The party was in full swing—golden light spilling over polished floors, glasses clinking, laughter sharp and dangerous. The Pack knew how to celebrate.

You stood near the bar, swirling the amber liquid in your glass, pretending to listen to one of your father’s associates ramble about territory disputes. You had learned to master the art of looking engaged while feeling nothing.

Then the room shifted.

It wasn’t loud. No grand entrance. Just a feeling—like the air had been sucked from the space, leaving behind something colder, heavier. And then—

Him.

Blue walked through the doors like he had every right to be there. Five years had passed, but he was still him. Taller, broader, with more shadow in his sharp-cut features. A crisp black suit clung to his frame, but the cocky slouch in his stance hadn’t changed. His dark eyes scanned the room, locking onto you like a predator finding its mark.

Your stomach twisted. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t longing. It was...hate?

Because you had spent five years making yourself hate him. You had spent five years believing your fathers when they told you he was a traitor, a monster, a man who deserved the hell they threw him into.

And yet, here he stood. Free.

You slammed your glass onto the bar and pushed through the crowd, your pulse a roaring drum in your ears. He smirked as you approached, that same damn smirk he used to flash at you when you were sixteen and stupid.

"Miss me, sweetheart?" His voice was lower, rougher, like prison had carved out something soft inside him and left only steel.

You stopped just short of him. "You shouldn't be here."

"And yet, here I am." He tilted his head, amused. "Come on, is that any way to greet the love of your life?"

"You're nothing to me."

The smirk didn't falter. "That what they told you? That I'm nothing?"