Chapter 1

After my husband, Victor Sexton, faked his death, he left behind a mountain of debt.

My mother-in-law, Clara Sexton, was devastated, but I went ahead and got a death certificate for Victor right in front of her.

"Why are you so eager to get this over with?" Clara snapped.

I grabbed her arm and said, "Clara, we should sell the house and car as soon as possible."

She looked worried, her face clouded with anxiety. "Even if we sell everything, it still won't be enough to pay off the debt."

I gritted my teeth. "I never said we have to pay off the debt."

I showed her a stack of documents, and she was so shocked that she dropped to the floor.

Then, clenching her jaw, she brought out all the gold and silver jewelry she'd collected over the years. "Good girl, these are worth more. Sell them all."

Two years later, Victor, who had faked his death, was barred from entering his own home.

*****

I was a werewolf, blending in with humans, living my life in the city while hiding what I really was.

The night Victor vanished, rain poured down in sheets. All that remained at the scene was an empty car and a jacket soaked through. No blood, no body.

After the cops finished combing the area, all they could do was chalk it up to Victor being swept away by the river.

That night, my werewolf instincts went wild, completely out of my control.

I went to the riverbank alone, desperate to catch the faintest trace of Victor's scent.

When someone died, there was a unique smell, the scent of life fading away. But on that jacket, there was nothing like that. Only his scent, the way he smelled before he left.

I followed the trail downstream, and his scent veered away from the river, heading toward the highway.

It was the scent of someone alive, laced with panic and urgency.

He knew I was a werewolf, but he thought I had no clue.

What he didn't realize was that I'd already left a subtle mark on him, so I could sense roughly where he was.

Rain could wash away footprints, but it couldn't erase the pheromones of the living.

I knew for sure that he was still out there, alive.

My nose picked up his scent far beyond the city limits. I could smell that he was still moving, not sinking to the riverbed.

My body started trembling uncontrollably. This was betrayal, pure venom, a trap he'd set for me.

It wasn't the full moon yet, but rage burned through my veins like wildfire, and the wolf deep in my blood and bones suddenly broke free.

My pupils shifted, turning icy and vertical, and my bones crackled with sharp, snapping sounds.

The beast within me surged, nearly tearing through my skin to break free.

I spun around and dashed into the thick woods nearby.

Hidden beneath the dense shadows, a suppressed growl rumbled from deep in my throat, and my fingernails grew longer and sharper, completely out of my control.

After a day and a night, I finally made it home and started rifling through Victor's stuff.

I had to double-check what my supernatural nose had already told me.

Books, work files. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.

His phone and laptop were nowhere to be found.

I headed to the study, where his desktop computer sat all alone.

Lucky for me, he hadn't bothered to change the password. I logged in without breaking a sweat.

I clicked through his files, time slipping away with every mouse click.

He'd wiped out his texts, bills, and emails, but missed the local drafts and private notes in some obscure encrypted chat app.

His notes laid it all out: [Stage a disappearance by the river on a rainy night. No body means the cops will assume I'm dead.

[Once my name is off the records, debt collectors stop chasing, assets get frozen, and every last debt lands squarely on my wife.]

Right then, a new email popped up, caught by the spam filter. It was a fresh debt collection notice, updated that very day.

He wasn't swept away by the river.

He got scared out of his mind by the debt, faked his own death, dumped the mess on me, and went off to live under a fake identity.

While everyone else grieved for Victor, only I knew the real story.

Victor was still alive, lying low somewhere, hiding desperately.

He knew I was a werewolf, with insane strength and healing powers. So, he went bankrupt on purpose, left behind a mountain of debt, and faked his death.

He wanted to dodge the debt, thinking his werewolf wife would be too bound by human rules and love, quietly use my supernatural abilities to pay off everything and clean up his mess.

Once the dust settled, he'd stroll back in, acting as if nothing had happened, and continue to enjoy his debt-free life.

Brilliant, wasn't it?

The air still reeked of his cowardly, pathetic scent, scattered everywhere as he ran.

With double proof in hand, any trace of human warmth in my eyes vanished, my pupils slowly narrowing into vertical slits.

He thought he could disappear and leave me to sink under his mess. But he messed with a wolf.

'Alright, let's see how long you can keep up this dead man act,' I thought.

*****

With her only son gone, Clara had been sitting there for two days and nights, not eating or drinking a thing.

She barely had the strength to lift her head.

Brian Graves, heavyset and impatient, walked over, glanced at the portrait of Victor, then came up to us and slammed a stack of bills down on the table.

"Sorry for your loss, ma'am." His voice was all impatience, not a shred of grief for the dead. "Victor has gone. Now the debt's on you."

Clara's eyes, cloudy with grief, spilled tears down her cheeks. "My son just passed away. I'm an old woman. How am I supposed to come up with all this money? Please, give me a few more days."

Brian frowned, scanning the room. There was a frail old lady and a woman who looked completely shattered. "I'll give you seven days. If you can't pay up, don't blame us if we get rough."

With that threat hanging in the air, he left with his guys.