Chapter 5

(Serena's POV)

I pushed the front door open just as the sky was turning grey.

Miles was sitting on the living room couch. The ashtray on the coffee table held four or five cigarette butts. Dark circles under his eyes, shirt collar wrinkled—the picture of a man who'd stayed up all night suffering in silence.

He saw me and immediately came over, pulling me into a hug, voice full of concern.

"The bath's ready. Go soak for a while, baby. It'll help."

How thoughtful.

In my past life I actually believed it. Thought he felt sorry for me.

This time I could hear it clearly—he thought I was dirty. He wanted me to wash off another man's scent so he could pretend nothing had happened.

He was even breathing deep while he held me, checking whether I carried Dominic's marking scent.

"Mm." I stepped out of his arms. "I'm going upstairs to rest. Last night was exhausting."

He caught my wrist. Hesitated. Tongue darting out to wet his lips.

"...Did the Alpha say anything? About what comes next?"

I looked back at him.

"You mean did he mention your promotion?"

He froze. Lips moved, trying to put together something more decent—"No, I just..."

I didn't give him the chance.

"Miles, you put me in another man's bed. And now you can't even bother to keep up the act?"

My tone was flat. "At least wait until I've had my bath before you ask."

His expression locked up. The muscle beneath his beauty mark twitched, like he'd been slapped.

I turned and went upstairs without looking back.

Clara laughed softly in my head: "Nice."

Just past the corner, Brianna—Miles's sister—her door opened.

She leaned against the frame in a velvet robe, hair a mess, but eyes bright—she'd been waiting for a show.

"Ooh—back so early?" She looked me up and down, mouth curving in the kind of smile you'd give a streetwalker. "Or is it so late?"

Her gaze nailed itself to my neck.

"What's that on your neck? Bruise or hickey, sis-in-law?"

I didn't cover the mark. Didn't duck my head and hurry past pretending I hadn't heard.

I stopped. Smiled at her.

"Brianna, your new hair color looks really good."

She blinked, caught off guard.

"Julian Sterling would probably like it." I tilted my head, tone sweet. "He liked a photo of a model with almost the same shade on Instagram."

Her face changed completely.

I shouldn't have known that name. She thought her secret dates with that old-money heir from Silvercrest Pack were well hidden.

"You—what are you talking about!" Her face flushed red.

"I'm not making things up." I smiled. "Your sister-in-law just thinks you have good taste. Though Julian's last girlfriend—didn't she end up with a broken rib before they split? Be careful."

I continued upstairs.

Behind me, her door slammed so hard the picture frames on the wall went crooked.

In my past life I'd begged her not to get involved with that abusive man. In return, she was the first person to throw dirt on me when I was at my lowest.

This life—if she wanted to walk into danger, I absolutely would not stop her.

I'd just filled the hot water and lowered myself into the tub when the door was shoved open.

Margaret. Miles's mother. Like a vulture that smelled blood—the instant she saw my shoulders above the waterline, covered in fingerprints and red marks from sucking, her mouth twitched violently.

"Oh, you're back." Her tone was sharp. "I thought you were having so much fun outside you wouldn't bother coming home!"

I didn't cover myself. Looked at her calmly.

"Did you need something?"

"Can't I check on my daughter-in-law?" Her voice was shrill. "Last night you ran off without a word to any of us, didn't answer your phone. You're a married woman—out all night. What would people think if they saw?"

I didn't respond.

She continued, predictably—tone shifting into that strange "well-meaning advice"—

"I'm not criticizing you... young women, it's nice to be wanted. But think about Miles's feelings. Those... improper things happening outside, how ugly would it sound if word got out?"

I was done listening. I stood up straight out of the tub.

Water streamed down the curves of my body. Margaret's gaze fell on the kiss marks at my collarbone, the finger-shaped bruises on my waist—something complicated flickered in her eyes. Jealousy and disgust.

I picked up a towel and slowly wrapped it around myself.

"I think you're right. Miles's reputation is important."

I walked up to her, word by word:

"So let me ask—when Miles lives in the house that came with my dowry, wears the suits I bought him, and this whole family survives on my money—did he ever worry about how ugly that would sound?"

Her face changed.

"This house is my dowry. Miles's car was bought with money from a trust fund in my name. Those pieces of jewelry on Brianna—my credit card. That new coat you bought yesterday—also my card, yes?"

"Margaret, without me, your family of four would still be eating instant noodles in a shared apartment on the edge of Pack territory."

"You—!"

"So who gets to point fingers?" I smiled. "Me, who supports this entire family on her own? Or you, who pushed your daughter-in-law out for favors while sitting at home enjoying the benefits?"

Margaret's face turned the color of liver.

Her lips trembled for several seconds. That mask of "loving mother-in-law" cracked like paper—

She screamed.

"You have the nerve! You think I don't know? You went to the Alpha's bed last night! You're nothing but a cheating whore!!"

Loud enough to shake the whole house.

"Do you know how much Miles has suffered for you! A half-blood marrying into our family should be grateful—and you dare talk to me about money!"

Her voice cut off.

Because something crashed downstairs.

Margaret turned toward the staircase. Her face went white.

I felt it instantly—something terribly wrong. I pushed past her and looked down, and my brain went blank.

Mom... why was she standing there?

She... heard?

Her face was whiter than paper. No color in her lips. One hand gripping the banister so hard her knuckles were bone-white, the other pressed to her chest.

Her eyes—those eyes that were always gentle, that could never bear to blame anyone—looked at me now like they were shattering.

No!

No, no!

This wasn't supposed to happen! In my past life she came after the rumors had already spread—this was only the second day! She shouldn't be here!

"Mom—" I rushed toward the stairs.

Helen's body was sliding down, knees buckling, fingers loosening from the railing one by one.

Brianna suddenly appeared from her room, blocking the middle of the staircase, craning her neck to look down.

"What's going on, what's going on, what happened—"

Right in my path.

"MOVE!!"

I screamed, shoved her aside, flew down the stairs.

Mom had already collapsed to the floor.

"Mom, look at me, look at me—" I knelt in front of her, both hands holding her face. Her skin was ice cold. Lips trembling.

Heart attack.

No. Please. Not again.

"Serena..." Her voice thin as thread. "What that woman said... is it true..."

I shook my head desperately.

"No. Mom listen to me, it's not—"

"Move."

Miles's voice from behind.

He stood in the entryway. I read his expression—not panic. Not concern. Irritation.

The kind of irritated you get when there's a mess to deal with.

"What are you staring at? Call an ambulance!" I screamed at him.

He hesitated two seconds, then bent down and, under my fierce glare, grabbed Helen's arm—

And pushed her toward the door.

"Auntie, you should go home and rest... things here aren't what you think—"

He was trying to shove my mother out!

My vision went red.

"Miles Whitmore, get your hands off my mother!!"

My voice didn't sound human anymore—Clara's howl was mixed in, sharp enough to slice the air. I felt my nails lengthening, canines piercing through my gums.

Then—in that exact moment.

A voice exploded in my mind.

Low. Carrying undeniable authority.

"Your heartbeat is too fast. What's happening?"

My whole body went rigid.

This was—the Pack's mental link?

Clara's voice came soft, carrying a certainty I'd never heard from her before:

"He's coming."