Chapter 4

Cayla POV:

The Wolfsbane didn't kill me-White Wolf blood is stubborn-but it left me twitching and feverish.

"Get up," Grafton kicked my shoe. "Cherrelle is tired. Escort her to the penthouse."

I stumbled out into the lobby. Cherrelle walked ahead, humming. She stopped by the indoor fountain. The water was chilled to near freezing.

"You know," Cherrelle said, turning to me. "You're like a cockroach. You just won't die."

"Why do you hate me?" I rasped.

"Because he smells you," she hissed. "When you leave the room, he inhales. I won't lose my crown to a secretary."

She glanced around. No witnesses.

With a theatrical gasp, she threw herself backward over the fountain wall.

SPLASH.

"Help! She's drowning me!" Cherrelle screamed, thrashing in two feet of water.

The elevator dinged. Grafton.

He saw his girlfriend in the water. He saw me standing there.

He didn't ask. He didn't think.

He grabbed me by the neck and slammed me face-first into the fountain.

The cold was a shock to my system. I gasped, inhaling water.

"You like water?" Grafton roared, holding my head under. "Cool off, Cayla!"

He held me down. The Wolfsbane in my veins reacted to the cold, sending my muscles into spasms.

I flailed, my fingernails scratching uselessly against his wrists.

He pulled me up just as the black spots started to dance.

"Get her out of my sight," Grafton told the security guards. "Lock her in the utility closet. She can prep for the party tomorrow."

They dragged me away.

I spent the night on a concrete floor, shivering in wet clothes.

When morning came, I was delirious. I fumbled for my phone. I needed to see Justen's face.

I unlocked the screen. The wallpaper lit up-a selfie of me and Justen.

The door burst open.

Grafton stood there. He looked exhausted.

"Get up. Caterers are here."

I tried to stand. My legs folded. The phone slid across the floor to his boots.

He looked down.

He froze.

He picked it up. He stared at the screen.

Justen and Grafton were identical twins. But Justen had a scar on his chin.

Grafton didn't see the scar. He saw himself.

His face twisted in revulsion.

"Is this your game?" he whispered. "You Photoshop yourself into pictures with me? You create these sick little fantasies?"

"No..." I wheezed. "That's... Justen..."

"Don't say his name!" Grafton threw the phone against the wall. It shattered. "You are a sick, twisted stalker. You're obsessed with me. It's pathetic."

He slammed the door, leaving me in the dark with the broken pieces of the only thing I had left.