THE LYCAN'S GOLD DIGGER WIFE

Lacy's POV

It's another night to hunt for a man- a wealthy man.

The music vibrates through the club, a steady rhythm of deep sounds that thrum against my skin.

Multicoloured lights dance about, distorting my vision.

I wobble a little on my heels, shine some teeth at a bartender.

The white heels on my feet were a lucky find at a clearance sale, and my golden anklet glints with each step I take- stumble, rather.

My hair falls in soft waves around my shoulders, framing my face just right.

I know I look good, and in a place like this, looking good is everything, especially if you're looking to snag someone.

Except...I'm a little nervous. I'm never nervous, and it's weird.

I mean, I did this for a living: captivated men for a quick buck.

It's never hard.

I weave through the crowd, careful not to brush against anyone.

The last thing I need is some drunk thinking my presence is an invitation.

The bar is my first stop; a shiny, glossy counter with rows of expensive liquor lined up, and the handsome, tattooed bartender I smiled at.

I slide onto a stool and sigh, remembering my mother's harsh words earlier today.

"You're useless. Just like your father. No, worse. You spread your legs to survive, and you think that makes you better than me?"

I kept my back turned to her, focusing on my reflection in the tiny, cracked mirror as I applied my eyeliner. My hands were steady, even as my chest tightened.

She didn't stop. She never did. "You walk around like you're someone, but you're nothing. Nothing. Just like him."

I swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from smudging my mascara. Her words shouldn't hurt anymore, but they always found a way to burrow under my skin.

"You are a whore; you're the reason I'm stuck on this bed as a sickling; you're also the reason your father died. You are bad luck."

Mother had been left frail after my birth and eventually got bedridden. Father had overworked himself to pay her medical bills before dying off.

Now I'm playing the role of a gold digger with no high school certificate to keep food on the table.

Her words always sting, no matter how many times I try to ignore them.

I had turned to my mother, ignoring her curses, and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

Her skin was cold, her body frail against the pillows. Her eyes, though, were still full of hatred as she turned away from me in disgust.

I walked out anyway, my eyes brimming with tears.

Now, sitting at the bar, I take a deep breath, shaking off the memories. This is my world now.

Not that house. Not the suffocating walls closing in on me.

I observe my surroundings, searching for a prince to root me out of my misery.

All I see are couples grinding against each other, men in faux-expensive suits whispering into the ears of women who pretend to be captivated -laughter that never quite reaches their eyes.

The usual.

My gaze lands on a man stepping inside. Broad shoulders, a standard suit, and shoes that attempt to look expensive but don't quite succeed.

Middle-class, I decide.

Not worth my time.

Some would call me a gold digger. They wouldn't be wrong.

I prefer to call myself an opportunist, though.

I see an opportunity, and I take it. The opportunity is for rich and stupid men who just want a pretty woman in their hands.

That's survival.

A quick scan of the room tells me there's no one here worth my effort.

My stomach churns with frustration as I massage my temples, willing the coming headache away.

It has been a bad week. If I walk out of here empty-handed, rent is going to be another one of my problems.

Adding to the issues with the mother's new, expensive medical care.

I push myself off my stool, ready to try my luck elsewhere, when my eyes land on him.

A gentleman in the farthest corner of the club.

He's away from the flashing lights and the wandering eyes.

The darkness clings to him like a second skin, but it does nothing to dull his presence.

He has a dark, brooding energy that makes him impossible to ignore.

I stop breathing for a second.

Everything about him screams money.

Not just rich...wealthy.

The kind of wealth that doesn't need to be flaunted because it's simply understood.

The way he sits, relaxed yet powerful, tells me he's used to people coming to him, not the other way around.

And he's gorgeous- drop-dead angelic.

His features are sharp, almost too perfect, as if days were spent crafting him. His dark hair blends into the shadows, and he rests against the seat- muscles straining against his tailored suit.

My luck has finally turned.

I straighten, adjusting the tiny straps of my dress before running a hand through my golden hair.

A fresh coat of lip gloss, a push of my boobs up high.

I'm set.

I saunter over, swaying my hips to the side with each step I take. The club fades around me. He's the only thing in my focus now.

Time to play my favourite game, preying on men.

My nerves instantly leave me; I can't fail this time.

Finally reaching his table, I tap my long red nails against the polished surface, offering him my best flirtatious smile, the one that has never failed to garner attention.

His eyes lift to meet mine, and as he notices me, a frown settles in on his handsome features before arching a perfectly shaped brow.

I point to the seat beside him, tilting my head slightly and pouting my lips. "Is this seat taken?"

The silence stretches between us.

Then, slowly, a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

"Depends," he says, his voice deep and smooth. It sends a shiver down my spine. "Are you looking for a place to sit, or something else?"

Those eyes of his twinkle, sending foreign fire down my spine.

I bite back a smile. Now this was going to be a very fun game to play.

Lacy's POV

I cross my legs and push my chest out so he can see my cleavage.

I know I have a big front, and it helps in attracting men. I am once again successful as I smirk at him staring.

Men are just so predictable.

"See something you like?" I purr.

I blink slowly; toss my hair to the side. My shoulder is exposed for him to see.

His blue eyes move up to meet mine for just a second.

The gentleman starts to chuckle- deep, low.

The laughter takes me off guard- my heart skips a beat.

"I see many things I like," he says. "But the question is, are they worth the trouble?"

I let out a soft, breathy laugh, giving him the sweet girl act, the one that always works.

"That depends," I say, trailing a finger along the rim of my empty glass. "Do I look like trouble to you?"

He leans back, studying me, his smirk growing. "You look like the kind of trouble a man doesn't mind losing sleep over."

I laugh again, this time with a little more ease. He's good. I'll give him that. He smells of confidence, not too eager. I like that.

The game is fun when they know how to play.

The conversation goes on for a while. We keep exchanging teasing remarks, playful smirks, and silent chuckles.

He says something that catches me off guard from my false display and I find myself genuinely laughing.

It has been a while since that happened.

But then something changes.

His bearing completely shifts out of the blue.

The warmth in his small smile disappears.

His stare freezes over.

I don't like it.

I feel like he's reading me. Like he's analyzing every single word I've spoken.

I stop laughing.

My pulse kicks up, and for the first time tonight, I feel...exposed.

Then, in a voice so casual it nearly knocks the breath out of me, he says,

"Would you be my wife? I'll pay you for it."

I blink.

My mouth parts slightly, but nothing comes out. Did I hear him right? I quickly regain composure and close my hanging mouth.

I put on a careful and unsure smile.

"Excuse me, what?"

"You heard me."

This man leans closer to me, resting those muscular arms on the table.

There's a twinkle in his deep-set eyes as he stares at me.

"Marry me," he says, moving closer, closing the distance between us. "You'll have more money than you'll ever need or even think of in your entire life."

As if he wants to shut my doubts down, he does the unexpected -

He takes out bundles of actual hundred-dollar bills. In a very swift motion, he tucks them right between my breasts.

In the cleavage I tried to seduce him with.

I freeze.

Not because of the money, I've had my fair share of men trying to buy my attention, but because this is different.

There's no sleazy grin, no groping hands, no slurred promises of "taking care of me" in exchange for a night.

This man is serious.

He chugs the rest of his drink, stands up, and adjusts his jacket. "My team will contact you," he says, as if this is just business to him.

He turns to leave but pauses, looking back at me.

"You made a mistake, today," he says. "A common one, but a mistake nonetheless."

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. "And what's that?"

"You never asked for my name."

Oh shit.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "Vincent Black. Hope you remember that."

Then he walks away, taking the dark, brooding aura with him.

I sit there, frozen, my mind racing to catch up.

What the hell just happened?

It takes a few moments before I snap back to reality.

Shaking off the shock, I grab the money from my chest and shove it into my tiny purse.

My hands shiver slightly as I stand up. I sigh, ignoring the curious stares around me.

I need to go home.

When I get to my apartment, everything is quiet. I can't hear any noise except for my mother's shaky breaths.

She's lying on our rickety bed that has seen better days. There's a pile of blankets on her too- her body is really giving up.

I sigh, try not to think too much.

I throw my purse to the small table in the middle of our shabby room and drag at my hair. As much as I don't want to think about it- I can't.

Vincent Black.

A proposal.

Money.

Why me?

No. I can't think of all this...

I go up to the bed without pulling off my clothes.

My mind is filled with so many questions and I can't start to answer them. I don't even have the answers for that. Very soon, my eyelids grow heavy, and before I know it, I fall asleep.

*

BANG!

The loud crash wakes me up.

I stand up, my heart hammering in my chest as I turn to find my mother on the floor, her weak body, trembling.

"Mom!" I scream, rushing to her side. I try to lift her, but she weakly shoves me away.

"You..." Her voice is strained, but the anger in it is evident. She shoves a stash of money into my face. "Where did you get this?"

I stiffen.

Shit.

"I... Mom, I didn't-"

"You sold yourself again, didn't you?" she spits, her eyes filled with disgust. "You're just like your father. Useless. Filthy. Whoring yourself out for scraps!"

My throat tightens, "It's not like that," I say, my voice shaking. "I just had a conversation-"

"Liar!" She shoves me again, her frail hands surprisingly strong. "Get out of my sight!"

I clench my fists, biting back the hurt. There's no point arguing.

A loud knock echoes through the apartment.

I freeze.

My mother glares at me. "It's probably the landlord," she hisses. "Go deal with it."

I push to my feet, quickly fixing my hair before cracking the door open slightly.

Multiple men in suits stand outside.

My stomach drops.

I am met with a man clad in a black suit just like the rest, but bald with dark shades covering his eyes, who steps forward. "Are you Lacy Jules?"

I swallow hard and force a nervous chuckle. "Uh... yeah, that's me. Listen, if this is about rent, I promise we asked for an extension fee days ago, I'll get it read-"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he interrupts flatly. "I'm here to deliver legal documents from Mr Vincent Black. He requires your signature immediately."

I stare at him, my mind struggling to process his words. "What?"

He hands me the papers.

I skim through them, my eyes catching one thing...

A large sum of money.

Every. Single. Month.

If it were possible, dollar signs would be flashing in my eyes.

"Give me a pen," I say, gripping the document tightly.

The man pulls one out, and I scribble my signature on every page before thrusting the contract back at him.

Screw it.

I slam the door in his face and let out a squeal, jumping up and down.

Rich. I'm going to be rich.

My mother's curious gaze burns into me, but I ignore her.

Another knock.

I yank the door open, this time with irritation. "What now?"

The man in black doesn't flinch. "You need to leave immediately."

I blink. "What?"

"Mr Black doesn't have time to waste. You have one hour to gather your things."

Panic flares. "Wait... my mother. I can't just leave her alone-"

"That's not our concern."

My mother lets out a bitter laugh from behind me. "Go," she spits. "Leave me. That's what you always do."

I grit my teeth, ignoring her, and quickly dial my friend, Trisha. "I need a nurse at my place, fast," I whisper into the line.

Once she agreed, I threw a few belongings into a bag and stepped outside, a slight jump with each step I took as I walked to the black limousine.

The second I settle, something cold presses against my eyes and blocks my vision.

A blindfold.

"What the-"

A napkin covers my nose, suffocating me.

I struggle, but my hands are held down; everything goes dark as I lose consciousness.

Lacy's POV

"Ughhh...oh..."

I wake up with a very sharp headache. My stomach feels sick too.

My body feels heavy, but that doesn't matter. I immediately sit up with a groan.

Where...the hell am I?

I blink, trying to see in the dark room. There's barely any light here.

I try to notice some things; to stay present.

The bed I'm sitting on is softer than anything I've ever slept on before. Very comfy.

But this comfort is not important- I'm afraid.

I breathe and try my best to remember what happened last before I blacked out.

It all comes back to me.

Vincent Black. The contract. The money.

Immediately, I sit up. My hands fly over my body, checking myself. No torn clothes. No bruises. No sign that anything...worse happened.

Okay. I'm fine...

I sigh and throw the heavy blanket off now. My legs swing over the side of the bed.

I stand shakily.

The room is huge- far bigger than that tiny apartment I shared with my mother.

Everything is really modern and very sleek, too. But the décor is bland.

Dark walls, black furniture, not a single pop of colour.

The only sign of life is the window draped in thick curtains. I rush over, yanking them open.

My breath immediately halts.

At a small distance, there's a high wall. It covers the entire estate; leaving a mass of trees outside.

Trees upon trees. There doesn't seem to be any form of city life outside those walls.

I'm so done with.

Have I been kidnapped?

Where the hell did they bring me?

A soft knock shakes me out of my thoughts.

But before I can react, the door swings open with force, and a petite woman steps inside.

She's in a very plain uniform, and her rat-like hair is in a tight bun.

A maid?

I'm not sure what I'm expecting but it's not what happens next.

The woman sneers. She drops a tray on a table carelessly.

I don't get a word out before she turns to walk away.

I blink, stunned.

What the fuck was that?

I stare at her back in shock. What was that reaction? But before I can think further about it, I hear voices in the hallway.

My instincts kick in, telling me I need to see what's going on.

I have to know where I am. If this was Vincent's house, then I needed to find him.

I step into the hallway and immediately regret it.

About eight people stand there. They are dressed in sharp suits and elegant dresses. Immediately I show my face, they turn to me, looking at me with the same disgust the maid had.

They are probably in their 50s or 60s.

Each has judging eyes, whispering among themselves like I can't hear them.

"Why would our Alpha settle for... this?" One said, staring at me with absolute disgust.

But he didn't waste any time before checking out my chest.

Men.

"A mere human? It's disgraceful."

"She doesn't even look the part. I mean, how would she be the lady of the pack? It's a big disgrace I tell you."

Why were they referring to me as a mere human? Was it because I came from a poor background?

Was calling me a human now the same as being poor?

Rich snobbish bastards. They actually think they're gods.

I grit my teeth and try to keep my face blank. I'm still trying to understand what's going on.

I've been looked down on my entire life even by my own mother.

This is nothing new.

But then, one of them steps forward- a very beautiful woman for her age.

She stands in front of me. I can feel her very imposing aura.

"What a disappointment."

I shouldn't have been surprised by this- these people owed me nothing.

Were they just waiting in the hallway for me?

I square my shoulders, forcing myself to smile. "I don't believe we've met."

Her lip curls. "We didn't need to."

I stare at her while biting my tongue.

Why am I here?

I am trying desperately to keep my fake smile up.

But the longer I look at her, the more familiar she seems.

Then I see it.

Vincent's eyes.

His jawline and that same pouty mouth...

Oh.

This woman must be related to him. His mother, maybe?

I consider pointing it out, maybe using it to my advantage to escape here

But before I can open my mouth, she steps closer.

"Listen carefully, girl," she says in a low and very sharp tone.

"You may have fooled Vincent into bringing you here, but you'll never be one of us."

Her words confuse me but I refuse to show it.

Vincent had asked me to be his wife. Even if his methods were very rude- he could have simply asked me to follow his men.

Instead, I let out a small, amused hum. I have to find Vincent.

"That's funny," I say sweetly.

"Because from where I'm standing, I don't need to be one of you. I just need to be his wife."

Her expression hardens.

She's used to people bowing down to her, I realize. And that makes pushing back even sweeter.

But I don't get to enjoy the small victory for long.

She lifts her chin and scoffs, turning on her heel.

The rest follow her lead, moving in unison, like well-trained dogs.

So all these old people came here for me? All for a contract wife?

I wait until they disappear down the hall before letting out a shaky breath.

This is just a job. A contract.

I repeat it over and over, but my chest still tightens.

I force back tears as I walk away.

Money...it's all for money.

Back in the bedroom, I decide to open the closet. When I do, my breath catches.

Rows of dresses, shoes lined perfectly in boxes, jewellery cases filled to the brim.

Oh my...

I run my fingers over every single thing; like how beggars grab at crumpled change.

My mood lifts instantly.

Screw them. Let those old geezers say what they like.

This is my life now.

I grab a simple dress and head to the bathroom to change. The second I step out, though, I freeze.

Vincent is sitting at the edge of the bed.

Not the smirking, charming man from the bar. Not the one who slipped money between my breasts like it was a joke.

This Vincent is... different.

I swallow and approach with a hesitant smile. "Morning, husband."

His eyes flick to me, his face very cold. "Sit."

"Okay?" I say, a little confused. I lower myself and sit beside him.

I reach for his hand- just so I can see how he reacts.

Maybe he's still the same flirty man I met?

However, the second my fingers brush his, he grabs my wrist. Hard.

I flinch.

His grip tightens, his eyes dark.

"You need to understand something, Lacy." His voice is calm.

Stern even.

"While you're here there are certain things you should know. You will follow my rules."

A lump forms in my throat.

Rules?

He releases my wrist and stands up; looking down at me. "Number one. You do not leave this estate without my permission. Ever."

I swallow hard.

"Two. You will speak only when spoken to in front of my people."

The memory of those judging eyes flashes in my mind.

"Three. You will never enter my private office or any restricted areas of this house."

I clench my fists; breathe a bit.

"Four. You will dress modestly at all times. I don't need my 'wife' embarrassing me."

I grit my teeth.

"Five. You will not question me, my decisions, or my authority."

My jaw locks.

"Six." He steps closer, his voice dropping to a quiet threat.

"You will remember that this is a contract. Nothing more."

"And lastly, don't ever touch me when we're in private. Keep your hands to yourself."

A small silence follows.

My husband drops my wrist.

He walks toward the door. "Your things will be moved to another room."

Another room?

I blink up at him, my stomach sinking. "Wait, we're not even-"

He gives me one last, cold look. "This isn't a real marriage. Behave yourself."

And then he's gone.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the space where he stood.

I don't cry- I won't.

This is about money. That's all.

I take a very deep breath.

Then I try to get rid of the tightness in my chest.

I need to stay focused. But then-

CRASH!

Something shattering echoes from outside the room.

I immediately jump to my feet. My heart is racing madly.

What the hell was that?