The silence in Damien’s study was broken only by the steady tick of his grandfather clock, each beat sounding like a hammer blow against his resolve. He wasn't sleeping. He hadn't slept since the gala. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the boy’s piercing stare and the girl’s golden gaze—the physical manifestations of a history he thought he had successfully buried.
"He’s not yours, Damien. He’s the son of a traitor."
Serena’s voice echoed in his memory, a persistent, shrill refrain. She was everywhere—in the halls, in the way she hovered, in the way she aggressively managed Leo’s schedule. But Damien’s wolf, usually a source of unwavering instinct, was silent. It was as if it were holding its breath, waiting for the truth to be unearthed.
Meanwhile, in the sleek, glass-walled office
