4

Nova’s POV

“Is this where I'm supposed to stay?” My voice was calm, but there was a sharpness in my tone, like a blade hidden beneath silk. I stood at the doorway of the small, dimly lit room, my blue eyes scanning the cramped space. The peeling wallpaper and the faint musty smell were a far cry from the elegance I was once accustomed to.

Diego leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk curling on his lips. His green eyes glimmered with something dark and mocking. “What, does it not suit your noble tastes, princess?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “I thought someone like you—someone without a pack, without a Wolf—should be grateful for any roof over her head.”

I didn’t flinch, though my grip on the strap of my bag tightened. I could feel my pulse quicken, but I refused to let him see how much his words stung. “It’s perfect,” I replied smoothly, stepping into the room and placing my bag down on the worn bed. “Thank you for your generosity, Alpha Montenegro.” My tone was formal and distant—a calculated move to shield myself.

Diego’s smirk faltered for a split second. There was something about the way I carried myself—so composed, so unyielding, even in the face of his taunts—that irritated him. No, more than that—it unsettled him.

“Don’t thank me,” he said, his voice colder now. “You’re here because of a deal. Nothing more. Don’t get comfortable.”

I turned to face him, my expression unreadable. “Don’t worry. Comfort isn’t something I’ve had in years.”

The air between us was tense, crackling with unspoken emotions. Diego stared at me for a moment longer, then scoffed and turned on his heel. “Dinner’s at eight. Don’t be late,” he called over his shoulder as he walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

As the door clicked shut behind him, I let out a slow breath. I closed my eyes for a moment, steadying myself. The mansion of the Bloodshadow Pack was far from welcoming. Every corner seemed to pulse with hostility, every shadow a reminder that I didn’t belong here. But I wasn’t here to belong. I was here to survive.

Dinner that evening was a battlefield of subtle insults and icy stares. I sat at the long dining table, my back straight, hands resting delicately on my lap. I could feel the weight of their gazes—Diego’s father, the cold and imposing Alpha Montenegro, sat at the head of the table, his expression hard as stone. Beside him were Jessica and Emily, his lovers, their faces painted with practiced smiles that barely hid their disdain.

“So,” Jessica began, her voice high-pitched and dripping with insincerity. “You’re the new… addition to the family.” She tilted her head, her blonde curls bouncing slightly. “Tell me, Nova, how does it feel to go from being the daughter of an alpha to… well, this?”

Emily laughed softly, a hand covering her mouth as if to feign modesty. “Oh, Jessica, don’t be so cruel. I’m sure Nova appreciates the… upgrade.”

I met their gazes evenly, refusing to let their words provoke me. “It’s certainly been an adjustment,” I said, my voice steady. “But I’ve always believed that strength isn’t about where you come from—it’s about how you face the challenges in front of you.”

Jessica’s smile faltered, and Emily’s laughter died in her throat. Diego, who had been sitting silently beside me, glanced at me from the corner of his eye. Despite himself, he felt a flicker of admiration for my composure.

“Enough,” Alpha Montenegro said, his deep voice cutting through the tension like a knife. His cold eyes fixed on me. “It doesn’t matter where you’ve come from. What matters is that you understand your place here. You’re only here because of the child. Don’t mistake that for acceptance.”

I nodded, my expression calm, but my heart pounded with anger. “I understand,” I said simply.

Diego’s jaw tightened. He hated how his father spoke to me, even though he didn’t fully trust me himself. But he said nothing, choosing instead to focus on the glass of wine in his hand.

Late that night, I sat on the edge of my small bed, the faint light of the moon streaming through the window. I held a small notebook in my hands, its pages filled with scattered notes and observations I had made since arriving at the mansion.

I had spent the day quietly exploring, keeping to the shadows, observing the dynamics of the family. Jessica and Emily were too preoccupied with their own schemes to pay me much attention, but the servants whispered enough to give me a glimpse into the power struggles within the Bloodshadow Pack.

My fingers traced the edge of the notebook as I thought about Diego. He was an enigma—violent and unpredictable, yet there was something about him that didn’t quite fit the image of a ruthless alpha. I had seen the scars on his hands and the way his eyes darkened when his father spoke to him. There was pain there, buried deep beneath the anger.

But I couldn’t afford to dwell on him. I had my own goals. My parents’ deaths were no accident, and the Bloodshadow Pack held the answers I needed. I had already found a few old records in the mansion’s library—documents that hinted at alliances and betrayals, secrets that might connect my past to Diego’s.

And then there was the child. I rested a hand on my stomach, a strange warmth filling my chest. I hadn’t wanted this—not at first. But now… now it was my anchor, my reason to keep fighting.

The sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway jolted me from my thoughts. I stood quickly, instinctively going on guard. The door to my room slammed open, and Diego stumbled in, his shirt stained with blood.

“Diego?” I said, my voice sharp with concern.

“Don’t,” he growled, holding up a hand to stop me from approaching. His green eyes were wild, his blond hair disheveled. “Don’t pretend like you care.”

I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay calm. “You’re hurt,” I said evenly. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” he snapped, leaning heavily against the doorframe. His breathing was ragged, and I could see the faint tremor in his hands.

I hesitated for a moment, then stepped closer despite his glare. “Sit down,” I said firmly. “You’re bleeding.”

Diego stared at me, his jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. He sank into the chair by the window, his movements stiff and pained.

I grabbed a cloth and a bowl of water from the small table in the corner of the room. I knelt beside him, dabbing at the blood on his arm.

“What happened?” I asked softly.

“Nothing that concerns you,” he muttered, but his voice lacked its usual bite.

I didn’t press him, focusing instead on cleaning the wound. The silence between us was heavy, but not hostile.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said suddenly, his voice low.

I glanced up at him, surprised. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer right away; his gaze was fixed on the moonlit sky outside the window. “You don’t act like someone who’s lost everything,” he said finally.

My hands stilled for a moment, then I resumed my work. “Maybe that’s because I haven’t lost everything,” I said quietly.

He looked at me then, his green eyes searching mine. For a brief moment, the walls between us seemed to crack, just enough for me to see the man behind the mask.

But the moment passed, and Diego’s expression hardened again. “Don’t think that means I trust you,” he said, his voice cold once more.

I smiled faintly, a hint of sadness in my eyes. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

As the night wore on, Diego eventually left my room, his steps quieter this time. I watched him go, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts.

I returned to my notebook, flipping to a fresh page. I wrote down a single question, one that had been haunting me since I arrived at the mansion:

Who killed my family?

The answer, I was certain, lay somewhere within these walls. But to uncover it, I would have to tread carefully.

My pen hovered over the page for a moment before I added another question beneath the first:

And what does Diego Montenegro have to do with it?

I closed the notebook and set it aside, my resolve stronger than ever.

Tomorrow, the game would continue.