Lysander's POV

The file landed on my desk with a heavy thud.

I looked up from the contract I had been reviewing to find my assistant Rachel standing there, her expression carefully neutral.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Background check you requested. On Ariana Kingsley."

I had almost forgotten about that. Three weeks ago, I had seen her at a charity auction, bidding on estate pieces for her design work. Something about her had caught my attention—the way she carried herself, the sharp intelligence in her eyes, and the underlying sadness she tried to hide.

I made inquiries. Casual ones. Just curiosity about a beautiful woman who seemed immune to the attention she attracted.

Now I opened the file and started reading.

Five minutes later, I was on my phone.

"Get me everything you can find on Asher Westwood," I told my head of security. "Personal life, business dealings, pack affiliations. Everything."

"Sir?"

"Just do it. I want it by tomorrow."

I hung up and read through the file again, my jaw tightening with each page.

Ariana Kingsley. Twenty-nine years old. Award-winning jewelry designer. Single mother of five-year-old twins. No father listed on the birth certificates. She left Westwood territory six years ago under circumstances that weren't entirely clear.

But the investigator had been thorough. There were photos from six years ago—Ariana with Asher Westwood at various events. Ariana at a gallery opening. Ariana is leaving that same gallery in tears.

The timeline was damning. She had left town pregnant. Alone. Asher Westwood claimed his destined mate in a very public bonding ceremony.

I sat back in my chair, fury building in my chest.

I had met Asher Westwood exactly once, at a business conference two years ago. He'd been arrogant and dismissive, the kind of Alpha who thought his territory and bloodline made him untouchable.

I disliked him immediately.

Now I had a reason to hate him.

My phone rang. Vincent Shaw, one of my few contacts in Westwood Pack.

"Lysander," he said without preamble. "I need a favor."

"I'm listening."

"How would you feel about providing security for someone? Discreet protection, highest level."

"For whom?"

"Ariana Kingsley."

I smiled slowly. "Tell me everything."

Twenty minutes later, I had the full story. The dinner party ambush, Isabella's threats, and Asher's sudden desire to claim children he'd never known existed.

And Ariana, caught in the middle, was trying to protect her kids from wolves who saw them as either weapons or obstacles.

"She won't accept obvious protection," Vincent said. "She's too proud and too independent."

"Then we make it invisible." I was already planning. "I have people who can watch without being seen. Where does she live?"

He gave me the address. I recognized the building—good security, but not good enough. Not for what was coming.

"What's your interest in this?" Vincent asked carefully. "No offense, but you don't usually get involved in pack politics."

"Let's just say I have a soft spot for women who've been wronged by arrogant Alphas."

"Asher's not—" He stopped. "Actually, yeah. He is."

"Keep me updated on any movements from Westwood Pack. If Isabella tries anything, I want to know immediately."

"Will do. And Lysander? Thank you."

I hung up and pulled up the surveillance footage my team had already gathered. Not illegal, just strategic monitoring of public spaces near Ariana's building.

There she was, walking with two children. The boy was tall for his age, dark-haired, and moving with an awareness that spoke of Alpha blood. The girl was smaller, lighter, and holding her brother's hand.

Both are beautiful. Both clearly loved.

And both are in danger from people who should have protected them.

I made another call. "I need a full security detail. Rotation shifts, twenty-four-seven coverage. And get me a meeting with Ariana Kingsley."

"What reason should we give?"

I thought for a moment. "Tell her I'm interested in commissioning a custom piece. Something significant. I'll pay whatever consultation fee she requires."

It wasn't a lie. I did want to commission something. I also wanted to make sure she and her children stayed safe while Asher Westwood figured out how to be a father.

And what if Asher proved to be as much of a bastard as I suspected?

Well, I had always wanted to expand into Westwood territory.

~~~

The meeting was set for Thursday afternoon at her studio.

I arrived exactly on time, dressed in a dark blue suit that cost more than a duplex. First impressions mattered, and I needed her to take me seriously.

Sterling Designs occupied a renovated warehouse space in the arts district. Clean lines, modern aesthetic, with a showroom that displayed her work like museum pieces.

She was waiting in her office, standing when I entered. Tailored pants, a simple blouse, and her hair pulled back. Professional armor.

But I saw the exhaustion in her eyes, the tension in her shoulders.

"Mr. Moretti," she said, extending her hand. "Thank you for coming."

Her handshake was firm and confident. No nonsense.

"Thank you for seeing me on short notice." I settled into the chair across from her desk. "I've been following your work for some time. Your pieces are extraordinary."

"You're kind to say so. My assistant mentioned you're interested in a commission?"

"I am. Something for my mother's sixtieth birthday. She collects estate jewelry and appreciates craftsmanship and history."

Ariana pulled out a sketchpad. "Do you have particular preferences? Gemstones, metals, style?"

We discussed details for twenty minutes. She was brilliant—asking questions I hadn't thought of, sketching ideas that perfectly captured what I hadn't quite been able to articulate.

"This is beautiful," I said, looking at her preliminary sketch. "How long would something like this take?"

"Six to eight weeks, depending on sourcing the materials. I have suppliers in Europe who specialize in vintage stones."

"Perfect. Whatever the cost, it's not an issue."

She named a figure that was substantial but fair. I agreed immediately.

"I'll draw up a contract," she said. "It will be ready by tomorrow."

"Excellent." I stood to leave, then paused. "Ms. Kingsley, may I ask you something personal?"

Her expression shuttered. "That depends on the question."

"Are you safe? You and your children?"

The color drained from her face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do. And I think you're trying to handle a dangerous situation alone."

"Mr. Moretti—"

"I'm not connected to Westwood Pack. I have no loyalty to Asher or his mate. But I do have resources, and I'd like to offer them to you."

She stood abruptly. "This meeting is over."

"Just think about it." I pulled out a card and placed it on her desk. "That's my private number. If you or your children need anything—protection, legal help, a safe place—call me. Any time."

"Why would you help me? You don't even know me."

"Let's just say I don't like bullies. And from what I've heard, you're dealing with several."

I left before she could refuse again.

Outside, I called my security chief. She's spooked. Make sure the surveillance is completely invisible. I don't want her to know we're watching.

"Understood. Sir, we've picked up increased activity around her building. Westwood Pack members are doing reconnaissance."

My jaw tightened. "Document everything. If they make a move toward her or those kids, I want to know immediately."

"Yes, sir."

I climbed into my car, my mind already planning next steps.

Ariana Kingsley was going to need help whether she wanted to admit it or not.

And I was going to make sure she got it.