"Who is she, Alexander?" Aslin whispers.
The photos lay scattered between them on the study floor like evidence at a crime scene. Alexander stood frozen in the doorway, his face a mask that was finally cracking. Aslin could see the fractures spreading, revealing something underneath that terrified her.
"Who is she to you?" Aslin's voice broke. "Tell me."
"Get out of my study."
"Answer me!" She grabbed one of the photos, holding it up. Iris laughing, wind in her hair, Alexander's arms around her waist. They looked so happy it physically hurt to see. "You loved her. You loved my sister."
Alexander's hands clenched into fists. "You don't understand."
"Then make me understand!" Aslin was screaming now, weeks of confusion and loneliness exploding out of her. "You married me, Alexander. Me. Not her. So why do you look at me like I'm some kind of consolation prize?"
"Because you are."
The words hit like a slap. Aslin actually stepped backward, physically recoiling. Alexander's face twisted with something that might have been regret, but it was too late. The truth was out now, hanging in the air between them.
"I didn't mean—" he started.
"Yes, you did." Tears streamed down Aslin's face. "You meant every word. I'm just the sister who was left behind. The one who was available. The one who was stupid enough to fall in love with you."
Alexander dragged a hand through his hair, his composure completely shattered. "It's not that simple."
"Then explain it to me. Where is she? Why did she leave? What happened between you?"
"She ran." The words came out harsh, bitter. "Three years ago. We had a fight, and she ran, and I haven't been able to find her since."
"A fight about what?"
Alexander laughed, sharp and broken. "About everything. About us. About what we were, what we wanted to be. About the fact that she refused to—" He cut himself off, jaw clenched tight.
"Refused to what?"
"It doesn't matter. She's gone."
"But you're still looking for her." Aslin's voice went quiet. "Aren't you? That's what all those business trips are. That's where you go when you disappear for days. You're searching for Iris."
Alexander didn't deny it. He just stood there, looking at her with eyes full of rage and longing and something that looked almost like madness.
"Do you even remember proposing to me?" Aslin asked. "Do you remember any of it? Or was I just convenient? Just close enough to Iris that you could pretend?"
"Stop."
"Do I look like her when you close your eyes? When you touch me, are you imagining—"
"Stop." Alexander's voice was deadly quiet. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Then tell me! Help me understand why you destroyed my life for a ghost!"
But Alexander just turned and walked away. His footsteps echoed down the hall. A door slammed. Then silence.
Aslin stood alone in the study, surrounded by photos of her sister and the man she'd married.
She sank to the floor and cried until she had nothing left.
Alexander didn't come back that night. Or the next. He sent a single text message: "Going to Silvercrest for business. Back in a week."
Aslin knew it was a lie. He wasn't going to Silvercrest. He was running away from her, from the conversation they'd started, from the truth he didn't want to face.
Fine. If he wanted to run, let him. She had her own searching to do.
She waited until she was sure he was gone, then went back to the study. Because that's what it was, she realized. Alexander wasn't just mourning Iris. He was hunting her.
Aslin started with the desk. She went through every drawer, every file, every piece of paper. Most of it was business documents, contracts, financial statements. Boring. Normal.
Then she found the laptop.
It was in the bottom drawer, hidden under a stack of old tax returns. A separate computer, not the one Alexander used for work. This one was personal. Private.
Aslin opened it. Password protected, of course. She tried a few obvious combinations. Their wedding date. His birthday. Nothing worked.
Then, on impulse, she tried Iris's birthday.
The laptop unlocked.
Her stomach twisted. Even his passwords were about Iris. Even his security revolved around her sister.
Aslin navigated to the files. There were hundreds of them. Documents, spreadsheets, photos, videos. She opened the most recent folder.
What she found made her blood run cold.
Maps. Dozens of them, marking locations across the northwestern territory. Notes about pack movements, territory boundaries, alliance structures. Names she didn't recognize accompanied by detailed profiles: age, rank, abilities, weaknesses.
This wasn't business. This was reconnaissance. Military-level intelligence gathering.
Aslin clicked on another folder. More documents, but these were different. Encrypted files with titles like "Council Records" and "Treaty Violations" and "Silverpine Alliance."
Werewolf politics. Alexander was involved in werewolf politics.
But how? He was human. Wasn't he?
Aslin's hands shook as she kept searching. She found financial records showing massive payments to various individuals and organizations. Mercenaries, she realized. Trackers. Hunters. All hired to find someone.
To find Iris.
The next folder made her stop breathing.
Photos of destroyed buildings. Burned homes. Bodies covered in sheets. A massacre. And in the corner of one photo, barely visible, a sign: "Welcome to Pinewood Territory."
Iris's pack. This was Iris's pack.
The photos were dated three months ago. Aslin clicked through them, her heart hammering. Devastation. Death. Nothing left alive.
Then she found a report. The conclusion was stark: "No survivors found. Target presumed dead."
But Alexander hadn't believed it. The dates on the other files proved it. He'd kept searching, kept hiring people, kept looking. Because he couldn't accept that Iris was gone.
Or maybe he knew something the investigators didn't.
Aslin opened the final folder. Inside was a single evidence bag photo. A necklace. Silver chain, small wolf pendant. She recognized it immediately. Iris had worn that necklace every day since she was sixteen. Their grandmother had given it to her.
The necklace was covered in blood.
Aslin slammed the laptop shut and ran to the bathroom. She barely made it before she threw up.
When she could finally stand again, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was pale, eyes red and swollen. She looked like a stranger. Felt like one too.
Who was she married to? What had Alexander done?
And where was Iris?
That night, Aslin couldn't sleep. She lay in the massive bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to process everything she'd learned. Alexander was obsessed. Possibly dangerous. Definitely involved in things she didn't understand.
She needed to leave. File for annulment, pack her things, go back to her parents. Forget any of this ever happened.
But she couldn't stop thinking about that necklace. About the blood on it. About whether Iris was alive or dead or somewhere in between.
Around midnight, Aslin heard something. A phone ringing. Not hers. Alexander's private line, the one in his study.
She got up and crept down the hall. The study door was open. The phone sat on the desk, vibrating with an incoming call. Unknown number.
Aslin picked it up. "Hello?"
"Where's Alexander?" A male voice, harsh and impatient.
"He's traveling. Who is this?"
A pause. "Tell him we have a lead. Female wolf matching the description. Spotted at the northern border, Blackmoor territory."
Aslin's heart stopped. "What description?"
"The one he's been looking for. Dark hair, early twenties, distinctive scar on her left shoulder blade. Could be his missing girl."
Iris. They were talking about Iris.
"When?" Aslin forced her voice to stay steady.
"Forty-eight hours ago. We're mobilizing now. If she's there, we'll bring her in."
The line went dead.
Aslin stood frozen, the phone shaking in her hand. Iris was alive. Somewhere in the northern territory, Iris was alive. And Alexander had people hunting her.
She needed to warn her sister. But how? She didn't have Iris's number, didn't know how to reach her. Didn't even know for sure where she was.
Aslin ran back to the bedroom and grabbed her laptop. She pulled up the security system for the penthouse. Alexander had cameras everywhere. She scrolled through the feeds, checking the hallways, the parking garage, the—
She stopped.
One of the feeds showed the front entrance. Three men stood there, dressed in dark clothes, faces hard and professional. They weren't trying to hide. They were waiting.
As Aslin watched, one of them pulled out a phone. Made a call. Spoke briefly, then hung up.
Then all three of them looked directly at the camera.
And smiled.
Aslin's blood turned to ice. They knew she was watching. They wanted her to know they were there.
One of the men held up his phone, showing her the screen. She couldn't read the text from the camera angle, but she didn't need to. The message was clear.
They were coming inside.
Aslin covered her mouth to keep from screaming. She watched as the men produced a key card—Alexander's key card—and swiped it through the reader.
The feed switched as they entered the lobby. Heading toward the elevator.
Coming for her.