Viviana's POV

Moonlight filtered through the windows, dividing the floor into perfect, geometric patterns.

“Have you decided which university you want to attend?” Nolan asked half an hour after we entered the room.

Nolan was peeling off his black T-shirt, his waistline taut with an effortless sensuality.

I had a few options in mind, but when he finally broke the silence with that question, my response faltered.

“Columbia might be a good choice,” he mused suddenly, his voice steady, deliberate.

“You've got the grades for it.” His back was turned to me as he placed a gift he had brought onto the windowsill, his movements unhurried. “And Manhattan's far enough from H City. If you want, you won’t have to come back at all.”

“Besides, there’s more variety in majors there.”

Nolan talked a lot, but my eyes were drawn to the smooth muscles of his back and the scars that twitched with each word he spoke—marks that could only have been left by claws.

“What if I don’t want to leave?” I said quietly.

His hands tensed, the blueprints in his grip crumpling abruptly.

I was close to Nolan, so close that I could see the tension in his jawline and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

It wasn’t my choice to be so near him; my room was just a space divided from his by a wooden panel.

The Bruno pack was poorer than anyone cared to admit. We had neither the funds to sustain ourselves nor the land to expand.

Even John, the alpha of the pack, was stuck living in a cramped, decrepit two-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of the city.

“Nolan, I don’t want to leave here,” I reiterated, my tone firmer this time, desperately hoping he’d understand what I couldn’t say outright.

But clearly, he didn’t. Instead, he interrupted me with cold indifference.

“If Columbia University is not to your taste, go to Chicago. It doesn’t matter—just get out of here. The farther, the better.”

He picked up his shirt and made for the exit. The aisle was so narrow that I had to turn sideways to let him pass.

I dropped my head. As he brushed past me, the faintest trace of his scent reached my nose—cedarwood, sharp with a faint hint of citrus.

It was subtle, and I scrunched up my nose. Some primal instinct stirred within me, clawing its way to the surface.

But then, just like that, the scent faded away.

Nolan didn’t like me. He didn’t like my mother, either—no surprise there. No one liked burdens and trouble.

Still, when he walked away, leaving me alone in the room without even a backward glance, I felt a sharp pang in my chest.

“I don’t want to leave you. Not at all,” I shouted at his retreating back.

He pretended not to hear and stepped out of the room.

My gaze shifted to the pink box on the bed and his open wardrobe where several neatly packed suitcases and cardboard boxes came into view.

The sudden creak of the door startled me. I shrank in horror as I whirled around, only to be met with Nolan’s presence once again. Relief washed over me, loosening the tension that had gathered in my limbs.

“Nolan!”

Nolan was towel-drying his hair, the strands still dripping with water, and a few droplets slid into the open collar of his white T-shirt.

His pumped-up chest nearly strained against the fabric, but he seemed completely oblivious, focused only on getting his hair dry.

“Take the bed tonight,” he ordered curtly.

The pink box was so eye-catching that I couldn't ignore it.

So, I couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. “You have a girlfriend, don’t you?”

“What did you say?” Nolan had already made it to the beanbag chair by the window—his spot for the night—and it seemed he hadn’t quite caught my words.

“You must be seeing someone,” I pressed, pointing at the pink box.

I didn’t want to know what it contained. I just knew that once I opened Pandora’s box, I wouldn’t be able to hold back my feelings for Nolan any longer.

It was pure torture to feel this way while he seemed utterly indifferent to me.

“Nolan, what’s she like?”

My voice fractured as the question escaped, and I felt my heart splinter along with it.

Nolan’s sharp blue eyes locked onto mine. “You’ve got a vivid imagination.”

His denial should’ve brought relief. But it didn’t because he didn’t bother to explain the box’s origin.

Pink wasn’t his style; it never had been.

The answer felt indifferent, too detached to offer comfort. With that, he sank into the softness of the chair, ignoring me completely.

His tall frame—six feet of sculpted muscle—was too much for the small chair, forcing him to bend his knees awkwardly to avoid tipping over.

“I can take the sofa instead,” I offered.

I knew Nolan wasn’t going to discuss anything related to the pink box anymore, so I decided to change the subject.

“No, just go to bed.”

He turned his head away impatiently. Then, his blue eyes narrowed. “What happened to your arm?”

I instinctively clutched my left arm, covering the claw marks I had raked into my own skin earlier, but I knew they were still visible.

“It’s nothing,” I lied, fighting through the sting as the skin stretched painfully.

“Tell me the truth, Viviana.” His eyes, now piercing, were terrifying in their intensity. “Was it John?”

Today, I'd caused him too much trouble.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, cradling my arms tighter as if that could shield him from the other bruises mottling my skin.

Earlier that day, John's rough grip had dislocated my shoulder. It took everything I had to snap it back into place, gritting my teeth in the shadows where no one could see.

Moreover, he had ripped my clothing to tatters before Nolan saw me, and at that moment, I was practically fleeing into the bathroom with nothing on.

And if I hadn’t scrambled to escape, John would’ve—

No. I couldn’t let Nolan know. Not any of it.

I had my pride.

If you asked me what my biggest takeaway from the past three years at Bruno Pack was, I would say I healed faster than anyone else. After all, no wolf here sustained injuries more frequently than I did.

In the silence, Nolan shifted away, finally letting the matter drop. I exhaled in quiet relief.

A few minutes passed—maybe even longer—before I heard the sound of slippers shuffling on the floor again.

Even without a wolf, I could smell John’s scent—a scent that sent chills down my spine.

By midnight, I would turn eighteen.

I had to admit, my wolf came pretty late compared to the others, and there wasn’t even a hint that it was on its way.

But I still prayed that the Moon Goddess could hear my wish and grant me my wolf tonight.

Once I had my wolf, I would have so much more power.

I might not be a match for the alpha of the pack, but I still had the strength to fight with everything I had.

Thus, John was going to do his best to pull me and Nolan apart tonight.

But I wouldn’t—and couldn’t—leave Nolan.

Even though I hated the Bruno Pack and loathed every single day here, I couldn’t just up and leave.

After all, wolves that left the pack without permission faced punishment.

“Nolan,” I called out to my stepbrother, voice lowered.

He turned to me, his brow furrowed with exhaustion.

“You’re noisy,” he muttered, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“I’m sorry, but I need your help.”

I nervously swallowed. I couldn’t let John succeed, and the only person I could rely on was Nolan.

Even though I knew Nolan despised me because my arrival had brought misfortune to his mother, I had to try.

“Nolan,” I whispered. “Can I hold onto you? No—I mean, can I grab your shirt? Just for tonight, please?”