Drake’s POV
It had been almost three months.
Three months since my world flipped upside down, and yet, the sting of humiliation still burned hot beneath my skin. I paced back and forth across my wrecked bedroom, kicking a piece of broken chair out of the way, my hands fisting at my sides.
They treated me like a goddamn child.
Confiscating my things—my yellow Ferrari, my pride—and slashing my allowance to a miserable half like I was some brat who needed discipline. Worse, they grounded me. No parties, no races, no late-night runs with the guys. I was supposed to be the future Alpha of Willow Pack, not some damn prisoner in his own home.
All because of her. Because of Aria White.
I kicked the corner of the bed frame so hard the metal groaned under my foot, but I barely felt the pain.
