Wendy's POV

The next morning, I dug out the keycard Henry had given me and deliberately chose a dress that was modest, yet decent enough to pass for presentable.

Yes, just as Henry had predicted, I went looking for him.

The werewolf bodyguards stationed at the entrance blocked my way again.

“Mr. Brown isn’t here, and he has specifically instructed that no one is to enter without his permission.”

I knew I had infuriated Henry and could only wait quietly, my mounting frustration gnawing at my patience.

Henry had been right. I had come looking for him. Yet he was punishing me by leaving me to stew in my own restlessness. He was an insufferable, ill-mannered Alpha.

By the time night fell, my legs were trembling. All I could do to relieve the ache in my feet was pace back and forth endlessly. With the badge clutched in my hand, the anxiety gnawed at my nerves, sharp and insistent.

I sent him over a dozen messages. At first, I begged and pleaded for his attention. As the hours crawled by, and his silence persisted, my messages grew venomous, filled with curses meant to provoke him.

Yet none of it worked. Not even a single reply.

Clear enough, wasn’t it? Henry was immune to my anger. Perhaps he had heard worse curses in his time.

It wasn’t until nine o’clock that evening that my phone finally lit up with a message from him.

Henry: [Get to Nocturne within the hour.]

Fury bubbled anew as I rapid-fired back my reply.

Wendy: [What the hell do you want? You bastard, tell me what you’ve done with Bruce! You arrogant, sex-obsessed, reckless excuse for a Luna Pack Alpha! You vile, depraved man!]

Predictably, there was no response.

There wasn’t time to overthink it. I hailed a cab and arrived outside the bar, where a group of men milled about smoking, their leering gazes raking over me hungrily.

The thundering bassline of the music hit me the moment I stepped inside, the vibration clawing into my chest. The dance floor was a pulsating mass of bodies, swaying and grinding together as whistles pierced the air from men bold enough to try their luck with me. I swatted away their advances with practiced coldness, my disdain evident.

A manager soon approached, sizing me up.

“Miss Parker?”

I nodded, maintaining a façade of calm that belied my building nerves.

He swiped a card and directed me into an elevator, taking me up to one of the VIP lounges on the second floor.

In stark contrast to the chaotic revelry below, the second floor was hushed, like the exclusive den of the elite. There were touches of opulent decadence everywhere, crystal chandeliers glittering above, a small golden fountain tinkling softly in the center, its extravagance purposefully ostentatious.

When the door to the lounge opened, several heads turned in unison, but I only had eyes for him.

Henry lounged effortlessly on the leather sofa at the center of the room, the cut of his gray V-neck shirt revealing just the right amount of his chiseled chest. As I entered, his eyes locked on me, amusement flickering with a faint wickedness.

On either side of him, two sultry red-haired women draped themselves like ornaments, their ample cleavage stuffed with bills of cash. In another corner, a few provocatively dressed women swayed sensually to the music. The sheer excess of it all made my stomach churn in revulsion.

“Well, has the club brought in such fresh-faced lady now? Is this your first time?” An unctuous-looking man swaggered toward me, his intent clear.

“She's here because I summoned her,” Henry cut him off, a warning edge cooling his voice.

All at once, the man backed down, the light in his eyes dimming to respect. “Ah, you're with Henry. Please, come in.”

He clearly feared Henry.

While the red-haired women and their overstated allure starkly contrasted my modest, almost schoolgirl-like attire, it didn’t stop Henry’s guests or staff from showering him with flattering praise, which, in turn, extended to me.

“Henry, your friend is as stunning as she is graceful.”

Henry exhaled a chuckle at that, lazily taking a cigarette from one of the women beside him and lighting it. After a deep drag, he looked at me, his words deceptively casual.

“What is it you want from me?”

My fingernails dug into the flesh of my palms. The way he feigned ignorance, dangling my desperation in front of us all. It was a pointed humiliation.

I refused to let him win. Fixing him with an unwavering gaze, I asked directly, “Where is Bruce? Tell me what you’ve done to him!”

“Wait,” Henry mused, his tone maddeningly calm, “would I tell you anything? If I recall correctly, Wendy, you said you’d never come to me.”

His words, sharp and mocking, burned like salt on an open wound. Rage sparked inside me, but what could I do? I was no match for him. I asked for help only he could provide. I needed information about my brother.

The room around us went deathly still, fueled by a collective hunger for gossip. Everyone wanted to see how our standoff would unfold.

After puffing away on his cigarette, Henry cast a challenging glance at the spectators. “Get out. All of you.”

“Yes, Henry, right away.” They scrambled to obey, the tension evident as even the faintest hint of disapproval from him sent them scampering.

Before leaving, the smug man who had approached me earlier sent an inexplicable look of pity over his shoulder, as if my confrontation with Henry was hopeless. They all feared him, their terror palpable in his mere presence.

And then, it was just the two of us.

He remained seated on the sofa, the embodiment of ease. I stood before him, the distance between us a chasm laced with icy detachment. The air in the room had turned brittle with unease, sharp enough to pierce. My chest tightened, a dull ache spreading through me like a bruise.

“It doesn't feel right, Wendy,” Cassie, the voice inside my head, murmured, her anxiety mirroring my own.

Henry spoke at last, his voice smooth yet cryptic. “Do you really want to know?”

I met his piercing gaze. “Let Bruce go, Henry. If it’s a deal you want, then let’s make one.”

He laughed, a deep, quiet sound that reverberated with derision. “Another deal, is it?” His finger lazily gestured to a bottle of liquor on the table. “Drink that, and I’ll tell you.”

I studied his face, searching for any trace of cruelty. He wasn’t bluffing.

Without hesitation, I snatched the bottle.

Henry’s amusement deepened as he motioned for me to proceed, a silent taunt in the casual flick of his wrist. The pain of swallowing my pride wasn’t nearly as important as the opportunity to learn the truth about my brother’s whereabouts. If this was the price, then so be it.

Raising the bottle to my lips, I tilted it back. The sharp sting of alcohol clawed its way down my throat like liquid fire, burning all the way to my stomach. I wasn’t used to drinking, and some of the dark red liquid spilled over my lips, trailing down my neck and soaking into the collar of my dress.

Halfway through, I had to stop. I coughed violently, the burn unbearable. I had been drinking too fast, driven by the urgency to get answers from Henry. My head started spinning, heat blooming all over my body. Still, I reached again for the bottle.

Henry intercepted me, wrenching it from my hand and setting it firmly on the table.

“That's enough. Stop it.”

“I haven’t finished yet,” I protested, straining toward the bottle. His conditions were clear, I had to drink it all to learn what I desperately sought. I wouldn’t falter.

Before I could react, he pulled me to him. His grip was firm, his frame unshakable as he bent closer. And then, before I could comprehend what was happening, his lips crashed onto mine.

He kissed me fiercely, his tongue pushing its way past my defenses, stealing both my breath and my will. His raw dominance swallowed me whole in that moment, leaving behind nothing but his searing heat.

The flames in my gut turned wretched as nausea erupted, and I wrenched myself away from him.

My feet stumbled, near tripping out of the lounge before I found the restroom at the end of the hallway. I collapsed against the porcelain rim of the nearest toilet, heaving until my stomach emptied.

Behind me, I could vaguely make out Henry cursing under his breath beyond the doorway. My vision blurred, tears of humiliation prickling at the corners of my eyes, fueled not by physical pain but by an emotional rawness that felt unending.

“Wendy, are you okay?” Cassie asked softly and full of concern.

“I’m fine,” I muttered.

Once the sickness subsided, I steadied myself at the sink, rinsing my mouth and splashing cold water against my face.

I didn’t need a glance in the mirror to know I looked like a mess. My collar was soaked and my hair damp and clinging to my skin. None of it mattered. If enduring this meant he would release my brother, then it wouldn’t break me.

I had been through worse time.

“Madam, I think you’ve made a mistake. Here is the men’s room.”

The gentle voice of a man sounded from behind me. I froze, recognition crashing over me in an instant.

I would never forget that voice.