They rejected her at the altar. Her mate, the Alpha of the Blackthorn Wolves, chose the woman pressed against his side and called our heroine a mistake in front of a thousand wolves. He did not know she was carrying his pup. He did not know the bond tore something loose in her that would never grow back. He did not know, when they dragged her through the dirt and left her at the treeline, that her dying mother had whispered a name into her ear a long time ago.Three years later, a woman steps out of a black car on Park Avenue. Silk suit. Silver at her throat. A name nobody recognises and a signature that owns a quarter of the city. The Blackthorn Alpha has just signed a merger that will save his pack from collapse. He has not yet read the last page of the contract. He has not yet seen the name printed beneath his.She has. She wrote it.He is about to find out that the mate he buried in the woods is the woman holding the pen. He is about to find out what his daughter looks like. He is about to find out that she does not want him back.She wants him on his knees.And the man standing behind her, the Pakhan who pulled her from the dirt, is watching. The one who found his lost daughter. The one who has been waiting three years to see what she does when the wolf walks in.So has the wolf.