The lingering scent of cheap whiskey and desperation clung to the air of The Slip. Nova leaned against the worn counter, her blue eyes, still stubbornly human without her wolf, tracing the patterns on the condensation rings left by countless glasses. It was another night in Hell’s Kitchen, a familiar blend of rowdy wolves, strained smiles, and the dull ache in her chest that never quite faded.

She managed the bar for Alpha Cain, a man who had given her a place when no one else would. She had everything she’d ever wanted, and yet, nothing at all. The thought of Nikolai, the mate who had so casually discarded her years ago, still haunted her, a phantom limb that throbbed with every lonely breath.

A harsh voice sliced through her reverie, sending a jolt of dread through her. “Is there a reason you’re still sitting on your ass instead of getting to work?”

Nova stiffened, turning slowly to face Will Stanton, his eyes already glazed with early absinthe. Her 'boyfriend,' a title that tasted like ash on her tongue, and the architect of her quiet, daily hell. She forced a sweet, practiced smile. “I just got out of the shower, babe. I’ll get dressed soon.” The lie felt heavy in her mouth, but it was a necessary performance. Tonight, like every night, would be a test of survival.