Even now, the hatred inside Hayley had not faded. It lingered like a poisoned instinct, twisted and persistent, and in her mind Anastasia remained the root of everything she had lost. Her downfall, her rejection, even the collapse of her senses—all of it, she convinced herself, traced back to that single name.
Far across the city, Christmas season was beginning to awaken every territory with glowing lights and restless pack energy. Bourgeois Jewelry Atelier was preparing its annual winter gathering, an event where designers, sponsors, and influential pack-linked elites gathered under one roof. Early that morning, Felicia's call came through before I had even fully woken.
"Hello?" My voice was thick with sleep, my body still wrapped in warmth beneath the blanket.
"Why do you sound so tired?" Felicia teased immediately. "Don't tell me President Presgrave kept you up last night."
