POV: Bea Sharpe

Helena's laugh echoed through the common room like nails on a chalkboard.

I stopped in the doorway, watching my supposed best friend lean against Don Pedro's shoulder while they scrolled through something on his phone. Their heads were close together, voices low and conspiratorial in a way that made my wolf snarl with suspicion.

"I can't believe she actually fell for it," Helena said, still giggling. "When you told her Ben confessed his feelings, her face was ...