4

My throat felt like sandpaper. I tried to sit up, but the IV tugged at my arm, and the room spun a little. Those gray eyes never left my face. The man unfolded himself from the chair and walked over, slow and deliberate, like a model on the runway. He was taller than I expected, easily over six-three, with sharp cheekbones and a jaw that could cut glass. Everything about him screamed power. Even the way he moved was arrogant, as if the world revolved around him. “Who are you?” My voice came out raspy, barely above a whisper. He stopped at the foot of the bed, hands in the pockets of his dark jeans. A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Damian Walker. Crown Prince of the Royal Pack. And, for the moment, the man who dragged your half-drowned body out of the ocean at three in the morning.” My heart stuttered. The Royal Pack. The family that ruled over every pack in the country. Everyone knew the Walkers. They were legends! It is being said that they are the direct descendants of Selene, the moon goddess. The Walkers were also known for their wealth. Their family made it onto the Forbes 10 Richest Families in the World list. And Damian? I had heard the stories. Arrogant. Ruthless and a complete playboy. The prince who broke hearts the way other people broke promises. Girls back home giggled over magazine photos of him at galas, shirts unbuttoned just enough to make mothers clutch their pearls. I never paid attention to any news about him because I had my Charles. The thought of Charles made my stomach twist. “You saved me?” I asked, still trying to piece it together. “Your yacht left you behind,” he said. “My crew spotted the distress flare you never got to fire. Lucky for you, I was close by on my own boat. Unlucky for them, I hate loose ends.” His smirk grew. “You are welcome, by the way.” I swallowed hard. “Thank you.” He waved it off like saving a drowning Alpha heiress was just another Tuesday. “Here’s the thing, Jasmine Silverton. The entire werewolf world thinks you are dead. The news broke six hours ago—a tragic accident. Alpha Heiress drowned the night before her coronation. The Sky Blue Pack is in mourning. Your stepmother gave a very convincing, tearful interview. Your stepsister looked devastated Oscar-worthy, really.” Each word hit like a punch. Mom—Lucy—crying on camera. Zara is pretending to grieve. Charles was probably standing behind them with that fake solemn face he used at funerals. I closed my eyes for a second. When I opened them, Damian was closer, leaning against the bed rail. His cologne was subtle, with a cedar and fresh forest scent, and it filled the small space between us. “They tried to kill me,” I said quietly. “My own mate and my sister.” “I know,” he replied. “I listened to the whole conversation from the water before I pulled you out. Romantic stuff. Money, power, murder. Classic bedtime story.” Heat rushed to my cheeks. He heard everything. The humiliation burned worse than the salt water ever had. “What happens now?” I asked. “Now?” He tilted his head. “You have two choices. Walk out of this hospital as Jasmine Silverton, go home, and watch Charles and Zara take your pack while everyone pities poor, tragic you. Or you disappear. Let them think they won. And then we make them regret it.” “We?” He smiled, and it was beautiful and terrifying at the same time. “I have a proposition. I help you stay dead. New name, new look, new life. I give you money, resources, whatever you need to plan the perfect revenge. In return, you play a role for me.” “What kind of role?” “My fiancée.” He said it like he was ordering coffee. “I just got back from Europe. Everyone’s asking who the mystery girl is, whom I supposedly met in Paris. You will be her. We announce our engagement next week at the Royal Gala. The press goes wild. My family stops nagging me about settling down. You get to hide in plain sight right under every Alpha’s nose. Perfect cover.” I stared at him. My brain was still foggy from whatever drugs they pumped into me, but this sounded insane. “Why do you need a fake fiancée?” His eyes darkened, just for a second. “Mind your business, Silverton. That part isn’t up for discussion.” I should have been scared. I was alone in a hospital room with the most dangerous wolf in the country, and he was offering me a deal that sounded like it came straight out of a movie. But something inside me, the part that was still spitting mad about Zara moaning my mate’s name, leaned forward. “And you will really help me get revenge? Everything I need?” “Everything,” he promised. “Lawyers, hackers, private jets, fake IDs, whatever. I have toys you can’t even dream of. All you have to do is smile pretty, hold my hand in public, and convince the world you’re head-over-heels for me.”