Chapter 121

Ava’s POV

“The Threesome Alliance of Doom? The Threesome Vengeance?” I burst out laughing, nearly smearing nail polish on the bedspread. Carefully, I tapped Isabella’s leg with the brush handle. “First, keep still, or I’ll ruin your sheets. Second, does the name have to include ‘threesome’?”

Isabella rolled her eyes dramatically, a grin twitching at the corners of her mouth. “What else? There are three of them, after all. But seriously, Lilian. Monica, Elaine, and now Crystal? This isn’t a coincidence. They’re targeting you.”

Her words tightened my chest, though I hid it. My thoughts exactly. But what could I do? I couldn’t—and didn’t want to—stop them from being friends.

“You’ve been too nice to Crystal,” Isabella continued, her tone sharpening as she wiggled her toes. “She slept with Dylan while you were unhappily married, and you let it slide. If you’d taught her a lesson then, she wouldn’t have formed this alliance with the Devil’s Spawn and the Queen of Bitches.”

I snorted, staring at her incredulously. “Wait… are you reading my mind? Because that’s exactly what I call Monica and Elaine.”

Isabella scrunched her nose. “Ew. Are we thinking alike?”

“Considering I’d never come up with ‘The Threesome Alliance of Doom,’ I think we’re safe,” I replied, laughing. “Now keep still. I need to go home.”

“To Grayson?” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

A smile spread across my face. “Yes.” It faded slightly. “Things are good, but I hope they stay that way.”

“How could they not?” she smirked. “He whisked you off to Paris after you—”

She stopped abruptly. “It’s okay. I’ll get over that night eventually, but it will take time. I’m sorry for how I acted.”

After that night—the night that changed things with Grayson—I spent weeks trying to come to terms with it. I told Isabella immediately, apologizing endlessly for my behavior at the bar. Unsurprisingly, she didn’t judge me. She’d been through chaos and bloodshed. She reminded me I’d killed wolves—people—on my first shift.

But it was different. Killing as a wolf felt natural, instinctual. As a human, it was cold, deliberate. Even if I didn’t mean to, even if he deserved it. Wolves are made for that; it's what they do.

“That is not what I do,” my wolf’s voice echoed in my mind.

“Personal boundaries exist,” I retorted. She growled in irritation.

12:36 Fri, 3 Jan

Chapter 121

Isabella groaned theatrically. “Lilian, are you listening?”

“Not really,” I admitted, refocusing. “What were you saying?”

“What are we doing for your birthday next weekend?” she said slowly, as if I were dim-witted.

“Nothing,” I said firmly. “I don’t celebrate my birthday after… everything that happened on my eighteenth.”

Isabella scoffed, crossing her arms. “Yes, because your parents used it to remind you that you were another year older without your wolf. But things are different! You have your wolf. You’re with the most powerful man in our world. You’re turning twenty-five. You have to celebrate. I missed my big celebration, and this is my chance to redo it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Why is twenty-five magical? And you had seventeen cakes on your twenty-fifth birthday.”

“And they were delicious. Don’t change the subject.” She thumped my forehead.

I swatted her hand away. “Stop that, and paint your own nails.”

I started to leave. She gasped dramatically, tackling me back onto the bed, sending the nail polish tumbling—exactly what I’d been trying to avoid. I yelped as she pinned me down, grinning triumphantly.

“You’re not leaving until you agree to a party,” she declared, mock-serious.

“Get off me, you lunatic!” I laughed, struggling.

“Not until you say yes,” she sang, tightening her grip.

“You’re ridiculous!” I wheezed. “Fine! I’ll think about it!”

“That’s not a yes,” she countered, shaking her head.

“You’re impossible,” I groaned, still struggling.

We grappled playfully, laughing so hard we rolled off the bed onto the floor. The impact sent us into even more laughter, tears streaming down our faces.

“You’re insane,” I said between gasps.

“And you’re stubborn,” she shot back, flopping beside me. “Seriously, though. Think about it. You deserve to celebrate.”

I stared at the ceiling, catching my breath. Did I deserve it? Maybe. For the first time in years, things felt right. But celebrating meant letting my guard down, and I wasn’t sure I was ready.

“Fine,” I said, turning to her. “I’ll think about it.”

Isabella grinned. “That’s all I needed. Now, help me clean this mess.”

“You tackled me!” I protested, but I already reached for the spilled polish.

“Details, details,” she said dismissively.

We spent the next few minutes scrubbing the sheets, still laughing and teasing. For a moment, the weight of everything faded.

I eventually said yes because Isabella was unstoppable. But I wished I hadn't gotten involved in any celebration because that party led to this moment, and all I could do was stare at the shards of glass on the blood-stained floor—Crystal’s blood—with one sentence pounding in my head:

What the hell had I just done?