(Meg's POV)
Power doesn't disappear all at once.
It fades like a slow bleed—quiet, careful—until you reach for it and find nothing but air where certainty used to live.
The first sign comes three days after the train. No updates from Aldden legal. No coded pings from the intermediaries who once monitored my movements like nervous hawks. No financial alerts from my accounts. Nothing. Just silence.
Not the kind of silence that happens naturally. This is deliberate, crafted. The surgical sort of quiet that takes skill to achieve.
They're cutting me out.
I'm standing barefoot in a borrowed apartment that still smells faintly of someone else's detergent and lavender candles. The place isn't home; it never will be. But it's safe, or it was.
The burner phone buzzes once on the counter. The sound is too clean to ignore.
I t's a data push—public, official, scrubbed.
The moment I open it, I know.
ALDDEN GROUP ANNOUNCES EMERGENCY SUCCESSION.
My stepbrother's name sits at the top of the release like a blade.
My breath stalls.
The article scrolls, line after line, crisp and efficient. Board approval. Immediate authority transfer. Council-backed investors confirming support. Not a single mention of a dispute. Not a single mention of me.
It's not just a takeover. It's a rewrite.
He hasn't stolen the company. He's erased me from its history.
I sink into the nearest chair, legs numb, phone cold in my hand. For a moment, I can't breathe. My body moves on instinct, one palm flat against my abdomen, as if touch alone could steady me.
"They wouldn't," I whisper, though I know exactly what they would do.
My stepbrother has always loved control more than victory.
When anger comes, it burns clean.
Aldden isn't only wealth. It's the bloodline's shield—the network funding neutral zones, trade routes, the treaties that keep packs from collapsing into endless war. Whoever holds Aldden doesn't just control money. They control balance.
And my stepbrother has never understood balance. He only understands ownership.
A knock cuts through the silence.
Every muscle in my body locks.
The bond stirs deep inside me—not fear, but awareness. A familiar energy brushes mine.
I rise slowly and open the door.
Martins stands there.
He looks like he hasn't slept, though his composure never falters. There's tension in his shoulders, something dangerous tucked just beneath restraint. His eyes flick to the phone still glowing behind me.
"You saw it," he says.
"Yes."
He steps inside without waiting for an invitation. Alpha habit. His presence fills the space—steady, inevitable. But he stops short of touching me, reading the air the way only he can.
"I left," I say. "I signed everything away. I gave him the company."
"I know," he answers quietly.
The simplicity of it hits harder than any accusation.
"Then why did it happen anyway?" I demand.
"Because you removed yourself," he says. "And power hates a vacuum."
I laugh once, sharp, without humor. "So this is what happens when a woman dares to walk away?"
He doesn't smile. "This is your stepbrother showing his teeth."
I move to the window, staring down at the street below. The city hums with ordinary life, unaware that my entire existence has just been edited out of its memory.
"Without Aldden," I say softly, "I have no protection. No title. No leverage. I'm nothing but a name without weight."
Martins' voice lowers. "You were always more than that."
"Not to them."
He follows my gaze, the muscles in his jaw
tight. "They're afraid of your child."
My breath stutters. "Then why not come for me outright?"
"They will."
I turn, my pulse spiking. "When?"
He meets my eyes. "This was step one."
"Then what's step two?"
"Proof," he says. "They'll need evidence that you still exist."
It takes me a second to understand. Then it hits—cold, brutal clarity.
Records. Blood verification. Witness signatures.
A public hunt disguised as administrative correction.
My stomach twists violently. "They'll strip my name from the registry."
"They already are."
The words tilt the room.
Without registry protection, my bloodline becomes unclaimed—open for claim or trade by stronger houses. I become fair game.
I stagger, and Martins catches me before I fall. His grip is solid, grounding. The bond surges, hot and alive, pressing under my skin.
"I've got you," he says quietly.
For one fragile heartbeat, I let myself believe him.
Then the bond pulls—tight, warning, electric.
Something's close.
Martins' head lifts, eyes narrowing. "Trackers."
The single word drains the air from the room.
"Already?" I whisper.
"They're confident," he says, scanning the hallway. "They think you'll freeze."
"I don't freeze," I answer, forcing my voice steady.
His mouth curves faintly—pride and worry woven together. "Good. Then move."
He releases me and crosses to the window, scanning rooftops. The set of his shoulders is pure battle-readiness.
"Pack your things," he orders.
"I have them." My bag's already by the door. I don't need prompting.
We move together, silent and fast. Every instinct hums with old training. My wolf presses against my skin, alert, furious.
At the door, my phone vibrates one last time before I switch it off.
ALL FORMER CLAIMS NULLIFIED.
Two words. Final. Cold.
Nullified.
Not challenged. Not suspended.
Erased.
My throat goes dry. I shove the phone deep into my pocket and follow Martins down the narrow stairwell. His hand brushes the small of my back once—not possession, just a signal. A silent now.
Outside, the night air bites cold. Rain's started again, the kind that smells of iron and distance.
We slip through side streets, heading for the edge of the district where scent trails scatter under the city's noise. Every movement feels sharper. Every sound seems to echo.
Then a howl splits the distance—long, deliberate, unmistakable.
Not wild.
Called.
Martins stiffens. "They've brought wolves."
The words hit like a knife.
I glance over my shoulder. No movement yet, but the sound rolls again, closer this time.
Martins steps in front of me, his wolf flickering at the edge of his control. "If they corner us, you keep running. You don't stop, you don't look back."
"No."
His eyes snap to mine. "Meg—"
"No," I say again. "You can fight. I can hide. But I won't leave you to die cleaning up my mistakes."
For a second, he looks at me like I've just undone every wall he ever built.
The bond hums again, electric and painful, too full of things neither of us can say.
Then he exhales, nods once. "Fine. But if they touch you, I'll stop holding back."
Lightning flashes somewhere distant. The storm's rolling closer.
We move again, fast, following alleys that smell of wet asphalt and rust. Somewhere above us, a drone hums faintly—a council scout.
The city feels suddenly smaller.
As we slip into the shadow of an underpass,
I look at Martins, the water glinting off his skin, and understand the quiet truth threading through every choice I've made.
I didn't just abandon Aldden.
I showed them exactly how far I would go to protect what's mine.
And now they're coming to test whether I meant it.
Thunder rolls low over the rooftops.
Martins turns his head, listening. His expression goes still.
"They're here."
I tighten my grip on my bag, the pendant at my throat burning faintly against my skin.
I glance at the empty street ahead, the long stretch of darkness waiting for us, and whisper the only truth that still feels solid.
"They think they've stolen my power."
Martins' eyes flash, the Alpha in him rising like a promise.
"Then let's take it back."