"Caroline?” His voice was low, urgent.

“Kent…” My throat tightened. “My apartment—it’s gone. There was a fire. Everything’s gone.”

There was a silence, and I could hear his breathing on the line, sharp and controlled. “Where are you now?”

“At the police station,” I managed. “They said they’ll handle it, but…”

“Don’t stay there,” he cut in. “Come to me. Right now. I’ll send David to get you if I have to.”

“I—”

“No arguments. Caroline, listen to me. You’re not safe there.”

The way he said it made my heart skip. Not safe. The words echoed in my head as I hailed a ride.

When I reached Kent’s mansion, night had already settled, the air heavy with the scent of rain and pine. The house stood like a fortress, its lights soft and golden against the darkness.

He was waiting for me by the doorway.

“Caroline…” he said softly, his eyes scanning my face, my soot-stained hands. He pulled me into his arms before I could say a word. “You’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”

I wanted to believe him.

But the image of the fire wouldn’t leave me.

He led me inside, his hand warm on my back. The scent of him — cedar, musk, and something distinctly his — filled my lungs, grounding me.

“I think Serbian did it,” I whispered once we were seated by the fireplace. The flames there flickered calmly, too calmly, mocking me. “He’s hunting me down, Kent. I can feel it.”

Kent didn’t speak immediately. His jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the fire. Then he reached for my hand, his thumb tracing circles against my skin.

“I believe you,” he said finally. “And I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

His words should have comforted me, but fear still coiled deep in my stomach. “You don’t understand. Serbian doesn’t just send threats. He destroys.”

Kent turned to face me fully. His eyes softened, and for a moment, the Alpha in him vanished — replaced by the man who loved me. “Then let him try,” he said, his voice a quiet promise. “Because he’ll have to go through me first.”

The silence that followed was fragile, like a glass thread between us.

“What will we do now?” I asked quietly.

“I’ll talk to my father,” he said. “He’ll know how to handle this. But until then, you stay here. No arguments.”

I nodded. The warmth of the fire began to seep into my bones, chasing away the cold that had followed me since the flames.

When I finally looked up, Kent was still watching me — not as if I were broken, but as if he’d made it his mission to piece me back together.

That night, as I lay in the guest room wrapped in one of his blankets, the mansion felt both safe and suffocating. I could still hear the echo of the fire in my dreams — the crackle, the shouts, the unbearable heat.

And somewhere outside, I swore I heard something else — a faint sound in the woods, like a breath, or a whisper carried on the wind.

Something was watching.

***

The night was quiet. Too quiet. The only sound was the faint ticking of the clock in Kent’s study and the wind whispering against the mansion’s tall windows.

I sat on the couch, trying to steady my breathing, while Kent spoke softly on the phone in the next room. He was likely talking to his father—his tone had shifted from gentle to authoritative, the way it always did when he was in Alpha mode.

I sipped the tea David had brought earlier, my hands still trembling slightly. The warmth helped, but the unease in my chest hadn’t faded. It wasn’t just fear—it was the certainty that someone, somewhere, was planning something worse.

A knock came on the study door.

David stepped in quietly, his usual calm replaced by something uncertain. In his gloved hand was a sealed envelope—no name, no stamp, just a pale cream paper tied with black ribbon.

“Sir,” David said, his voice cautious. “This was dropped at the gate. No one saw who left it.”

Kent turned, his brows furrowing. “When?”

“Just now. The guards say a figure in a hooded coat walked up, left it on the ground, and disappeared into the trees before they could stop him.”

A chill crept through the room.

Kent took the envelope, his fingers tracing the edges. It wasn’t heavy—just a single folded sheet inside—but the air around it felt strange, heavy, almost alive.

I rose from the couch, my voice unsteady. “May I see it?”

He hesitated, then handed it to me. The moment my skin brushed the paper, something inside me twisted. I knew this texture—the faint scent of pine and smoke, the way the edges were slightly scorched.

I’d seen letters like this before. Serbian’s men used them for threats—warnings, usually followed by tragedy.

“It’s him,” I whispered, clutching it tighter. “Kent… it’s from Serbian.”

Kent’s eyes met mine, sharp and unreadable. “You’re sure?”

I nodded slowly. “He used to seal his messages with this—black ribbon. And the scent… it’s his pack’s mark. Wolfpine.”

David stepped back, uneasy. “Should I—call someone, sir?”

Kent shook his head. “No. Not yet.” His voice was low, controlled, though his shoulders had stiffened. “We’ll handle this first.”

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, mocking our silence. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears as Kent placed the envelope on the table between us.

“Do we open it?” I asked.

He hesitated, his gaze flicking to me, then to the letter. “If it’s from him, it’s meant to shake us. But we’ll see what he wants.”

Before he could reach for it, a sudden gust of wind blew through the open balcony doors, scattering a few papers across the floor. The candle on the table flickered violently, its flame bending low before steadying again.

Kent froze. So did I.

The letter sat there, unmoved, perfectly still—like it was waiting.

And in that moment, for the first time that night, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know what was inside.

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