers quickly took positions, checking every entry point like they were setting up a battlefield.

Inside, though, it was excessively luxurious: white marble, massive floor-to-ceiling windows, fireplace, wine cellar—as if specifically designed to make people forget the words "safe house."

When Scarlett walked in, her familiarity was almost natural.

She placed her hand lightly on the stair railing, smiling: "This place hasn't changed at all."

"You still kept this house," she said softly, part nostalgia, part declaration. "Ten years ago we hid here from a rival pack's attack. Remember? You hid me in the cellar while you went outside to face them... When you came back, your hands were covered in blood."

I followed behind, saying nothing.

I knew perfectly well from the beginning—this wasn't "our" place. This was "theirs."

That evening, we sat in the living room.

Scarlett had changed clothes, draped in a soft shawl, holding a wine glass as she reclined in the armchair like the Luna of the house.

"I always thought I'd never come back here," she sighed. "Dominic, do you remember that year we snuck here? You said once you became Alpha, you'd bring me to live here."

I looked out at the ocean. Night swallowed the sound of waves, like it swallowed promise after promise with no one accountable.

Scarlett had just poured herself a drink when Dominic grasped her hand: "You can't drink, you're still on medication."

He passed that glass to me instead.

I smelled it, my wolf bristling slightly in my chest.

Bourbon whiskey.

The liquor I hated most.

I only drank gin. Dominic used to remember—back when we stayed up late calculating territory accounts together, cleaning weapons together in safe houses, he remembered these details. Now what he handed me was what Scarlett loved.

I looked up at him.

He wasn't looking at me. His gaze remained on Scarlett, as if checking whether she was still nervous, whether she needed more reassurance from her Alpha.

Something inside me broke.

Not loudly, but completely.

I set down the glass and stood.

"Where are you going?" he finally spoke.

"For a walk," I said.

"Don't wander off," he warned reflexively, like addressing someone irresponsible. "There are rogues in the area."

I nodded: "I won't go far."

I left the living room, walked through the corridor, pushed open the back door.

Sea wind hit my face—cold, carrying salt, clearing my head. Pack enforcer silhouettes in the distance stood like shadows guarding the perimeter.

I took out my phone and sent my father a message.

I'm ready.

Come get me. Now.

After hitting send, I looked back at the floor-to-ceiling windows. The warm lights inside showed Dominic's figure moving closer to Scarlett. He reached out to take the wine glass from her fingers, the movement practiced, like this was what he was always supposed to do.

That tenderness—I hadn't seen it in so long.

I pocketed my phone and turned to walk along the beach.

Tonight, I would leave this place.

My Recessive Alpha blood hummed beneath my skin, finally ready to be free.