Chapter 21

Raider.

I handed the notebook to Dan, filled with twelve songs. His eyes widened as he flipped through the pages, and I swear I could almost hear the gears in his brain grinding to a halt. Anxiety crept up my spine. This was the first time I had written songs based on my true feelings. No sugar-coating, no pretending. Just raw, unfiltered me.

He handed the notebook back like it was a live grenade. If he was reacting like this, I might as well start looking for a new career in accounting. Or maybe being a professional hermit. My last album went gold, but this one? I was gunning for something outrageous. A platinum dream, they called it. "Big dreams," they said. They might also say, "Big mistakes," depending on how this played out.

"What do you think?" I asked, already cringing internally.

"I should ask you that," he replied, his eyebrows practically glued to his hairline.

He cleared his throat, clearly trying to find his words without combusting. "I think this is... different. I didn't even know you could write something like this. People are gonna have a lot of questions. Honestly? I think this could be a great album. I'm amazed you could come up with something like this in such a short time. So, uh, yeah. Let's do this," he said, his smile creeping back onto his face like a sunrise after a storm.

I nodded, trying to hide my mounting panic. "Great. Awesome. Let's do it. I guess. Maybe. Oh God."

I entered the recording booth, tossing my nerves aside like an old hoodie. With the headphones on and the notebook in front of me, I was ready. As I sang, my thoughts were consumed by her. Her funeral, that dance. It was like she was dancing with me still, haunting me in the best way possible.

For someone who couldn't hear, she was an absolute goddess on the dance floor. The way she moved, flowing with the rhythm. It was like she spoke in the language of music, one I was only just beginning to understand.

Her silence didn't stop her. It only made her louder in a way.

I finished the last note, feeling a little lighter but a lot more exposed. Dan was practically grinning like a proud father.

"Alright, I need a break," I said, pulling off my headphones like they were made of lead. "Gonna freshen up and grab some coffee. I'll be back when I'm done with my existential crisis."

Dan laughed. "That'll give me enough time to cook up a few things here and there for the songs. Don't take too long; I'm already imagining the hype train leaving the station."

I walked out of the studio, exhaustion hitting me like a freight train. I wasn't sure if I'd just created the best thing I'd ever written or if I was about to tank my entire career, but for now, I was gonna enjoy the small victory of not completely falling apart.

~~~~

Dahlia .

As I sipped my orange juice, my eyes casually drifted over to Billie. And I had an epiphany: She's basically the Mona Lisa of maids. Seriously, even her style is next-level. Her jet-black hair fell in a perfect line just below her shoulders, styled with a full, blunt fringe that could cut glass. I mean, I've never seen bangs that could intimidate before, but here we are.

She wore the standard maid uniform, but let's be real—it looked more like a couture runway piece. The deep black and crisp white combo was just screaming sophistication, especially with those giant puffy sleeves that gave her a whole "formal ballroom" vibe. And that headpiece? I'd bet it could double as a wedding veil if she wanted it to. Her round, reflective sunglasses were like a walking "don't even think about it" sign—her eyes were so hidden, you'd think she was hiding world-changing secrets behind them. Oh, and don't get me started on the cross necklace—it practically screamed "I'm an angel, but don't mess with me."

I found myself wondering—who is she to my husband? Are they long-lost siblings? Secret lovers? Or just your average employer-employee situation?

"Trust me, you don't want to make her take off her glasses," my husband had once said, which, naturally, only made me more curious. She was currently watering the flowerbed, her movements so graceful it was like watching an artist paint with a garden hose. What's a girl to do when she has nothing better to focus on than her very fashionable, mysterious maid?

But let's be honest, I highly doubted Billie was some evil mastermind. She'd been perfectly pleasant to me, which, in my experience, is a red flag, but still—she seemed nice enough.

I glanced down at my glass, trying to shake off the lingering weirdness of the dream from last night. In it, I was standing next to a headless man, surrounded by a pool of blood. Naturally, I tried to move away and scream, but of course, no sound came out—because why would my nightmares let me do anything normal? I didn't kill him, by the way—I'm not that talented—but someone definitely did.

"Hush, it's just a nightmare," a husky whisper echoed in my ear. Suddenly, the scene shifted to a garden of flowers. Gone were the blood and the decapitated man, replaced by...well, a peaceful, dreamlike garden. I mean, how does a girl go from decapitation to daisies? Dream logic, apparently.

And that's when it happened—the voice. The most beautiful, deep voice I had ever heard. I swear, it sounded like it was singing Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac, but more ethereal. I'm still trying to figure out what kind of dream physics that is.

I blinked, shaking my head to shake off the remnants of my dream. It was just that—a dream. I grabbed the newspaper on the table, flipping through its pages.

A headline caught my attention. My eyes scanned the article, and then it happened—an execution announcement. My heart skipped a beat as I saw the image of a familiar face. Victoria. I knew her. She was the one from the tea party, the one who had been so kind to me.

Just as I was processing this, Billie approached, stepping into the shade where I sat. Someone had changed my clothes last night. It had to be Billie; there was no way my beast of a husband would show any care. The last time he'd come into my room while I was asleep, he tried to suffocate me with a pillow. Sweet dreams, right?

"Thank you for changing me," I signed, feeling a pang of gratitude.

She smirked, nodding her approval.

"Would you like some lemonade, Mrs. Kelce?" Billie signed back, offering a tray with a glass of cold lemonade that looked so refreshing it practically screamed my name.

I nodded, a bit parched, and pointed to the newspaper. She leaned in to read it, her scent wafting past me—a sweet mix of strawberries and vanilla ice cream.

"As per the traditions of the Silvermoon pack," she began, her fingers moving with the words I couldn't hear coming from her lips "when an alpha dies before he's 250 years old, his Luna must follow as a guiding light and servant to her husband."

My heart sank as the full meaning of her words hit me. "They're going to k!ll her?"

"Yes," she answered, her expression oddly calm. "She will be ex3cuted the same way her husband was. It's part of their wedding vows: in sickness and in d3ath. I know it must be confusing, but as sick as it sounds, Luna Victoria will be ex3cuted at midnight."

She walked away, leaving me to digest the h0rrific news. Disgust washed over me, my stomach churning. Why would they do that to her? Just because her husband was d3ad didn't mean she should follow him in death. She wasn't even guilty of anything—she was just caught in the web of these absurd traditions.

I squeezed the lemonade glass in my hand so tightly that it shattered, the sharp edges digging into my skin. Bl00d mixed with the fresh scent of lemon, staining my white dress.

This couldn't happen. I wouldn't let it. I had to do something. I had to save her. I imagined her right now—scared, alone, possibly thinking that tonight would be her last. I couldn't let that happen. No way.