Christina's POV
"You did WHAT?"
Ysolde's shriek caused at least three nearby tables to turn their heads in our direction. Her perfectly done nails froze midair, the fork hanging like a forgotten prop.
I leaned across our table at La Vache Dorée, the overpriced French restaurant where we'd spent countless evenings talking about our terrible life choices over ridiculously small portions of food.
"Could you possibly announce it any louder? I don't think the wolves in the next territory quite heard you," I hissed, looking around the restaurant nervously.
Ysolde lowered her voice to a whisper. "Let me get this straight. Your father made you get fired, threatened to destroy my family's business, tried to pimp you out to some geriatric Alpha with a divorce record longer than a CV
