20. Bianca #2
“Tell you what? That I had a gut feeling something wasn’t right?” He adjusts the sheet. “You made yourself pretty unavailable, Bee. And honestly? Even if I could have reached you, what would you have done? Come running back into the middle of whatever mess they were trapped in?”
He’s right.
“I would have tried to help,” I say weakly.
“And accomplished what?” Winston’s expression softens. “Look, I’m not saying I handled it perfectly. But you were healing. You were safe. Maybe that was for the best. You don’t understand how fucked up their world is… has always been.”
“Jesus, Winston. They’ve been trapped with her this whole time.”
His fingers pick at the hospital blanket, restless. “Have you told them the truth about... the scent match?”
“No.” The word comes out rough. I clear my throat. “I don’t even know if that’s real.”
“What do you mean?”
I give a small shrug. “Maybe I was just... convincing myself.” The admission tastes bitter. “And honestly? What good would it do telling them? They’re stuck in a bond with a lunatic… and I get the feeling they can’t just snap their fingers and get out of it, ya know? Plus, I’m still unawakened.”
Winston’s eyebrows pull together. “What if it makes a difference?”
“How?”
Winston shifts, wincing as he tries to sit up straighter.
“Studies show that scent matches can develop due to pre-bonding.” His voice takes on that clinical tone he gets when he’s explaining medical shit.
“Prolonged exposure during critical developmental periods… childhood… can create biologically compatible pathways.”
I stare at him. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I think you pre-bonded to them and it formed the match.
” Exhaustion bleeds through his voice. “You’ve been around them since you were three, B.
They were always good to you… always protective of you.
Your system would’ve mapped them as compatible mates long before you were supposed to awaken. ”
My mouth goes dry. “So the scent match...”
“I believe it’s very real.” Winston’s eyes meet mine. “You recognized them as yours because you were already bonded to them on a cellular level.”
I gasp. Everything starts clicking into place…
“When I was in the hospital...”
“Bond sickness,” Winston says, his expression grim. “Your body was reacting to your mates bonding with someone else.”
My heart pounds. “They told me the bond started to fail immediately.”
Winston nods, his voice growing stronger.
“Because they were already bonded to you, B. Their bodies knew it. They didn’t need you to awaken for that bond to exist…
it was already there, had been for years.
So when Montgomery tried to force them into naturally bonding with his daughter.
..” He shakes his head. “Their systems would’ve fought it instinctively. ”
I press my hands to my temples as the implications crash over me. “Jesus, Winston. If this is all true, then everything Montgomery told me about never awakening...”
“Bullshit. He needed you out of the picture.” Winston’s jaw tightens.
“That doesn’t mean he didn’t permanently fuck me up, though.”
“No...” Winston tries to push himself up higher in the bed, wincing at the movement but his eyes burning with fury.
“That bastard. I swear to God, when I get out of here...” He grips the bed rail, knuckles white.
“I’m going to reach out to some colleagues.
Specialists who aren’t in Montgomery’s pocket. ”
His protective instincts are firing on all cylinders despite being stuck in a hospital bed, and I can practically see him mentally planning Montgomery’s destruction. “Relax, Win. You need to rest. We’ll sort this out.”
My phone buzzes against my leg.
It’s Mom.
“Take it,” Winston says, already looking tired from our conversation. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I step into the hallway, and Mom’s voice fills the line immediately.
“Bianca, honey, where are you?”
“Hospital. With Winston.”
“Oh good. How’s he doing?” Her voice brightens with relief. “I was hoping to see you today. We haven’t spent any real time together since you’ve been back.”
Guilt twists in my stomach. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s been?—”
“Complicated. I understand.” Her tone softens. “But I was wondering if you’d like to go to the spa with me this weekend? Saturday morning? We could get massages, have lunch, and catch up properly.”
Saturday. My stomach drops as I realize Whitney will be back by then. Whatever happens between now and then, by Saturday everything will be different.
“That sounds perfect,” I hear myself saying.
“Wonderful. I’ll make appointments at that place in Westmont. The one with the mineral baths you used to love.”
We hang up, and I stare at my phone. Saturday feels like a lifetime away, but also like it’s rushing toward me too fast.
My phone buzzes again. Ezra this time.
Ezra
Winston update? Haven’t heard from you. Everyone’s worried.
I type back quickly.
Bianca
He’s awake and talking. Much better. Can I call you tomorrow on the emergency line? There’s a lot to catch you and Megan up on.
Ezra
Of course. Meg has ants in her pants already.
Bianca
lol you don’t say. I promise I will call tomorrow. It’s been crazy.
Ezra
Take care of yourself. We miss you.
Bianca
I miss you both so much. Everyone else too.
I slip back into the room to find Winston’s eyes drooping. The conversation has worn him out.
Clara has returned and is already adjusting his pillows.
“We’ll talk more later,” I tell him, leaning down to give him a gentle hug. “There’s more to discuss, but?—”
“But not today.” Winston catches my hand. “Just... be careful, sis. These people are dangerous.”
“I know.”
“And whatever you’re planning… because I can see those wheels turning… don’t do anything stupid.”
Too late for that. They messed with the wrong bitch. But I squeeze his hand instead of saying that.
“Rest. I’ll be back later.”
I leave him with Clara and head downstairs, my mind spinning.
In the parking lot, I find Mom’s car where she left it, keys warm in my palm from when I’d asked to borrow it for errands . She’d been so pleased I was asking for her help.
If only she knew what kind of errands.
I slide into the driver’s seat and sit for a moment, planning which stores I want to hit up.
I pull out of the parking lot. First stop: the florist. I need the biggest, most elaborate arrangement they have.
The afternoon stretches ahead of me, full of possibilities.
By tonight, Whitney’s friends will understand what happens when you touch what’s mine.
* * *
The afternoon blurs together in a series of stops: hardware store for zip ties and duct tape, florist for the biggest arrangement they have—white roses and lilies that require both arms to carry, and thrift store for a black polo and baseball cap that transform me into just another delivery person.
By the time I’m outside their home, I’m someone else entirely. Hair pulled back in a tight braid like I’d wear for hunting at the refuge, cap pulled low, supplies hidden beneath the massive flower arrangement, adrenaline humming quietly and controlled in my veins.
The open house three doors down provides perfect cover. Cars line both sides of the street, people wandering in and out with that casual weekend energy. I’m just another person with somewhere to be.
Through the massive windows, I catch movement inside. Blonde hair that has to be Katie. Dark hair that’s definitely Rebecca.
Perfect.
I grab the arrangement. The flowers are so massive they’ll obscure most of my face from any security cameras.
Each step steadies my pulse further, muscle memory from years of training taking over. This isn’t about rage anymore. This is about justice.
I press the doorbell and arrange my face to look bored but professional.
Footsteps approach. The door swings open to reveal Katie in all her vapid glory—perfect blonde waves, designer athleisure, manicured nails that have never touched anything harder than a champagne flute.
“Oh wow,” she breathes, eyes going wide at the arrangement. “Those are gorgeous. Who are they from?”
“There wasn’t a card,” I say, keeping my voice flat and unremarkable.
Her face lights up like Christmas morning. “That’s so sweet! I bet they’re from Daddy for my promotion.” She steps back, gesturing for me to come inside. “Bring them in, bring them in.”
Too easy.
I step across the threshold, immediately cataloging the space. Open floor plan, white everything, minimal furniture that screams expensive and uncomfortable. Two other figures sprawled across the massive sectional—Rebecca is scrolling through her phone and Liz is painting her nails.
“Girls, look at these flowers!” Katie chirps. “Aren’t they just divine?”
I set the arrangement on the glass coffee table, straightening slowly. My cap stays low over my eyes as I adjust the blooms, buying myself a few seconds to position everything perfectly.
Rebecca glances up from her phone, and I watch recognition flicker across her face. “Wait. Do I know you?”
This is it.
I reach up and pull off the cap, the tight braid swinging behind me as I reveal my face.
Liz’s nail polish brush hovers frozen halfway to her pinky. Rebecca’s phone slips from her fingers onto the white leather. Katie’s mouth opens and closes like a fish.
“Holy shit,” Rebecca whispers. “Bianca.”
“What are you doing here? How did you even—” Katie’s voice climbs an octave.
“I’m here about my alphas.” I slip my hand into my pocket, fingers closing around the zip ties.
“Who are you talking about?” Rebecca asks, but her voice wavers as her eyes track my movements.
“Did you think you would get away with it?”
Katie’s face goes white. “We didn’t?—”
“Sit down.”
They freeze.
Years of refuge training, of learning to project authority when needed, of becoming someone who doesn’t get questioned.
“Bianca, this is crazy,” Liz tries, her voice shaking. “Whatever you think happened?—”
“I know what happened.” I move closer to the couch, zip ties ready.