Chapter 1
The snow was heavy in Ostville the day Lila Moore died.
She never got Kyle Connor's apology, and he never turned back for her.
She even forgot who he was, dying alone and in pain, with her memories lost and no one by her side.
Five years later, Kyle died on Christmas Eve.
He was curled up in the tiny apartment she once rented, clutching the moonstone bracelet she'd bought for two dollars, his eyes never leaving the door until his last breath.
Tristan Sharp said, "Let it go, Kyle.
"She's gone somewhere you can never reach, no matter how hard you try to make up for your sins."
*****
"Glioblastoma. It's pressing on your optic nerve. Surgery isn't an option," the healer said, pointing at the glowing image.
His voice echoed as if it were coming from underwater. "As the tumor grows, you'll lose your sight, suffer from splitting headaches, and maybe even lose your memories. Lila, you have two months left at best."
I didn't feel fear at all, but the relentless ringing in my ears.
There was a black spot in my vision, like spilled ink, smudging out the healer's face.
"Give me something for the pain," I said.
The healer stared at me in disbelief. "Lila, this pain will be hell. You need to be in the hospital, and you need your mate—"
I cut him off. "I don't have a mate."
I fished out my sunglasses and put them on, hiding the shadows under my eyes. "And I still have to work."
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was my death knell.
The screen flashed: [Mr. Connor.]
I answered.
"Get your ass to the Private Box of Silver Peak Manor in half an hour." Kyle's voice was cold as ice. "Sophia hates peeling shrimp. You do it."
He hung up.
I looked at the fresh prescription of morphine pills I'd picked up and let out a bitter laugh.
I was dying.
And the woman he put on a pedestal, his beloved Sophia, didn't like peeling shrimp.
It was pouring outside, and I didn't bother with an umbrella. After five years living with the Connor Pack, I hadn't learnt how to look after myself.
Because for those five years, I was a wolf, always ready to jump when called.
By the time I got to the private box, I was soaked to the bone, my hair plastered to my face. I looked like a drowned rat.
When I pushed the door open, a wave of heat and expensive perfume hit me.
My head felt like it was about to explode.
The tumor in my brain was throbbing wildly, and my body lurched uncontrollably.
Kyle snapped, "What took you so long?"
He sat at the head of the table, idly spinning a lighter in his hand, his eyes cold and predatory. "You smell like mildew. Stay away from Sophia."
Sophia was draped in a white designer gown, looking every bit the proud swan, nestled in Kyle's arms.
"Kyle, don't be so harsh. Ms. Moore is trying to make a living," she said in a sugary voice, but her eyes were full of mockery.
I said nothing and walked over to the table in silence.
A huge platter of luxury lobster sat on the table.
I reached out. My fingers were pale, still shaking from the cold rain.
I peeled the lobster and set the meat onto a fancy porcelain plate.
My movements were robotic and numb.
Suddenly, that black spot in my vision grew, and everything turned fuzzy.
My hand slipped, and the sharp lobster shell cut my fingertip.
Blood gushed out right away, dripping onto the snow-white lobster meat.
"Ew!" Sophia squealed, like she'd seen something filthy. "Blood. That's so gross."
Kyle sprang up and slapped my hand away.
A sharp smack rang out.
The plate crashed to the floor, splintering into shards.
"Lila, did you do it on purpose?" He grabbed my chin, his grip so tight that it felt like he was trying to crush my bones. "If you don't want to serve, get out."
Forced to look up, I stared at the man I'd been hopelessly in love with for seven years.
My vision blurred more, and all I could see were his thin, tightly pressed lips, devoid of warmth.
"Alpha Kyle," I swallowed the metallic taste rising in my throat, my voice hoarse. "This hand's dirty. Can I use the other one?"
The private box fell into a deathly silence.
Everyone stared at me like I was a monster
Kyle's eyes flickered with surprise and then darkened with outright disgust.
He pushed me aside, pulled out a wet wipe, and threw it at my face in disgust. He didn't bother to use it.
"Clean yourself up. Don't dirty Sophia's eyes," he said coldly.
The wipe, reeking of alcohol, landed on my face, the cold biting into my skin.
I took it off, quietly and carefully wiped the blood from my hand, and then knelt on the carpet, picking up the shattered plate pieces and lobster meat from the floor.
My head throbbed like a drill was boring into my temples.
Suddenly, I felt a warm trickle running from my nose.
It was a nosebleed, another complication from the brain cancer.
Panic hit me hard. I couldn't let the nosebleed spill out here.
I drew a harsh breath, forcing that bloody, metallic taste back down, swallowing it with my spit.
My stomach twisted violently, waves of nausea crashing through me.
"Hurry up," Kyle said, looking down at me as he nudged my calf with his foot. "Sophia's hungry."
I picked up the pace, my fingertips getting sliced open by the shards, each cut burned, but it was nothing compared to the agony pounding in my head.
Finally, I finished picking everything up.
I tried to push myself up using the coffee table, but my vision went black from the lack of blood to my brain, and I collapsed back down hard.
My knee slammed into the marble floor with a sickening thud.
"Lila!" Kyle's voice was seething with anger. "How long are you gonna keep faking it? Sophia stopped acting fragile years ago."
Sophia snickered, "Ms. Moore must be worn out. I mean, nobody gave a damn about her anyway."