Chapter 1
The hall erupted. Live-stream chats detonated. In an instant, countless fans switched sides; a tidal wave of curses crashed down.
“Ah, so it’s her? Looks decent but turns out to be a creepy stalker.”
“Ten years? God, poor Lycan—stuck with someone like that.”
“Disgusting. Keep her away from me. Bad luck is contagious.”
Mockery rose and fell in waves. I sat frozen, fingers white-knuckled in my gown’s fabric.
My comm-unit rattled in my pocket without pause. I didn’t need to look to know—my photo and the tag “perverted harasser” were streaking across the entire net.
Onstage, Lycan stood ramrod straight, trophy glittering under the lights. He tipped his chin, eyes cool and lofty. In those eyes, I could read it plainly: the savage delight of revenge fulfilled.
The ceremony halted; several security guards started toward me, ready to escort me out.
I pushed myself upright and, beneath a hundred contemptuous, prying gazes, walked toward the exit.
As I passed the front VIP row, a starlet in a pink couture gown stuck out her foot.
I didn’t react in time. My body pitched forward. My knees slammed the floor—hard.
Deep in my mind, my wolf soul, Eva, snarled and bucked: “Don’t spare her! She did that on purpose!”
“Oh dear, sorry there, ma’am—”
Vivian, the rookie our company was hyping this year, pressed a hand to her lips in mock surprise.
But her eyes curved to crescents, giddy with schadenfreude.
“I didn’t mean it. But why were you rushing? Off to harass someone else?”
Smothered laughter drifted up.
I braced on the ground to stand. Pain knifed through my knee.
A pair of polished oxfords stopped in front of me.
Lycan.
He looked down from on high, like I was something to be scraped off a shoe.
“Done making a scene?”
He didn’t raise his voice. Every word landed like a blade.
“Ma’am, you’re embarrassing me.”
I looked up at him. The face was flawless under the lights, but the words were sharper than steel.
“I warned you—don’t show up in front of me again.”
Vivian immediately clung to his arm, staking a claim. In a breathy little-girl voice she cooed,
“Lycan, don’t be mad. She isn’t worth it. She’s scary—what if she’s carrying silver toxins?”
Lycan patted her hand, soothing. “Don’t worry. I’m here.”
His gaze slid back to me—colder still.
“Security. Throw her out.”
“And from now on, any event I attend—this woman doesn’t take a single step inside.”
Two guards grabbed my arms, rough and efficient, and half-dragged me toward the backstage exit.
As we passed an empty makeup room, Lycan’s voice came from behind us.
“Wait.”
The guards halted.
Lycan approached and waved them away.
The door shut. In the tight air of the room, only the two of us remained.
He dropped a heavy cardboard box at my feet with a thud.
“These are your trash letters.”
“I’m returning them.”
“I never read a single one.”
Spilled across the floor were the hundreds of letters I had written him over ten years.
Each of them had carried my hopes and encouragement back then.
Now he called them trash.
He leaned down, mouth almost at my ear, and whispered so only we could hear:
“Do you know? Just seeing your self-righteous face makes me sick.”
“You think a bit of money makes you my savior?”
“Listen, Selena. The thing I, Lycan, hate most is being looked at the way people look at a dog.”
“Your cheap charity is the biggest insult of all.”
My body locked. So, he had always known the benefactor “Selena” was me.
He had always known.
He raised a hand as if to pat my cheek, then hesitated—as if I were dirty.
His fingers flicked a speck from my collar instead.
“What? You think I’d thank you? A stalker fan. Stop dreaming,” he sneered.
“You and I—we’re not from the same world. And you will never be my mate.”
He turned and pulled the door open.
Vivian was waiting. Seeing me, her eyes flashed with triumph before she put her innocent mask back on.
“Lycan, let’s go. The after party’s starting.”
“Mm.”
Lycan didn’t look back.
The door swung shut between us.
I stared at the scattered letters. The pain in my knee mixed with the ache in my chest.
The comm-unit’s vibration in my pocket finally stopped—like a numb body being told to wake up.
I pulled it out. On the screen was my assistant Cora’s latest message:
“Ms. Lena, the company website…has been hacked.”
