Six Years, No Ring, Just a Contract

For six years, I believed we were building a future.

Then he slid a document across the table.

Not a marriage proposal. Not a bonding registration.

A mistress agreement.

Three years. On call. No questions asked. If I get pregnant, I deal with it alone.

He had already arranged a status-matched bond with someone else. He just wanted to keep me in the shadows.

I signed it. I had no choice. My debts were drowning me, and he knew it.

What he didn't know was that I was already pregnant. And that my mother—the one he thought was dead—was the heir to the wealthiest pack in the region.

He thought he was buying me. He was signing away everything he had.