Chapter 12

The Brittany in the videos bore no resemblance to the arrogant she-wolf strutting around now. She was dragged into a bathroom, forced to drink toilet water, her hair hacked to a jagged mess. At its worst, someone tossed a venomous snake into her backpack. Bloodied and broken, Brittany begged on her knees, a picture of weakness.

But back in Belmor Town, the script flipped. The victim became the predator. Every torment she'd endured, she inflicted on others—illegitimate pups of elite packs, random wolves who crossed her, and, most notably, Hannah.

Whispers rippled through the crowd.

"Holy crap, Brittany's pure poison!"

"Talk about tearing someone's umbrella apart because you got wet!"

"She's the real third wheel between Derek and Hannah. How dare she call Hannah the homewrecker?"

The venomous jeers nearly pierced Brittany's ears. Some of the rich pups she'd bullied seized the chaos, hurling eggs and food scraps at her. Her face paled as she was backed into a corner.

"No! It's not true! The video's fake! I'm the victim!" she screamed, tears streaming.

But her cries were drowned out as more elites stepped forward, naming her crimes. The crowd turned on her, their accusations relentless. Just as despair swallowed her, Lawrence stormed in.

Her dull eyes sparked with hope. "Dad!"

A sharp slap answered, followed by Lawrence's furious roar. "You disgrace! Look at what you've done!"

He flung a stack of termination contracts at her—agreements from the illegitimate pups and lesser elites she'd tormented. What started as a few companies pulling out snowballed into nearly all their partners severing ties. Enraged, Lawrence lost it, publicly disowning Brittany, cutting their bond as father and daughter.

Word of Brittany's expulsion from the Kane pack spread like wildfire. She became a pariah, hiding in a dingy hotel, scraping by on her mother's handouts. Meanwhile, Derek weaponized the rumor mill against her, just as he'd done to Hannah and Eleanor. He lived in a haze of anxiety, waiting for any scrap of news about Hannah, but every lead was a dead end.

So he drowned himself in bars—smoking, drinking, gambling, chasing fleeting highs. One drunken night, a call came from an unknown number. Reflexively, Derek almost hung up but fumbled and answered instead.

"Hello?" he slurred. Silence. Just as he moved to end the call, a jolt of clarity hit his liquor-soaked brain. "Hannah? Is that you? You finally called!"

"Where are you? I'm coming to get you!"

He rambled, voice thick with desperation, but the line stayed quiet, then disconnected. Moments later, a text arrived from the same number: Sterling Hotel, Room 806. I'm waiting.

Joy surged through him. Without thinking, Derek raced to the hotel. The door barely opened before slender arms wrapped around his waist. "Derek… I've missed you," a voice whispered—Hannah's voice.

His skin prickled. As he turned, the room plunged into darkness. Desire roared through him. He clutched her tightly, voice shaking. "Hannah, I've missed you too. I'm sorry—I messed up. Come back to me. I've been losing my mind without you."

In the dark, his kisses were frantic, his breathing ragged. Brittany, eyes red, gripped the bed's edge, nails digging into her palms. She'd called Derek hoping to play the pity card, but his repeated cries of "Hannah" froze her. Then a plan sparked. One night—if she could get pregnant, she'd erase her recent humiliations.

The shame melted away. She leaned into Derek, giving herself fully to the night. By morning, she slipped out quietly, taking the bedside camera—and the used condom.