The walls were covered in photographs. Dozens upon dozens of images, spanning years, Nyra smiling, Nyra crying, Nyra laughing, Nyra standing proud under the moon’s glow. From her childhood innocence to her poised womanhood, her entire life was laid out with obsessive reverence. The air of a study was gone; in its place stood a shrine.
Not one picture of me adorned those walls.
My legs trembled as I stumbled toward the desk. There, arranged in neat stacks, were countless letters. My fingers shook as I lifted the first one.
To Nyra, my 99th love letter.
Each word bled with devotion, a kind of passion that scorched every line. They weren’t merely notes, they were offerings, desperate prayers written to a woman who wasn’t his mate. My stomach twisted as my eyes fell upon the document beside them, a transfer contract for Silverfang Holdings.
Silverfang Holdings is the crown jewel of the Silverfang line and the pack’s empire. The company Alpha Alaric had poured its blood into protecting the legacy generations of Alphas that it had safeguarded. And yet he was ready to hand it over, to offer it as tribute at Nyra’s feet.