I slam my phone down so hard the screen shakes.
“That arrogant jerk,” I hiss. “He thinks this is a game.”
My pulse races so fast it feels like it’s in my throat. For a second, I want to throw the phone at the wall, but I need it—so I curl my fingers into fists until my nails sting. Part of me wants to cry, another wants to laugh, and the rest just wants to sleep for a year.
“He basically told me to pick my own scandal,” I mutter, pacing. “Friend, lover, fiancée—he doesn’t care, as long as the story spins around him.”
Demetria leans against the doorframe, arms folded, eyes sharp. She’s holding back—because when she doesn’t, she swears in three languages.
“He acts like people are chess pieces,” I continue. “Move this pawn, sacrifice that one—who cares if they have a life?”
My wolf push
