MIRABEL’S POV.
I peeked through the window to find three sleek, black luxury cars parked in front of our house, flanked by pack guards crowding our doorstep. And let me tell you—this was not a good sign. When Vivian, the pack’s self-proclaimed queen of drama, accused my mom and me of stealing from the pack’s warehouse and then publicly humiliated us, I knew things would spiral. But waking up at eight in the morning to find our house surrounded by black-suited goons? Yeah, I didn’t see that coming.
“Mirabel, I suggest you leave your house this very moment before we come get you!” one of the guards barked through a megaphone, like I was some armed fugitive and not, you know, an Omega.
My stomach dropped and I grabbed my phone as fast as I could and send off a quick text to Silas: SOS. Tr
