Shattered Strings, Forged Mark, and My Second Chance

For five years, I stood by Alpha Victor.

When his spine was shattered, I sold my beloved violin to pay for the healer.

The moment he could walk again, he placed his mate mark on my neck.

But during a check-up for a recent illness, the healer told me it was just an artificial tattoo, etched while I slept—not a real mark.

I stormed into his company, only to overhear him and other werewolves laughing:

“Victor, you completed the marking with your secretary behind Freya's back. Aren't you afraid she'll find out?”

“She’ll never find out.”

“That little she-wolf is wild—a freak in the sheets. Not like Freya. She’s too damn proper.”

Standing outside the door, I dialed the number I hadn’t touched in five years.

“In five days, make me disappear.”