The rain began before dawn.
By sunrise, the entire Blackwood estate was covered beneath a sheet of silver-gray mist.
No one spoke.
The usual sounds of the clan—the training grounds, the guards changing shifts, the servants moving through the halls—had disappeared.
Today, the Blackwood clan mourned.
Two coffins stood beneath the ancient oak trees at the edge of the estate.
One belonged to Alpha Adrian Blackwood.
The other belonged to his mate, Luna Seraphina Blackwood.
Ronan stood between them.
He wore black from head to toe.
At twenty-four, he had always been expected to inherit the Blackwood throne someday.
Just not like this.
Not today.
Not with his parents lying motionless in front of him.
His hands remained tightly clasped behind his back as the clan gathered around the funeral grounds.
Hundreds of wolves stood in silence.
Betas.
Warriors.
Elders.
Members of allied clans.
Every one of them had come to pay their respects to the Alpha and Luna who had ruled Blackwood for more than two decades.
Ronan stared at his father's coffin.
He remembered the last time Adrian had looked at him.
There had been no fear in his father's eyes.
Only exhaustion.
And something else.
Something Ronan hadn't understood.
Regret.
"You will understand everything soon."
Those had been his father's final words.
Ronan had hated those words ever since.
Because his father had never explained what they meant.
The priest finished the final prayer.
"The Blackwood Alpha and Luna have returned to the earth from which all wolves were born."
The first handful of soil struck the coffin.
Thud.
Ronan didn't move.
Another.
Thud.
His jaw tightened.
Behind him, someone quietly began to cry.
Ronan closed his eyes for a moment.
His mother had always hated funerals.
She used to say that death wasn't the end of a wolf's story.
It was only the end of the chapter others could see.
He had thought it was just another one of her strange sayings.
Now he wished he had asked her what she meant.
The final ceremony ended shortly before sunset.
One by one, the clan members approached Ronan.
Some bowed.
Some placed a hand over their hearts.
Some offered condolences.
But every person looked at him differently.
Because everyone already knew what would happen next.
The Blackwood throne had no heir other than Ronan.
His father was dead.
His mother was dead.
And the Alpha's bloodline now rested on his shoulders.
An elderly member of the council approached.
"Ronan."
Ronan looked at him.
The old man lowered his head.
"Alpha."
The word echoed through the silent courtyard.
For the first time, Ronan heard it spoken to him as a title.
Not a possibility.
Not a future.
A reality.
He looked toward the Blackwood mansion.
The enormous doors stood open.
Inside waited everything his father had left behind.
The estate.
The businesses.
The land.
The clan's wealth.
The warriors.
The responsibilities.
The enemies.
Everything.
And now—
all of it belonged to him.
That night, Ronan entered his father's study alone.
The room smelled exactly as it always had.
Leather.
Old books.
Wood.
His father's favorite cedarwood oil.
For a moment, Ronan almost expected Adrian to be sitting behind the desk.
But the chair was empty.
Ronan walked toward it slowly.
On the desk sat several documents prepared by the clan council.
Property transfers.
Business ownership papers.
Bank accounts.
Clan territories.
Legal documents confirming his inheritance.
He read them without emotion.
By midnight, every signature had been completed.
The Blackwood fortune was officially his.
The largest private estate in the northern territories.
Multiple businesses.
Thousands of acres of protected land.
And the loyalty of an entire werewolf clan.
Ronan had inherited everything.
Except the two people he would have traded it all to keep.
He leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling.
"Was this what you wanted for me, Father?"
Silence answered.
Then—
three knocks sounded at the door.
Ronan straightened.
"Come in."
The door opened.
Damon Blackwood stepped inside.
Ronan's Beta had been beside him throughout the entire funeral.
Unlike everyone else, Damon didn't bow.
He simply looked at Ronan.
"You should sleep."
"I can't."
"I know."
Damon hesitated.
"There is one more thing."
Ronan's eyes narrowed.
"What?"
Damon walked toward the desk.
He placed a small black envelope in front of him.
"This was found in your father's private safe."
Ronan stared at it.
There was no name written on the envelope.
Only one word.
RONAN.
His heartbeat changed.
"Who opened the safe?"
"No one."
Damon shook his head.
"Your father apparently arranged for it to open after his death."
Ronan reached for the envelope.
His fingers stopped above it.
For the first time that night, something resembling fear moved through his chest.
His father had known he was going to die.
Or at least—
he had known there was a possibility.
Ronan opened the envelope.
Inside was a single folded sheet of paper.
He unfolded it.
The handwriting was unmistakably his father's.
Ronan read the first line.
And everything around him seemed to disappear.
My son,
If you are reading this, then I am no longer there to protect you.
Ronan's fingers tightened around the paper.
He continued reading.
His father's final message contained only a few paragraphs.
But one name appeared again and again.
Elena.
Ronan stared at it.
He knew the name.
The girl his parents had always protected.
The girl they had never fully explained.
The girl who had been part of their lives for years.
But why had his father written her name in his final letter?
Ronan read the final sentence.
His expression slowly hardened.
Outside the study, the wind swept through the Blackwood forest.
And somewhere beyond the estate walls, a wolf howled into the darkness.
Ronan folded the letter.
His parents were dead.
Their wealth was his.
Their throne was his.
Their clan was his.
But their secrets—
those had just become his too.
And for the first time since the funeral began, Ronan understood something.
His parents hadn't left him an inheritance.
They had left him a mystery.
And Elena was at the center of it.