Chapter 2
Holly
Standard studio. Maybe forty square meters. Small entryway, open-plan kitchen and living room, separate bedroom and bath. The furniture was sparse as a hotel room—one couch, one coffee table, one bed. That was it.
But the view was perfect. The living room window faced the street directly. Just pulling the curtains open a crack flooded the room with sunlight, illuminating the dust motes hanging in the air. I had a clear line of sight to the building across the street—the entrance, the sixth-floor window.
Nelly's place.
I set up the surveillance gear. Binoculars. Camera. Tripod. Plugged in the laptop. Dragged a chair from the bedroom to the window.
Surveillance officially underway.
Waiting was the worst part of this job. To kill time, I pulled up Jackson's file again.
Nelly R. Green. Twenty-six years old. Three years in the show business.
No agency. Her résumé was pathetic: The best friend who died in a car crash in episode three of Love in Late Autumn.
The mistress who got dumped and killed herself in episode five of City Lights.
The café owner in Midnight Cafe—that one had a few more scenes.
All the shows rated somewhere between four and five stars.
I'd recognized her because of Midnight Cafe. My favorite soap. I'd watched it over and over.
Jackson's name was listed as an investor on every single one.
Pretty standard for the entertainment world.
Rich guy dumps money into film projects, shoves his girlfriend into the spotlight.
But usually those mistresses got the full treatment—after all, you paid for it, might as well let everyone see. Ideally you'd make her a star, make yourself look good.
Not Nelly.
She was deliberately hidden.
Low-key. Quiet. Almost invisible.
Honestly, Nelly could act. Natural to the point where it didn't look like acting at all. She took every role seriously, even if it was only a few minutes of screen time.
She just lacked opportunity. And clearly, Jackson hadn't given her any.
I switched to Google. Typed in "Nelly R. Green."
Enter.
Results loaded—
Just a few pages.
Some press releases from when the shows aired. All cookie-cutter headlines. "Newcomer Nelly R. Green Takes on Bad Woman," "Young Actress Nelly: Acting Is My Dream," that kind of formulaic garbage. Same headshot in every article.
That was it.
No scandals. No gossip. No interviews. No paparazzi shots. Nothing that could generate public interest.
Total opposite of her peers—they'd kill to turn their lives into a 24/7 livestream. Fake relationships, manufactured drama, anything for attention. In this era, even the bottom-tier nobodies knew the game. Better to be talked about than forgotten.
Nelly's social media was dead silent. Eerily quiet. Jackson invested in Nelly, but didn't want her too exposed.
I raised an eyebrow. Their relationship probably wasn't the simple "boyfriend-girlfriend" thing Jackson had described.
And Jackson's background was just as interesting. Self-made man. Started as a street vendor. A few years later, he had his own company. Within months, he'd launched three subsidiaries, selling the same stuff he'd hawked on the street. Cheap jewelry. Tacky women's clothing.
Could that really support such rapid expansion? Especially when his sales figures weren't even that impressive.
I closed the laptop. Started to regret this. Everything pointed to Jackson being more than just a simple businessman.
Get in, get out. Avoid complications. I told myself.
The monitor beeped.
I moved to the binoculars. Across the street, a corner of the curtain pulled back. Nelly stood there in an oversized dark gray hoodie, no makeup, hair tied up carelessly. She scanned the street, like she was looking for something. Two minutes later, she yanked the curtain shut and disappeared.
I didn't move. Kept watching her window and the building entrance.
Nelly didn't reappear.
I stayed put for three days. On the fourth afternoon, Nelly finally emerged from the building. Beige trench coat. Fitted jeans. Fashion sunglasses. Like any regular girl heading out to shop.
I grabbed my bag and snatched the baseball cap off the wall on my way out.
Lucky for me, Nelly didn't go far. By the time I hit the street, she was strolling along the sidewalk, light on her feet, passing right in front of me.
I pulled the cap on. Tugged it down tight.
Fallen leaves had been swept into small yellow triangular piles along the curb.
The street wasn't too crowded. Nelly paused occasionally at storefronts, casually glancing back now and then.
I kept my distance. Whenever she turned, I'd duck my head and fiddle with my phone, hiding behind a bus stop sign or a cluster of chatting old ladies.
"Uh, the weather's been nice lately."
They gave me an odd look but nodded politely. "It has."
I lifted my eyes just enough to peek. Nelly was nearing the subway entrance. One turn and she dissolved into the crowd like a drop of water. I broke into a quick jog, deliberately keeping my pace measured.
New York subway stations were giant compression chambers.
I fought against the flow, heading down, stepping on shoes and shoelaces left and right.
I mumbled apologies constantly. Up ahead, Nelly's head kept bobbing in and out of view among the sea of bodies.
I pulled out the small, clear bottle from my coat pocket.
Pressed the button. Orange-citrus neutralizer spray. Great for masking scent.
The file said Nelly was a werewolf. I couldn't let her smell me.
Rounding a corner, I shrugged off my jacket. It was reversible. I flipped it and put it back on. Midnight Cafe mentioned it once—when tailing someone, keep changing your look so you're always just "a stranger" to them.
There. Up ahead. My wolf had a good nose.
The train was pulling in. Nelly entered car three. She got lucky—found a spot by the door, her reflection caught in the glass window. I hesitated a few seconds, then slipped on at the last moment, positioning myself right behind a woman holding a child.
The kid wore a fuzzy hat. Big eyes. Staring at me curiously, head swaying side to side.
I smiled. The kid's mouth dropped open in surprise, like he hadn't expected me to respond.
The woman turned around, blocking Nelly's line of sight perfectly.
More passengers surged in from behind, completely concealing me.
Perfect.
"Very cute," I said.
The woman nodded. She was wary of me, this stranger, but every mother likes hearing that.
The overhead straps swayed back and forth. I tucked hair behind my ear, pretending to adjust my earring, and in that gap, snapped a side profile of Nelly.
My heart wouldn't stop pounding. Only deep breaths could calm it.
Three stops later, she got off at Madison Avenue in the Upper East Side. I could tell Nelly had some counter-surveillance awareness. Just not very refined.
A small-time actress. Who taught her this stuff?
Madison Avenue was named after the Madison Shopping Center. Autumn sunlight poured across the street. Sycamore leaves lay golden everywhere. Rare to get weather this clear in New York.
Nelly's steps quickened. Head up, she walked straight into the shopping center. Her destination was obvious. The LV boutique.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I watched the sales associates take Nelly's coat and guide her to the VIP lounge in the back. No way I could follow. But the Starbucks across the street would work.
I ordered cake and coffee. Large. Cold liquid rushed down my throat, the bitterness cut by sweetness.
I sat in that Starbucks for an hour before Nelly finally emerged. She'd bought plenty, but only carried out a small pink bag. The rest would probably be packaged and delivered to her door.
I followed.
My wolf rumbled with pleasure. She seemed to enjoy this tracking game. The wolf's hunting instinct had her excited.
From afternoon to dusk, I tailed her through shop after shop until night fell.
Nelly's shopping appetite only grew. Clothes, jewelry, makeup. She didn't even swipe a card—just dropped Jackson's name, and the bills got forwarded straight to his phone.
Was she telling him she was shopping? That she wasn't running off somewhere?
At nine-fifteen, Nelly finally left the shopping district. Madison Avenue was busier at night than during the day, which made tailing harder. Nelly moved quickly through the crowd. Through the crush of bodies, I saw her raise her hand and flag down a cab.
I yanked open the door of a car at the curb—plenty of drivers cruised for fares at this hour.
"Follow that cab," I told the driver, passing over some bills.
The driver glanced at the cash. No more words needed. He hit the gas and squeezed through a narrow gap left by two pedestrians being polite.
Streetlights flickered on one after another. The warm glow outshone the stars.
I realized—Nelly was circling.
Her cab looped around and around, then suddenly changed direction at an intersection.
My heart hammered. Nelly stopped outside a dessert shop.
This time, I didn't immediately follow. I slipped the driver another stack of bills and waited.
Ten minutes later, a woman in a dark wool dress emerged. Still wearing sunglasses. Walking briskly forward.
Nelly. My wolf snapped to attention.
She'd changed clothes.
I scrambled out of the car and crashed straight into a family—parents and their kid—just passing by.
"Oh, sorry!"
I picked up the paper bag from the ground. The brand name blazed red. Four potatoes rolled in four directions. The kid stomped on one.
"Yeah!" He threw his arms up. His father yanked him back.
I'd already scooped up the other three. Apparently, I had some athletic ability after all.
I looked up. Nelly's silhouette was about to vanish into the crowd.
I shoved everything into the mother's arms. She frowned, like she wanted to say something—the once-clean bag was now wrinkled and dirty—but there was no time.
I darted past her, nearly plowing into more customers coming out of the dessert shop.
Gasps erupted around me. This time, I didn't even manage an apology.
I ducked my head, making sure they didn't see my face.
"Quite the commotion." My wolf drawled, flicking her tail mockingly.
Nelly had no idea what happened behind her. At a fork in the road, she suddenly pivoted and slipped inside like a fish.
The alley was narrow and dark. Abandoned buildings on both sides. The air reeked of mold and rot. I softened my footsteps. Werewolf senses kicked in—I could clearly track Nelly's scent.
I moved through the shadows like a ghost. Nelly kept glancing back. A few times, she almost spotted me. I dodged just in time.
She finally stopped. Typed something quickly on her phone. After hitting send, she stood there, body tense, waiting.
So were my wolf and I.
A breeze stirred overhead. The sky hung like a black curtain, pressing down on us. I rubbed my tired eyes. My lids blinked for just one second, and when they opened, a tall figure stood in front of Nelly. No warning. Like he'd been waiting all along.
I froze.
A familiar tremor surged through my body. My wolf howled with longing deep inside, so fiercely my blood began to boil.
A new scent filled the air. Warm amber resin. The instant I caught it, my knees buckled. I nearly collapsed.
My hands started shaking. No. This wasn't possible.
After all these years, the bond should have broken. I shouldn't be reacting like this.
But my wolf stubbornly whined.
"Mate. Mate."
Panic seized my heart. If the bond hadn't broken, then no matter how much neutralizer I sprayed, he would still smell me—
The man lifted his head.
I couldn't breathe.
Of course. Theodore.
He was back. As Nelly's lover.