Chapter 1
Holly
I sat by the window, my black coffee long gone cold. A habit of mine—whenever a job neared its end, I'd find a quiet café and wait for the final word.
The place sat on a street corner. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I watched the parade of people blur past—October in New York had teeth, and the guy who always played sax at the crosswalk had already switched to a thicker sweater. His music drew a crowd. Smiles all around. Light. Easy.
I dragged my eyes back to the screen. My fingers tightened.
Truth was, I had my doubts about Max's "professional skills." Guy seemed like a flake. But he had the face Emily wanted, and sometimes that's all it took.
My phone buzzed.
Max sent a photo.
I tapped it open. Hotel room. Rumpled sheets. Emily still asleep, her shoulders covered in hickeys.
I scrolled down. Another message.
"Done."
The weight I'd been carrying for two months finally lifted. I switched back to my contacts, found Mrs. Smith, and sent the photo with the same words I'd typed dozens of times before.
"Mission accomplished."
The payment notification hit almost instantly. Forty thousand dollars. Our agreed price.
I stood and grabbed my cold coffee to go.
I pushed through the café door and pulled my coat tighter—a thrift store find from years back, looked decent enough, though I'd sewn up the lining more times than I could count.
I transferred Max's cut and deleted his contact along with Mrs. Smith's. That left me with thirty-five grand.
The sax player flashed me a grin. I managed something resembling one back and followed the current of bodies toward the crosswalk.
My smile probably didn't look all that bright, but everyone around me moved too fast to notice.
This city never slowed down, not for anyone.
Didn't matter if you were a white-collar worker, a barista, or someone like me—
A homewrecker repeller.
I preferred "relationship agent." Every woman who hired me came with her own story of marital misery. The details varied, but they all boiled down to the same thing.
Her husband cheated.
This time it was Mrs. Smith. Her husband had caught feelings for a principal dancer at some ballet his client dragged him to. Mr. Smith became obsessed with this Emily woman. Full-on pursuit mode.
"I wouldn't have cared," Mrs. Smith said, voice flat, but I could picture her grinding her molars, "but the bastard used company funds to buy that bitch gifts."
She and her husband had built their business from nothing. After all these years, she saw him as a business partner—she could stomach his infidelity, but damned if she'd let him drain their assets for some ballet dancer.
Emily's patterns came easy. Young thing, fresh out of college, lived on Instagram.
Found her in minutes. She'd joined a New York ballet company right after graduation—pretty face, loved hanging with friends, parties, movies.
Had 5.7k followers. About six months back, luxury cars and designer bags started showing up in her posts. Plus some seriously expensive jewelry.
I had to hand it to Mr. Smith—man spared no expense winning her over. Guess he forgot half that money belonged to his wife.
But the real goldmine in Emily's feed? A certain male celebrity.
She plastered him everywhere, gushing in all caps. That made things simple. I posted a casting call for actors. After sorting through applicants, I landed on Max.
Max was a deadbeat with zero prospects, but he had a silver tongue. Emily's dream face plus smooth talk—exactly what I needed.
I built Max a new identity. Mars, the melancholy art school rich kid, fresh back from overseas. After some quick coaching, Max and Emily had their "meet-cute" at a party. He caught her before a waiter could knock her over. Conversation flowed naturally.
Emily discovered that this Mars guy was so compatible with her—even liked the same colors! Thank you, Instagram.
I orchestrated every "chance encounter" and "reunion" from behind the scenes. Eventually, just like I'd planned, Emily believed she'd found true love. Destiny. She fell hard for Mars.
I figured that bed photo would hit Mr. Smith's phone any minute now.
Wonder how he'd react? Probably lose his shit.
These cheating men couldn't handle their mistresses betraying them, never mind that they'd already betrayed their wives.
Meanwhile, Emily would wake up to find Mars gone.
She'd search for him at first. She wouldn't find him.
Max was already living it up somewhere on my dime.
I'd seen this play out too many times.
The wives won their husbands back. But was that really a happy ending? Betrayal left scars. It wedged between them like a blade. They'd both spend the rest of their lives wearing masks.
I'd asked Mrs. Smith once why she didn't just divorce him.
"Because we're fated mates." That's all she said. Self-deprecating humor in her voice.
Fated mate. In werewolf tradition, it meant a bond blessed by the Moon Goddess. Once the Max set, you belonged to each other.
Forever. The most romantic legend. The biggest lie.
My hand drifted to my neck, where someone had once left his bite Max.
"Holly, you're mine."
On my bedroom mattress, I'd let him pin me down, my arms wrapped around his neck. His thrusts sent heat flooding through me, melting my brain to mush. I heard myself agree.
"I'm yours."
Now, standing in a packed subway car remembering that moment, I knew that girl had been a complete fool.
I'm a werewolf. I've felt what the bond does. It's surreal—like suddenly the whole world shrinks down to just you and him, some invisible gravity pulling you toward him whether you want it or not. Your wolf whines for it. Ancient selection, coded into your genes. We call it fate.
I dove into his arms like someone who couldn't swim jumping into the ocean. I was young then. Didn't care about anything. Young women always threw themselves headfirst into love, convinced he was different from all the rest.
I loved him. Did love him. Believed he'd stay forever. Prayed to the goddess we'd never part. Then I got pregnant and he vanished. I had to cut ties with my mother and move to New York alone. That's how it ended.
He wasn't different.
St. Mary's Hospital's hallway always smelled the same—disinfectant mixed with medicine, cold and sharp. I knew it well enough to walk to the pediatric ward with my eyes closed.
Room 307's door sat half-open. I pushed through and found Lilina in bed, her face pale as snow. Mary Jane sat beside her. When she saw me, she stood and gave up her seat.
"Mom!" Lilina's voice came out soft, but her eyes lit up immediately.
I crossed to the bed quickly and grabbed her tiny hand. It felt ice-cold, all bone.
"I'm here, baby." I bent down and kissed her forehead.
Lilina grinned, showing the gap where she'd lost a tooth. "I knew you would come. Mary Jane said you were working, and I said it's okay, I can wait."
My throat closed up.
Nine years old. She should've been at school playing with friends, begging her mom for new toys. But my Lilina had learned to wait. Learned to be good. Learned not to cause trouble.
"I'm sorry, baby." I squeezed her hand tight. "I got here late."
"No!" Lilina shook her head, jostling the oxygen tube in her nose. "You're the best Mom. Mary Jane says you work really hard so I can get better."
"That's right." I forced brightness into my voice. "Mom's working hard. Soon Lilina will be just like the other kids—you'll go to school, play at the park."
"Really?" Her eyes went brighter, those pale blue eyes—exactly like his. "I can go to the park? Can I swing?"
"Of course." I nodded, pushing down the ache rising in my chest. "You can swing, go down the slide, run and jump with other kids."
"I want to!" Lilina said excitedly, then broke into violent coughing.
I helped her sit up, patting her back gently. Mary Jane handed me a water cup. I carefully helped her drink.
The coughing finally stopped. Lilina slumped back against the pillow, face even paler, sweat beading her forehead.
"Tired?" I dabbed her forehead with a handkerchief. "Want to rest?"
"No." Lilina shook her head stubbornly. "I want to talk to you."
Something twisted hard in my chest.
"Okay, let's talk." I sat on the edge of the bed. "What do you want to talk about?"
"Tell me about the outside." Her eyes filled with longing. "What was the weather like today? Did you see anything fun?"
I looked at that hopeful gaze and started describing what I'd seen—the street musician with his sax, the café customer with the big dog, the little boy on the subway who smeared ice cream on his dad's face.
Lilina listened carefully, laughing now and then. But her eyelids started drooping.
"Sleepy?" I asked softly.
She nodded but fought to keep her eyes open. "But I want to hear more..."
"It's okay, I'm right here with you." I held her hand. "Sleep, baby."
"You won't leave?"
"I won't leave." I promised. "I'll stay right here with you."
She finally let her eyes close. Minutes later, her breathing evened out. Asleep.
I stayed frozen, holding her hand. The monitor beeped its steady rhythm—each beep reminding me she was still here, still alive.
Mary Jane motioned for me to step outside.
I carefully slipped my hand free, tucked the blanket around Lilina, and tiptoed out.
In the hallway, Mary Jane pulled me toward the window.
"Dr. Lee came by earlier." She lowered her voice, face grave. "He said her condition..."
She didn't finish, but I saw the worry in her eyes.
"I'll talk to him." I turned toward the doctor's office.
Dr. Lee's office sat at the end of the hall. I knocked.
"Come in."
Dr. Lee sat behind his desk, thick stacks of medical files in front of him. He pulled off his glasses when he saw me and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Miss Holly, please sit."
I sat across from him, hands gripping my bag strap tight.
"How's Lilina doing?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
Dr. Lee went quiet for a few seconds, then opened the file in front of him.
"I won't lie to you." His tone turned serious. "Lilina's heart function is deteriorating. This morning's coughing fit—that's from the heart being overworked."
My hands clenched tighter.
"Based on her current state," Dr. Lee continued, "if we don't operate soon, her heart could..."
He stopped, but that unspoken word stabbed into my chest like a knife.
"So she needs surgery." My voice shook. "When?"
"As soon as possible." Dr. Lee said. "No later than a month. The longer we wait, the greater the risk."
"The surgery... How much..." I bit down hard. "Does it cost?"
Dr. Lee flipped open another document covered in itemized fees.
"Conservative estimate," he said, "four hundred and fifty thousand dollars. That includes surgery, post-op monitoring, medication, everything."
Four hundred and fifty thousand.
The number exploded in my head.
I opened my banking app. The thirty-five grand that just hit, plus my previous savings, barely scraped together a hundred thousand.
Still short three hundred and fifty thousand.
One month.
"Miss Holly?" Dr. Lee's voice pulled me back.
"I..." I took a deep breath. "I'll figure it out. Within a month, I'll have the money."
Dr. Lee watched me, sympathy and doubt in his eyes.
"I understand your situation," he said. "You could try a loan—"
"No need." I cut him off and stood. "Thank you."
Bank loans required proof of stable employment, proof you could pay them back. But obviously, "homewrecker repeller" would just get suspicious looks from the teller.
Outside the office, I leaned against the hallway wall, legs weak.
Four hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
Where the hell was I supposed to find that kind of money?
Clients didn't just line up. Mrs. Smith's job took two months to land. God knew when the next one would come.
And Lilina couldn't wait.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out. Unknown number.
"Miss Holly, hello. My name is Jackson."
A second message followed immediately.
"My girlfriend cheated on me."
I stopped.
A new client?
That surprised me. First time I'd gotten a job from the guy's side.
But—
"Sorry, I usually only take cases involving married couples," I typed back quickly.
Next second, he threw a number at me.
"Four hundred thousand."
My breath caught.
Four hundred thousand.
Plus my hundred grand made five hundred thousand.
Enough for Lilina's surgery. Money left over.
My finger trembled over the screen.
A nurse wheeled a bed past, wheels squeaking on the floor. I leaned against the wall, staring at that number.
Four hundred thousand dollars.
The words circled overhead.
"Miss Holly?" Jackson sent another message. "If the price isn't satisfying, we can negotiate."
I took a deep breath, finger hovering over the screen.
Lilina's face floated in front of me—pale, hopeful.
I bit down hard.
"Send me detailed information on the target."
Seconds later, a file came through.
I opened it and skimmed.
Nelly. That was her name. Gorgeous—smooth oval face, sweet smile, eyes that seemed to speak. Something about her felt familiar, like I'd seen her somewhere before.
I kept scrolling. Information on the guy she cheated with was pathetically thin—just a few blurry nighttime photos, a tall male silhouette, face unclear.
For a split second, something hit me. My wolf stirred, excited, but I shoved her down fast.
Just a similar build. Couldn't be him.
My wolf whimpered. She curled up, dejected.
"Can you provide more information on the guy?" I asked.
"No, that's all I have." Jackson's reply made my heart sink.
I only handled breakups. Tracking wasn't my thing—that was private investigator territory, and I wasn't there yet.
When I didn't respond, Jackson sent another message.
"I'll add six hundred thousand."
One million!
My eyes went wide. Jackson was throwing money around. Guy was dead set on catching this male homewrecker.
My mind started working. With that money, not only could I cover Lilina's medical bills, I could take her away from here. Move somewhere small. Put her through school. We'd live well.
From the hospital room came Mary Jane's soft humming—the lullaby she always sang to put Lilina to sleep.
What was I even hesitating for?
I hit send.
"I'll take it."