Damn him.
I buried my face in the collar for a split second before cursing myself.
It wasn’t because I wanted to—I needed it.
It was cold, that’s all.
Just practical.
Just practical.
I shoved my arms through the sleeves, and the jacket hung off , too big but warm—too warm.
And then, before I could second-guess myself, I climbed back onto the sink, swung a leg through the window, and jumped.
The world tilted for half a second—air rushing past —before I landed hard, knees buckling but holding.
Yes.
I survived.
But then...
Shit.
What was that chill crawling up my spine?
I froze, slowly lifting my head.
And there he was.
Tristan.
Standing a few feet away—still, silent, watching like a predator who had already decided I was his.
The morning light made him even more dangerous—pale skin against the dark clothes, red eyes gleaming like embers in the frost. His jaw was hard, a slight muscle ticking as he tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curving—not quite a smile, but sothing colder.
Like he knew.
Like he’d been waiting for .
Like this was all a ga, and I had just moved a piece exactly where he wanted.
My heart slamd into my ribs.
Fuck.
He didn’t say anything.
Didn’t move.
Just stood there, his gaze dragging over —the ssy bun, the stolen jacket, the defiance still flickering behind my fear.
His jacket.
His scent, wrapped around like an invisible leash.
And gods, the way he looked at —like I was his already—made feel bare, even with all these clothes on.
I swallowed hard, every instinct screaming at to run, but my feet wouldn’t move.
The wolf had found .
And I was trapped.
"Let’s go," he said, his voice smooth—too smooth.
I blinked at him. "What? Where?"
He didn’t answer right away—just let his ruby eyes sweep over again, lingering on the leather jacket hanging off my fra. His jacket. His scent still clinging to it, and to .
"I thought you’d want to be dressed nicely to go to the vet," he said instead, lips twitching ever so slightly, "but it appears you like my clothes on you."
What?
I stared at him, my mind scrambling to catch up. "What?" I repeated, because clearly, I was malfunctioning.
He sighed, the sound equal parts amused and exasperated. "Co on," he said again, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. "We don’t want to be late for the appointnt."
Appointnt? What appointnt?
I was still rooted to the spot. My escape plan—window jump and all—seed laughable now, with him standing there, looking like he owned both the morning and .
"We’re going to the vet," he said, as if I was the one being difficult.
The vet.
My stomach flipped. "The vet? Why?"
Tristan tilted his head, his crimson gaze patient but firm. "For Boyd," he said, as though reminding of sothing I should have already known. "Rember?"
Boyd.
My sick dog.
The reason I was stupid enough to try and steal money last night.
From the Alpha’s nonetheless,
I blinked again. "You... you booked an appointnt?"
"Yes."
I swallowed. The air around us felt too thick for morning. "For my dog?"
"Yes, Olivia," he repeated, slower this ti, like I was a child.
For a long second, all I could do was stare at him—this brooding alpha prince, the man who’d declared I was his mate last night without giving a choice—and now... now he was taking to the vet?
"Oh my God, really?" I squealed—an embarrassingly loud, girlish sound—and before I could stop myself, I was practically bouncing on the balls of my feet.
A flicker of sothing—a smile—ghosted across his lips. Gone just as quickly as it appeared, but it was there.
Without another word, he turned and led to his car. And of course, it wasn’t just any car—it was sleek, dark, and expensive, a predator’s vehicle, perfectly suited to him.
I slid into the passenger seat, still half in shock, while Tristan started the engine.
The leather jacket still slled like him.
The car slled like him.
Damn him.
The morning was quiet as we drove through the town—so early that the streets were practically deserted.
The sky was a soft, pale blue, with wisps of clouds, and the crisp air bit at the edges of my skin despite the warmth of his jacket.
For a mont, it felt almost... normal.
Like we were just two people going for a drive.
But then I glanced at him—his perfect jaw, his broad shoulders, those blood-red eyes fixed on the road ahead—and rembered exactly who I was sitting beside.
This wasn’t a drive.
This was a deal with the devil in broad daylight.
And yet, my heart kept beating too fast—not from fear this ti, but from sothing far more dangerous.
The car rolled to a smooth stop in front of the small vet clinic, and for a brief, blissful second, I thought this was just a normal day—a weird one, sure—but still normal.
Until I saw them.
My parents.
Standing stiffly by the entrance, my large mutt, Boyd, clutched in my father’s arms.
And the look on their faces—oh God. That look.
Their signature scowl—the one they reserved for when I’d done sothing bad—was firmly in place. My mother’s lips were drawn in a tight line, her jaw tense enough to shatter. My father’s glare was a calculated storm, cold and unforgiving.
My stomach plumted.
I felt Tristan’s presence beside , calm and unreadable, like a predator surveying the scene. His hand casually rested on the steering wheel, his ruby eyes flicking from my parents to , then back again.
"You didn’t tell you invited an audience," I muttered, voice low, but my panic was anything but subtle.
He didn’t answer—just unbuckled his seatbelt with a quiet click, his silence louder than any words.
I didn’t move. "What did you do?"
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