Winter approached the Cross mansion like a thief. Her breath formed pale plumes in the air as she did. The ornate front door, guarded by some Stone wolves guards was not for her. The guards were not there in the morning. What Henry had said about the rogues must have been true. Instead, she slipped around the side, finding the heavy, unadorned back door used by staff and deliveries. She eased the lock open just enough to slide inside.
Her worn sneakers made no sound on the runner as she moved towards the grander main corridor, aiming for the distant sanctuary of her small room. She hugged her thin jacket tighter.
She was halfway across the main foyer, under the glittering chandelier when a figure detached itself from the darkness near the sweeping staircase.
"Cutting it close, aren't we, little mouse?"
Winter stiffened, her heart hammering against her ribs. Caden. He leaned against the newel post, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. He was impeccably dressed in dark trousers and a cashmere sweater, the picture of the future Alpha, radiating an easy, predatory confidence that made her skin crawl.
"I didn't see you skulking around this morning," he continued, pushing off the post and taking a step towards her. His dark eyes swept over her, lingering with a possessiveness that felt like a violation. "Busy day at the office. Pack business, you know. Important things."
Winter forced her expression into a mask of bored indifference, though her knuckles were white where she gripped the strap of her bag. "Oh, the burdens of leadership," she drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Must be exhausting, signing papers and intimidating humans all day. My heart bleeds."
Caden chuckled, it was a low, grating sound. He took another step, closing the distance. The air filled with the scent of expensive cologne and something darker, muskier – the scent of wolf. The scent she had now come to despise. "There it is," he murmured, his gaze locked on hers. "That sharp little tongue. You know I love bringing out a reaction in you, Winter. It's… stimulating."
"Stimulating?" Winter scoffed, taking a deliberate step back, putting space between them. She met his gaze head-on, her green eyes hard as always. "More like predictable. Like watching a mad dog chase its own tail. Pathetic, really."
His smirk didn't falter; it widened, revealing perfect white teeth that looked too sharp. He reached out, his hand moving faster than she could react, his palm resting rough against her cheek. She flinched. "That fire," he murmured, his thumb brushing dangerously close to her lips. "That's exactly why we should make this work, Winter. Forget the awkwardness. Forget your… place. I'd treat you right. Better than right." His voice dropped, intimate and seductive. "Marry me."
Anger rose in her, hot and nauseating. She jerked her head away, shoving his hand off her face. "Get your hand off me!" she hissed. "It stinks of cheap cologne and entitlement. And piss, probably. Go bother your mate, Caden. Leave me alone."
He laughed, genuinely amused now, "My mate understands the realities of power, little mouse. She knows an Alpha has… appetites." His eyes raked over her again, lingering on the curve of her hips, the line of her throat. "An absolutely gorgeous girl like you? Lips so sexy I want to bite it off so much? Curves so perfect? Full boobs? Round ass? Built for pleasure? You'd be perfect. The Alpha's mistress. Think of the status. Think of the privileges." He leaned in, his breath warm and foul against her ear. "I've seen the way you move your hips. Tight little body. Bet you'd scream so prettily when I finally–"
"Disgusting pig!" Winter spat, trying to shove him back, but he was immovable, like a rigid wall.
"Disgusting?" A new voice, sharp as ever, sliced through the tension. Evelyn Rock stood at the entrance to the formal living room, her arms crossed, a look of venomous triumph on her pretty face. "Seems like the only disgusting thing here is your desperate act, Winter." She sauntered forward, her designer heels clicking on the marble floor. "Pretending you don't want him? Please. We all see the way you look at him. Little orphan human, panting after the future Alpha. Pathetic."
Winter felt the blood drain from her face, replaced by a flush of humiliated fury. "You don't know anything, Evelyn."
"Don't I?" Evelyn sneered, stopping beside Caden, who wrapped an arm possessively around her waist, his smirk deepening. Winter felt disgusted, not after seeing her get pounded by Caspian. "I know your type. The quiet ones. The ones who play hard to get. They're always the biggest whores underneath. Desperate for any scrap of attention. Bet your body count is already embarrassingly high, scavenging for validation wherever you can find it. Human trash."
Caden chuckled, squeezing Evelyn closer. "She's got a point, Winter. That sharp mouth hides a deep hunger, I bet. Always the quiet ones with the dirtiest secrets." He winked, "We wolves can smell desperation. It clings to you like cheap perfume."
The words were stones, hurled with cruel power.. Slut. Whore. Desperate. Trash. They mirrored the taunts from her school days, the hissed insults from pack members, the constant background voices speaking of her worthlessness and possible desperation for men. They spoke the same language. Said a gorgeous girl like her was built to be whores for men. They gave her a tag name, "The Alphas future plaything". The familiar, icy rage began to build within her. Arguing was pointless. Fighting back physically was suicide. They fed off her reaction.
Winter didn't dignify them with another word. She turned on her heel and walked away. Their laughter followed her – Caden's low chuckle, Evelyn's high, mocking titter – the sound to her own shame. She didn't run; she walked with deliberate, measured steps down the corridor, past portraits of stern-faced Cross ancestors towards the staircase tucked away at the back.
She didn't look back. She didn't hesitate until she burst into the cramped, cold space that was her room. The door slammed shut behind her with a satisfying, thunderous BANG that rattled the small windowpane. She leaned against the wood, breathing hard, the sound of their voices still ringing in her ears, the feel of Caden's hand on her cheek making her skin crawl.
Bastards. Animals. Every single one of them.
The air was cold, smelling faintly of dust and desperation. She pushed away from the door. She crossed the few steps to the bed and sank onto the thin mattress, the springs groaning in protest.
For a long moment, she just sat there, staring blankly at the faded floral wallpaper peeling near the ceiling. She wasn't prey. She wasn't a plaything. She was Winter Cross, and she was done.
With trembling fingers, she reached into her bag, her movements jerky. She pulled out the glossy advertisement flyer Henry had given her. It was slightly crumpled now. She smoothed it out on her knee. There he was again: Darren Riggs. Impossibly handsome in his blue tuxedo, radiating power and control from the slick paper. Those deep, fathomless blue eyes stared out, intense, unwavering. This man represented something else entirely – order, professionalism, a world governed by logic and spreadsheets, not fang and claw. A world where her mind mattered, not her bloodline or her perceived desirability to some entitled wolf.
Data Analyst. The words were a lifeline. Riggs Corporation.
She pulled out her battered, outdated phone. The screen was cracked, but it worked. Her fingers, still unsteady, navigated to the alarm function. She set it for 8:00 AM. Sharp.
Tomorrow. Ten AM.
If she got this job… when she got this job… Her first paycheck. It wouldn't be much at first, probably. But it would be hers. Earned. Human money, free of pack influence or taint. It would be the beginning. The down payment on escape. Enough for a deposit on a tiny apartment far from Austen's wolf-controlled districts and further into the city. Far from Vincent's cold eyes, Sable's venom, Caden's leering advances, and Evelyn's poisonous tongue.
She clutched the flyer tighter, her gaze locked on Darren Riggs's intense blue eyes. They seemed to hold a silent challenge, a promise of something different. A promise of freedom.
Just get through the interview. Get the job. Get paid.
Then she could leave. Leave this godforsaken mansion, this pack of bastard animals, and never look back. It was a fragile hope, but it was hers. And for now, it was enough. She carefully placed the flyer on her rickety nightstand, right beside the alarm clock, where she would see it first thing in the morning. Her way out. Probably.