The lingering scent of coffee and old books filled Natalie’s small apartment, a familiar comfort against the relentless glare of the morning sun. Her roommate, Rowen, was a whirlwind of motion, pulling down blinds and drawing curtains with practiced efficiency.

“Reporters,” Rowen muttered, not needing to explain. “They’re like flies to honey when there’s a new Alpha drama.”

Natalie sighed, the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach. Her face, she knew, was plastered across every news outlet, every social media feed. The Alpha, the King himself, had claimed her. And she was just… Natalie. A normal werewolf. The memory of Desmond’s cruel rejection, echoing in her mind, made her palms slick with sweat. She just wanted to make breakfast, to be left alone.

“You look like you’re overthinking again, Nat,” Rowen teased, her voice cutting through Natalie’s spiraling thoughts.

“Because I am!” Natalie snapped, her nerves frayed.

Rowen’s eyes widened playfully. “Woah, someone’s snappy today. I’m assuming Alpha Maxwell didn’t take you to bed last night to mate you.”

“Rowen,” Natalie groaned, burying her face in her hands. The thought of it, of him, sent a conflicting wave of dread and an undeniable thrill through her.