Second Chance with the Billionaire Alpha

Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Back to Silver Hollow

Erica’s POV

The icy wind bites at my face as I struggle to lift the last suitcase from the trunk. Snowflakes swirl around me like confetti, sticking to my coat, hair, and even my eyelashes. I grunt as I tug the bag free, nearly losing my balance on the slick ground.

"Mom, you're going to fall!" Lily calls from the porch, her small voice cutting through the quiet hush of the snowfall. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold, and she hops from foot to foot, clapping her mittened hands together. "Hurry! It's freezing!"

"I'm trying, Lil," I huff, dragging the bag up the uneven path. “I don’t see you offering to help.”

“I’m seven, Mom,” she says, as if that explains everything.

I roll my eyes but smile anyway. She's got a point. Seven-year-olds aren't exactly known for their moving skills.

Finally, I reach the porch, stomping the snow off my boots before pulling open the old wooden door of my childhood home. The warmth hits me like a hug, along with the familiar scent of pine, cinnamon, and the faint hint of wood smoke. It’s like walking straight into a memory.

“Home sweet home,” I mutter to myself, stepping inside. Lily runs past me, tossing her coat on the floor like it’s her personal red carpet.

“Grandma! Grandpa!” she yells, her voice echoing through the house.

“Upstairs, Lily!” my mom’s voice calls back, warm and cheerful. "Take off those wet boots first, young lady!"

Lily groans but kicks them off, leaving a trail of melted snow behind her. I shake my head, already feeling the tug of exhaustion in my bones. Moving is hard enough, but moving back to your parents' house after a divorce? That’s a whole new level of humility.

I glance around the house, eyes landing on the old pictures hanging on the walls. Me and Jake as kids, grinning with gap-toothed smiles. Mom and Dad on their anniversary trip to Italy. For a second, I feel like I’m 17 again—awkward, unsure, and just wanting to escape this small town.

But here I am. Thirty-two, divorced, and right back where I started.

With a deep sigh, I hang up my coat and head to the kitchen, following the sound of voices. My mom’s there, pulling cookies from the oven, her face lit with that natural glow only mothers seem to have. Dad sits at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper like it’s still 1995.

“Look who finally made it,” Mom says, setting the tray down and wiping her hands on a dish towel. “How was the drive?”

“Long,” I admit, sitting heavily at the table. “Snow hit harder than I expected.”

“Should’ve left earlier,” Dad says, eyes never leaving the paper. Classic Dad. Always practical, always right.

“Thanks for that wisdom, Dad,” I say, rubbing my hands together to warm them up.

Mom sets a plate of cookies in front of me, warm and gooey, just like I remember. “Eat. You look like you haven’t had a proper meal in days.”

“I’ve been busy, Mom.” I bite into a cookie, and for a moment, I forget about everything—the divorce, the move, the uncertainty of starting over. It tastes like home.

"Jake should be back soon," Mom says, glancing at the clock. "He’s been talking non-stop about how excited he is to see you."

I snort. "Jake’s excited to see Lily. He’s probably got a whole lineup of pranks ready for her.”

Mom grins knowingly but says nothing.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. Three sharp, firm knocks. My heart jumps, unexpected and sharp, like a jolt of electricity.

“Must be Jake,” Dad says, folding his paper and standing.

“No,” Mom says, frowning as she checks the clock again. “He’s still at the hardware store. Probably a neighbor.”

Dad heads for the front door, and I hear it creak open. His voice rumbles low in greeting, but I can’t make out the words.

Then, a voice I haven’t heard in years cuts through the air like a blade. Deep, smooth, and so familiar it makes my heart do a strange, uncomfortable flip.

"Hey, Mr. Bennett. Is Erica home?"

I freeze. No. No way.

Mom glances at me, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Well, I’ll be. Is that Lucas Greyson?”

Lucas Greyson. My brother’s best friend. The boy who used to tease me mercilessly when we were kids. The boy who grew up into a man too good-looking for his own good.

I stay rooted in my chair as heavy footsteps approach, boots thudding slowly on the hardwood. My mind flashes to the last time I saw him—sharp jawline, storm-gray eyes, the quiet confidence that had every girl in town swooning. But that was years ago. He’s probably changed.

The footsteps stop in the doorway. Slowly, I look up.

He hasn’t changed. Not really. He’s taller, broader, and more put-together in that "I own half the world" kind of way, but those eyes are the same. Piercing gray, sharp as ever. His gaze locks on mine, and something flickers there—recognition, surprise, something else I can’t name.

“Hey, Erica,” he says, his voice just as smooth as I remember. His eyes scan me briefly, landing on the cookie in my hand. “Saving one of those for me?”

"Not a chance," I say quickly, heart pounding too fast for my liking. I stand, brushing cookie crumbs off my hands. "What are you doing here, Lucas?"

His smirk tilts to one side, too confident, too sure of himself. “Came to see Jake, but it looks like I got a bonus.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I shoot back, crossing my arms. “Jake’s not here, so you can go now.”

Mom lets out a light laugh, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Now, now, Erica. Don’t be rude to our guest.”

“He’s not a guest,” I mutter, but it’s too late. Mom’s already offering Lucas coffee.

"Sure, Mrs. Bennett, I'd love some," he says, tossing me a glance that says he knows he’s getting under my skin.

My jaw tightens as I lean against the counter. I know guys like Lucas—charming, cocky, and always in control. They smile like they own the world. He probably does.

But there’s something different now. He’s watching me too closely, like he’s noticing more than my annoyance. Like he’s searching for something.

“Well, if you’re staying, keep your eyes to yourself,” I say sharply, and his eyebrows lift, feigning innocence.

“Didn’t know I needed permission,” he shoots back, his grin lazy but sharp as a blade.

I grit my teeth, heart still thudding way too fast. I don’t have time for this. I came here to get my life back on track, not to play verbal ping-pong with Lucas Greyson.

"Stay out of my way, Lucas," I mutter, turning toward the sink.

“Can’t make any promises,” he says behind me, and I hear the smile in his voice.

That’s when I hear it—the low, distant sound. Faint at first, like the distant call of an animal. It echoes through the house, soft but distinct.

A howl.

It’s far off, but something about it makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

"Must be the wolves," Dad says, not even looking up from his paper.

Wolves. I try to brush it off, but something about it feels… wrong.

Lucas is quiet, his eyes fixed on the window like he’s listening for something else. His jaw tightens, just for a second.

“Don’t worry,” he says, his voice lower, more serious. “Nothing out there that can hurt you.”

I turn slowly, eyeing him. “I’m not worried.”

He glances at me, eyes sharper now, unreadable. "Good," he says, but something in his tone makes me wonder if he’s talking to me—or himself.