Chapter 4

　　The phone in my pocket buzzed again as I turned the corner onto my street.

　　I ignored it. I had been ignoring it since I left the pavilion. Notifications piled up—texts, missed calls, voicemails I didn't want to hear. Cassian's name flashed on the screen every few minutes, insistent, like he thought constant noise would force me to answer. I didn't open any of them. I knew what they would say. Threats wrapped in fake apologies. Begging disguised as anger. Words that would only make the ache in my chest worse.

　　My apartment building looked smaller than it had yesterday. The cracked steps felt colder under my boots, rougher, like they'd sharpened overnight. The peeling paint on the door sagged more, curling at the edges. Everything felt tighter, like the world had shrunk around me while I was gone, squeezing in from all sides.

　　I climbed the stairs slowly. Legs heavy, knees soft from running earlier. Chest still tight from sprinting away from the pavilion. From crying in ugly, silent heaves on a side street. From remembering the way Damian's lips had curved when our eyes met—like he already knew every secret I was trying to bury, like he could see straight through the sundress and the rage to the mess underneath.

　　Inside, the place smelled like stale coffee and the faint metallic tang of the oxygen tank down the hall. Nova had left hours ago after making sure I was breathing, after pressing a glass of water into my hands and telling me to call if I needed anything. I dropped my keys on the counter.

　　The first thing I did was check my email.

　　Nothing from the three part-time jobs I'd applied to last week. No callbacks. No "we'd love to schedule an interview." Just silence where there should have been something—anything. The inbox looked empty in a way that made my throat close.

　　I refreshed again. Nothing.

　　A cold feeling settled in my gut, spreading outward until my fingers tingled.

　　I opened my banking app. The balance stared back—barely enough for rent, less than nothing for Dad's next hospital bill. The reminder email from the clinic had come in while I was running: 'Payment due in 7 days. Late fees would apply.' The subject line sat there in bold, unblinking.

　　I closed the app. Hands shaking so hard the phone slipped once before I caught it.

　　Dad's room was down the short hallway. The door cracked open a little for me to hear the soft beep of machines. I pushed it wider quietly.

　　He was asleep, an oxygen mask fogging with each shallow breath. The machines beeped soft and steady, a rhythm I knew too well. His face looked thinner and paper than last week. The skin under his eyes were darker, like shadows had settled in permanently. His chest rose and fell too slowly, each breath pulling at the thin skin of his throat.

　　I sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand. It felt cold, thin-boned, fragile in mine. The IV line taped to the back of his hand looked too thick against his skin.

　　"Morning, Dad," I whispered even though he couldn't hear me. "The wedding was… canceled. Long story."

　　He didn't stir.

　　The beeping filled the silence. I stayed there until it felt too loud, until my throat closed up and my eyes burned. I traced the lines on the back of his hand with my thumb—veins blue and raised under paper-thin skin. I stayed until the ache in my chest matched the ache in his breathing.

　　Then I stood, leaned down, kissed his forehead—dry skin, faint scent of hospital soap—and went back to the living room.

　　My laptop was still open from yesterday. Screen dark. I took a seat and opened job sites. Typed in the same searches I'd done a dozen times.

　　No results.

　　I tried different keywords. Nothing.

　　I tried a third site. A fourth.

　　Zero.

　　My fingers hovered over the keyboard. Knuckles white. Nails digging into palms. Then I typed something new.

　　Damian Hawke contact

　　The search loaded fast.

　　Headlines. Photos. State governor. Alpha of the strongest pack. He was preparing to become Alpha King. Ruthless in business. Untouchable in politics. Dangerous in everything else. Articles called him the most powerful man in the state. Some called him something worse.

　　A direct line wasn't public. But there was an address—his private villa on the edge of the city. The kind of place humans didn't just walk up to. Gates. Guards. Power.

　　I stared at the screen until my eyes burned.

　　Cassian had blocked every door. Every job. Every chance. He thought I'd come crawling back—penniless, broken, begging.

　　He was wrong.

　　I grabbed my keys, hoodie and phone. I didn't bother changing out of the sundress. Didn't bother waiting for morning to turn into afternoon. Didn't bother thinking it through.

　　I walked out.

　　The bus ride took forty minutes. Tall buildings giving way to gated estates, trees thickening. I kept my hoodie up, hood pulled low, staring out the window without seeing anything. My reflection in the glass looked small. Pale. Angry.

　　The stop was a mile from the address. I got off and walked the rest. The air felt different here. Gates loomed ahead—black iron, tall, guarded. Two wolves in dark uniforms watched me approach, postures stiff, eyes sharp.

　　I stopped in front of them. Chin up.

　　"I need to see Damian Hawke."

　　One raised an eyebrow. "Appointment?"

　　"No."

　　They exchanged a look. The second one spoke into his earpiece. Quiet words I couldn't catch.

　　A long pause.

　　Then the gate buzzed and opened slowly.

　　One guard nodded toward the long driveway. "He is expecting you."

　　My stomach tightened as I walked through.

　　The villa rose at the end of the path—stone and glass, sharp angles, windows that reflected the sky like mirrors. Power. Money. Everything Cassian wanted and couldn't touch. The driveway stretched long and empty, lined with perfectly trimmed hedges. My boots echoed on the stone walkway. Heartbeat loud in my ears. Louder with every step.

　　The front door opened before I reached it.

　　Damian Hawke stood there. Shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, top button undone. Same intense gray eyes. Same faint curve to his lips.

　　He looked at me like he'd been waiting.

　　"Aria," he called. "Come in."

　　I stepped inside.

　　The door closed behind me with a soft click.