Gabriella
The room smelled like him even when he wasn't in it. Cedar. Smoke. Sex. Sweat. The sheets still held the shape of our bodies from last night, twisted and damp. I lay on my back staring at the ceiling, arms free now but wrists still pink and tender. The anklet chain glinted every time I shifted my leg. Tiny lock. Tiny prison.
The drawer stayed open. He'd left it that way on purpose. A test. A trap. A gift. I wasn't sure which.
I waited until the house went completely quiet—mid-afternoon, when the staff changed shifts and Aiden was still out handling whatever pack bullshit required an alpha's signature on blood and borders.
Then I moved.
Slow. Deliberate. Like a cat deciding whether to pounce or slink away.
I rolled onto my side. Reached across the nightstand. Fingers brushed the black cord. The silver key dangled, cool and light. I lifted it. Held it up to the window light. Small teeth. Precise cuts. It looked like it could fit the anklet. Or something smaller. Something hidden.
I sat up. Swung my legs over the edge of the bed. Bare feet on cold hardwood.
First test: the anklet itself.
I bent my knee. Brought my foot up. Fumbled the key toward the tiny lock on the inside of my ankle. The chain jingled—soft, mocking.
The key slid in. Turned. One click.
The lock popped open.
I stared at it. Breath caught in my throat.
It came off. Just like that. Silver chain pooling in my palm like spilled mercury.
No alarm. No buzz from his watch downstairs. Nothing.
I exhaled. Shaky.
He'd given me the real key. Why?
I didn't put it back on. Not yet.
Instead I stood. Walked to the door. Tried the handle.
Locked. Of course.
I looked around the room again. Slower this time. Searching for what the key might really open.
The dresser drawers were all unlocked except one—bottom right. Small keyhole. Brass. Discreet.
I knelt. Slid the key in.
Turned.
Click.
The drawer slid open smooth.
Inside: a single black phone. Old model. No case. No cracks. Fully charged. Screen dark.
I picked it up. Pressed the power button.
It lit up. No passcode. Just a home screen with one app open in the background—messages.
I opened it.
One thread. Unread.
From: Unknown
Timestamp: three days ago
Message: She's stronger than you think. Don't push too hard or she'll snap the wrong way. You want her to love you, not fear you forever. Remember why you started this.
No name. No reply from Aiden.
I scrolled up.
Older messages. Weeks old.
Unknown: The council is asking questions. They want proof the mating bond is solid. Public display soon. Make it convincing.
Aiden: It will be.
Unknown: And the bet?
Aiden: Still on. But the endgame changed.
Unknown: You're getting attached.
Aiden: Shut up.
Unknown: You shut up. If you lose control she could ruin you. And you know it.
I stared at the screen. Heart pounding in my ears.
Attached. He was getting attached.
The phone vibrated in my hand. New message. Same unknown number.
Just came in.
Unknown: Where is she?
I froze.
Another buzz.
Unknown: Aiden. Answer. The tracker went offline five minutes ago. Is she loose?
I looked at the anklet in my other hand.
Offline.
Because I took it off.
I had seconds. Maybe less.
I typed fast. Fingers shaking.
Me: She's right here. And she's reading every word you ever sent him.
Sent.
The typing bubble appeared immediately.
Unknown: Gabriella?
Me: Who are you?
Unknown: Someone who doesn't want to see either of you destroy the other. Put the anklet back on. Now. Before he gets back.
Me: Why should I?
Unknown: Because if he finds you with that phone and no chain on your ankle, he won't just punish you. He'll punish himself. And he's already halfway to breaking for you.
I stared at the words.
Halfway to breaking.
I heard the front door slam downstairs.
Heavy footsteps.
Him.
Coming fast.
I shoved the phone back in the drawer. Slammed it shut. Locked it. Key back on the cord, dropped into the drawer with the phone.
Anklet back on my ankle. Fingers clumsy. Lock clicked shut just as the bedroom door flew open.
Aiden stood there. Breathing hard. Eyes wild.
He saw me on the floor beside the dresser. Anklet on. Drawer closed.
He crossed the room in two strides. Grabbed my arms. Hauled me up.
"Look at me."
I did.
His eyes searched mine. Desperate. Furious. Afraid.
"You took it off."
I didn't deny it.
He exhaled. Rough.
"Why?"
"Because I needed to know if you'd really let me."
He stared.
Then he laughed—low, broken sound.
"You could've run."
"I know."
"But you didn't."
"No."
He let go of my arms. Stepped back. Raked a hand through his hair.
"Fuck."
He turned away. Paced once. Twice.
Then stopped. Looked at me again.
"I'm ending the bet."
My breath stopped.
"What?"
"I'm calling it off. Tonight. The boys can keep their money or burn it. I don't care."
"Why?"
He walked back. Slow. Cupped my face.
"Because I'm losing. And I don't care anymore."
His thumbs brushed my cheeks.
"I wanted you to break so I could keep you. But you're not breaking. You're just… becoming something I can't control. And I don't want to anymore."
I searched his eyes.
No lie there.
Just him. Raw. Exposed.
I reached up. Touched his jaw.
"Then stop trying to control me."
He closed his eyes. Leaned into my hand.
"I don't know how."
"Then learn."
He opened his eyes. Looked at me like I was the only real thing in the room.
"Okay."
One word.
Simple.
Terrifying.
He kissed me then. Soft. Slow. Like he was asking permission for the first time.
I kissed him back.
Not surrender.
Not hate.
Something else.
Something new.
When we broke apart he rested his forehead against mine.
"The phone," he said quietly. "You read it."
I nodded.
He exhaled.
"Marcus. He's been warning me since the beginning. Thinks I'm going to fuck this up so bad the pack suffers."
"Are you?"
"Maybe." He smiled. Small. Real. "But I'm done pretending this is a game."
He reached down. Unlocked the anklet again. Slid it off. Set it on the dresser.
No tracker.
No chain.
Just us.
"What now?" I asked.
He looked at me. Long. Steady.
"Now we figure out what happens when two monsters decide to stop fighting each other."
I smiled.
Small.
Sharp.
Dangerous.
"Sounds like fun."
He laughed. Real this time.
"Yeah," he said. "It does."