The Lycan Prince’s Forgotten Mate

Chapter One — The Life She Was Given Paris had learned not to dream too loudly. Dreams were dangerous things when you had spent most of your life fighting simply to survive. They made tomorrow look beautiful, and then tomorrow arrived carrying the same unpaid bills, the same empty medicine bottle, and the same ache that never seemed to leave her chest. At twenty-two, Paris knew more about sacrifice than she knew about happiness. Every morning, she woke before sunrise. She prepared breakfast for her grandmother, checked the medicine beside the bed, dressed for work, and took the crowded bus into the city. Every evening, she returned exhausted, cooked dinner, cleaned her small apartment, and counted her remaining money before going to sleep. It was not the life she had imagined as a child. Then again, Paris had stopped imagining things a long time ago. She stood before the cracked mirror in her bedroom and pulled her dark hair into a neat ponytail. Her blouse was old, but clean. Her black trousers had faded slightly around the knees. She straightened the collar and looked at herself. “You look fine,” she whispered. The reflection looked tired. Paris smiled anyway. “Another day.” A cough came from the next room. Her smile disappeared. “Grandma?” She rushed into the bedroom. Elena was sitting upright, one hand pressed against her chest. Her silver hair was loose around her shoulders, and the pale skin beneath her eyes made her look even more fragile than usual. “I’m fine,” Elena said. “You're coughing again.” “It is only the weather.” “It has been the weather for three weeks.” Elena gave her a small smile. “You worry too much.” Paris walked to the bedside table and picked up the medicine bottle. She shook it gently and saw that it was almost empty. Her stomach tightened. “When did you take this?” “This morning.” “And there’s enough for tonight?” Elena looked away. “Grandma.” “I ran out.” Paris closed her eyes. “Why didn't you tell me?” “Because you already work too hard.” “You are my grandmother.” “And you are my granddaughter, not my nurse.” Paris knelt in front of her. “I'll get more today.” “You need money for transport.” “I'll walk.” “You need money for food.” “I’ll eat at work.” “You need to save for rent.” “I’ll figure it out.” Elena's eyes filled with sadness. “You always say that.” “Because I always do.” The older woman touched her cheek. “You shouldn't have to carry all of this alone.” Paris swallowed. “But I do.” Neither spoke for several seconds. There were things they avoided discussing. One of them was Paris’s mother. She had disappeared sixteen years earlier, leaving behind an eight-year-old daughter and a promise that she would return. Paris still remembered that night. Rain had beaten against the windows while her mother knelt before her, trembling hands holding Paris’s face. “I need you to listen to Grandma,” Celeste had whispered. “Where are you going?” “I have to leave for a little while.” “Why?” Her mother had cried. Paris had never forgotten that. “Are you coming back?” Celeste had kissed her forehead. “Yes.” She never did. For years, Paris had waited. Eventually, waiting became anger. Anger became silence. And silence became something she carried without talking about. Elena knew better than to mention Celeste too often. “You remind me of her,” Elena said softly. Paris stiffened. “I’m not like her.” “No,” Elena replied. “You are stronger.” Paris looked away. “I have to go.” She picked up her handbag. At the door, she turned. “I’ll be back before seven.” “Paris.” “Yes?” “Be careful.” Paris smiled. “I always am.” She left before Elena could see how worried she really was. Outside, the morning air was cold. The city was already moving. Cars filled the roads, workers hurried along the sidewalks, and shops opened their doors. Everyone seemed to know where they were going. Paris only knew where she needed to be. At work. She checked her phone. Three missed calls from her manager. She groaned. “Perfect.” She called back. “Where are you?” “On my way.” “You’re supposed to be here in twenty minutes.” “I know.” “You were supposed to arrive early.” “I’m sorry.” “You're always sorry.” The call ended. Paris stared at the phone. Then she sighed and kept walking. She had learned something important about life. Nobody cared how difficult your circumstances were when they needed something from you. So she kept going. She always kept going.