Chapter 4
Aria's POV
On the drive, Harrison gave me a rundown of Crescent Moon Pack.
The assets were vast—most controlled by Vincent, smaller portions held by Victor Smith and Vincent's late foster father.
Now that Vincent's estate had passed to me, I was effectively the largest shareholder in the Smith family empire.
Victor and his son Lucas were managing Vincent's estate in his absence.
Sylvia and Nathan were heavily involved as well—Vincent's wife and stepson from Crescent Moon Pack.
From Harrison's careful phrasing, neither was thrilled about my sudden appearance.
"Your uncle Victor has been waiting to meet you properly," Harrison said. "He wanted to reach out sooner, but the legal process took time."
"And Sylvia?"
His expression stayed neutral, but I caught the flicker. "Mrs. Smith is... adjusting to the new arrangements."
Translation: she hated me.
An hour later, the SUV passed through massive iron gates. Sprawling stone and glass set among manicured lawns and ancient trees whose canopy swallowed the sky.
Wings branching in every direction. A fountain in the circular driveway that belonged at Versailles.
The moment we crossed the threshold, something shifted in the air.
Harrison opened my door. "Welcome home, Miss Smith."
Home. The word still felt foreign.
But as I looked up at the towering facade, I couldn't help thinking—maybe this was exactly where I was supposed to be all along.
Victor came out to greet me himself. Broad-shouldered, silver at his temples, with the easy confidence of a man who'd held power for decades without ever raising his voice.
"Aria," he said, and something softened in his eyes. "God, you look just like him. Just like Vincent."
I didn't know what to say. I'd never met the man who gave me half my blood.
"Come, let me walk you in," he offered, extending his arm.
But every instinct I'd sharpened over two years in Silver Creek whispered the same thing. Watch first. Trust later.
"If it's all the same to you," I said lightly, "I'd like a few minutes to myself before I meet the whole Pack at once."
Victor studied me, then nodded with something like respect. "Of course. Take your time."
He withdrew, and I let out a slow breath.
The banquet hall was already glowing by the time I stepped inside.
Crystal chandeliers threw light across a ballroom packed with Pack elite in tailored suits and floor-length gowns. Waiters glided between them carrying trays of champagne. Conversation hummed low and expensive, the kind of murmur that came from people who'd never once had to worry about money.
I lingered near the edge of the room, watching. Reading. Trying to work out who mattered and who didn't.
Then I heard heels clicking against the floor.
"Well, well. So this is the famous heiress."
I turned. A woman was descending the grand staircase, her golden hair swept up elegantly, her amber eyes fixed on me with undisguised hostility. Beside her walked a man in his early thirties, cold and sharp-featured, his expression like carved ice.
Sylvia. And Nathan.
I didn't need an introduction to know exactly who they were.
"You must be Aria," Sylvia said, her lips curving into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "How... quaint. The orphanage girl comes home at last."
"And you must be the widow," I replied evenly. "My condolences."
Something ugly flashed behind her carefully composed expression, but she smoothed it over quickly.
"We should talk," Nathan said, speaking for the first time. His voice was clipped, businesslike. "There are matters concerning the estate. Let's handle it before things get complicated. It won't take long."
I hesitated. Every instinct I'd sharpened over two years in the Silver Creek Pack was screaming at me. But I nodded anyway.
Better to know what I was up against.
The conference room was on the second floor—glass walls, a long marble table gleaming under recessed light. Sylvia and Nathan were already waiting.
They weren't alone. Six men in Pack security uniforms lined the walls, faces blank. My stomach dropped.
Nathan slid a thick stack of papers across the marble. "A transfer agreement. Sign your inheritance over to the estate, we compensate you fairly, and you walk out a wealthy woman. Everyone wins."
I laughed. "You're joking."
"I never joke about money," Sylvia said.
"Then let me be clear. I'm not signing anything. Not tonight. Not ever."
Sylvia simply lifted one hand.
"Stop her," Nathan said.
I'd barely touched the door handle when two guards materialized from the shadows—massive, stone-faced, moving with trained efficiency that sent ice down my spine. I froze.
"Aria." Sylvia's voice was deceptively calm. "I suggest you cooperate while I still have patience."
Nathan crossed the room until he stood directly in front of me. "If you're unhappy with the offer, name your price."
I held his gaze, refusing to step back even as my heart hammered. "My price? You can't afford it. Vincent left me ten billion dollars. Not one penny less."
Nathan's expression went ice-cold. "Then we'll have to do this the hard way."
The guards closed in. One yanked my arm, dragging me back toward the table. The other forced me into the chair, pinning my shoulders. I struggled, but werewolf strength against human desperation wasn't a contest.
Sylvia turned to face the windows, her back to me. Like she couldn't be bothered to watch.
Nathan picked up the document and the pen. "Sign it."
"Go to hell."
He grabbed my wrist, forcing my hand down onto the paper. I tried to pull away, but the guard's grip was ironclad.
This was insane. They were going to force my signature. Forge my consent.
Panic clawed at my throat.
"Stop!" I shouted. "You can't do this! This is illegal!"
"Illegal?" Sylvia's voice drifted from the window, bored. "Darling, we are the law here."
The pen touched my fingertips. Nathan was seconds away from forcing my hand to move.
Then the parlor doors exploded open.
The sound was deafening—wood splintering, hinges shrieking.
Everyone froze.
A man stepped through the ruined doorway, flanked by half a dozen others in dark tactical gear. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
He was tall—at least six-foot-four—with broad shoulders and a build that spoke of lethal strength.
His hair was black, swept back from a face that could have been carved from granite. Sharp jawline. High cheekbones. And eyes...
God, his eyes. They were dark gray, almost black, and they swept across the room with the kind of cold calculation that suggested he was already deciding who would die first.
The guards released me instantly, stumbling back like they'd been burned.
Nathan went pale.
The man's gaze swept the room before landing on me. Something flickered in his eyes—dark, possessive, and utterly terrifying.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
Then he spoke, his voice a low, lethal growl that sent shivers down my spine.
"She's MINE."
