Anna's POV:

I wake to unfamiliar ceiling.

The sheets smell wrong. The light falls wrong. Everything is wrong.

My body aches. Especially between my legs—a deep, throbbing soreness that makes me wince when I shift.

Then memory crashes back.

The bar. The forest. The rogues. The man with green eyes and that impossible scent.

What I did.

'Oh god.'

I turn my head slowly, carefully. He's there, still asleep beside me. Dark hair messy against the pillow. His face is softer in sleep, less intimidating. But still striking. Still beautiful in a way that makes my chest tight.

The sheet has slipped down to his waist, revealing a muscled torso. I see scratches on his shoulders—my scratches. Heat floods my face.

Details from last night flash through my mind. His hands on my skin. His mouth. The way he moved. The sounds I made.

'I had a one-night stand with a complete stranger.'

Panic claws up my throat. What was I thinking? I wasn't thinking. I was drunk and hurt and stupid—

He stirs.

I freeze.

His eyes open—those green eyes that pinned me in place last night. They find mine immediately. For a long moment, neither of us moves.

Then his lips curve. Just slightly. "You're awake."

The memory of those lips on my body makes me want to crawl under the bed and die.

"I—" My voice comes out hoarse. I clear my throat. "Yeah."

He props himself up on one elbow, studying my face. "How do you feel?"

'Mortified. Confused. Sore.'

"Fine," I lie.

His eyes flicker down, then back up. Something shifts in his expression. "Last night—"

"Was a mistake." The words burst out before I can stop them.

He goes still. "A mistake."

"I was drunk. You saved me from the rogues and I—" I swallow hard. "I shouldn't have—we shouldn't have—"

"But we did." His voice is calm. Too calm. He reaches out, his hand moving toward my face.

I jerk back. Scramble out of the bed.

The sheet falls away. Cold air hits my naked skin. I grab for my clothes—scattered across the floor—and start pulling them on with shaking hands.

"Wait." There's an edge to his voice now. "Just wait."

I yank my shirt over my head. Can't look at him. Can't think about how I threw myself at him last night like some desperate—

"The blood."

I freeze.

"On the sheets," he says quietly. "That was your first time."

Shame burns through me. Of course he noticed. Of course.

"It doesn't matter." I find my jeans, pull them on. Every movement sends fresh aches through my body.

"It matters to me." The bed creaks. He's getting up. "I'll take responsibility—"

"Responsibility?" I spin to face him. He's pulled on pants but nothing else. "This isn't the nineteenth century. We're both adults. We made a choice. It's done."

His jaw tightens. "You don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly." I spot my shoes, grab them. "Thank you for saving me last night. For everything. But this—" I gesture vaguely between us. "This was just... physical. It didn't mean anything."

The words taste like lies. But they're safer than the truth. Safer than admitting that even now, standing here fully clothed and mortified, part of me still wants to go back to that bed. Still wants his hands on me.

'What the hell is wrong with me?'

"Physical." His tone is flat. "Nothing more."

"Right." I force myself to hold his gaze. "We're adults. These things happen. Let's just... forget about it."

Something flickers in his eyes. Hurt? Anger? It's gone too fast to tell.

"Where are you from?" he asks suddenly.

I blink. "What?"

"Your pack. Where do you belong?"

Warning bells go off in my head. He's asking too many questions. Questions I can't answer without revealing more than I want to.

"Clear Moon Pack." I keep my voice neutral. "Why?"

"And last night. Why were you drunk? Why were you in that forest?"

Allen's face flashes through my mind. His body tangled with Daisy's. The things they said.

"That's none of your business."

"You were crying." He takes a step closer. "You smelled like another male. And pain. So much pain I could taste it."

I back toward the door. "A breakup. It happens."

"Someone hurt you."

"Yes." The word comes out sharp. "Someone did. And I dealt with it by getting drunk and making a stupid decision. But that's on me. Not you. Not anyone else."

His eyes narrow. "What's your name?"

"Does it matter?"

"Tell me."

There's authority in his voice. The kind that makes wolves obey without thinking. But I'm already too far gone to care about propriety.

"Anna." I grip the door handle. "My name is Anna. Satisfied?"

Before he can respond, the door swings open.

I stumble back. A man in a white coat stands in the doorway, medical bag in hand. He looks surprised to see me.

"Alpha, I—" He stops. His eyes widen slightly.

'Alpha?'

The word registers slowly. Then all at once.

I turn back to the man I slept with. Really look at him. At the authority in his stance. The power radiating off him even half-dressed. The way the doctor just called him—

"You're an Alpha?" My voice comes out strangled.

He doesn't answer. Doesn't need to.

The doctor clears his throat. "Apologies for the interruption. You called for medical attention?"

"Yes." The Alpha—'oh god, I slept with an Alpha'—gestures at me. "She was attacked by rogues last night. Check her for injuries."

"That's not necessary—"

"Sit." The command in his voice makes my knees weak.

I want to refuse. Want to bolt out the door and never look back. But the doctor is already moving forward, and some part of me knows I should at least make sure the rogue's claws didn't do serious damage.

I perch on the edge of the bed. The Alpha watches as the doctor examines my wrist, cleans the cuts with practiced efficiency.

"Superficial wounds," the doctor says. "They'll heal quickly. No sign of infection." He pulls out bandages, starts wrapping. "You're very lucky. Rogue attacks rarely end this well."

"She had help." The Alpha's voice comes from behind me.

I don't turn around. Can't. My heart is pounding too hard.

The doctor finishes. Packs up his supplies. "All done. Keep the wounds clean. Change the bandages daily." He pauses. "Is there anything else you need, Alpha?"

"No. Thank you, Dr. Nielsen."

The doctor leaves. The door clicks shut.

Silence stretches between us.

"Alexander." His voice is quiet. "My name is Alexander."

I close my eyes. "Alexander."

"Alexander Silver."

The name hits like a physical blow.

Silver. As in the Silver Lake Pack. The largest, most powerful pack in the alliance. As in the Alpha everyone knows by reputation if not by sight.

'I slept with Alexander Silver.'

I stand up too fast. The room spins.

"I have to go."

"Anna—"

"Thank you for saving me. For the doctor. For everything." I'm backing toward the door again. "But we both know this was just... circumstantial. Wrong place, wrong time. Wrong everything."

His expression hardens. "Is that what you think?"

"That's what I know." I force the words out. "You're an Alpha. I'm an Omega from a nothing family. This—whatever this was—it can't happen again."

"Because of rank?"

"Because we're strangers." I reach the door. "Because I was drunk and heartbroken and you were there. Because people like you don't end up with people like me."

I yank the door open.

"People like me?" There's something dangerous in his tone now.

I don't answer. Can't answer. If I stay one more second, I'm going to do something stupid. Like admit that his scent still makes my wolf sing. Like beg him to make me forget Allen ever existed.

I walk out.

Behind me, I hear him move. Hear his footsteps.

Then his voice, cold and clipped: "Wait."

I stop. Turn.

He's standing in the doorway, fully dressed now. In his hand is a stack of bills.

My stomach drops.

"For your trouble." He holds out the money. His face is expressionless. "Consider it payment."

The words don't register at first. Then they do.

Payment.

He thinks—he thinks I'm a—

Red floods my vision. "You fucking asshole."

I storm back. Grab the money. And throw it in his face.

Bills scatter across the floor.

"Fuck you." My voice shakes with rage. "Fuck you and your money and your assumptions."

I don't wait for his response. Don't give him a chance to speak.

I turn and run.

The door slams behind me hard enough to rattle the frame.