Page 59 of Bitter Truths

Tristan nods slowly. “Our scents trigger her panic response. We can’t get close without them.”

“It still won’t be easy to get close. She despises us,” Owen points out, but he’s not moving toward the hospital anymore. Yet.

He’s right. But we’re running out of time. This might be our only opportunity before Whitney returns and makes everything impossible.

My mind starts calculating. Her patterns. Her vulnerabilities. But how do we force a conversation with someone who’d rather stab us than listen? How do we make her stay long enough to hear the truth?

I’ve spent years being careful, being patient, respecting boundaries that kept us from her. But what has careful gotten us? What has patience achieved except more years of agony?

Maybe it’s time to stop asking for permission.

“We have a week,” I announce.

They all look at me with sharp attention.

“Whitney and her father return from the medical convention next week. Once they’re back...” I don’t finish. Don’t need to. They all know what happens when Whitney realizes Bianca is here.

Everyone goes quiet.

“She’ll go after her,” Freddie breathes.

“Immediately.” I can already see it playing out. Whitney’s rage when she discovers her perfect lie has cracks. Her need to eliminate threats to her control. “She won’t let Bianca interfere with what she’s built.”

The bonds that chain us to her. What she calls intimacy but feels like torture. The facade of pack happiness while we die inside every single day.

Whitney will protect that at any cost.

“A week to break through all this trauma…” Tristan says, sounding unconvinced we can get through to Bianca in that time.

“She’s staying at the hospital,” I say. “Hasn’t left Winston’s side except for today. We know her routine.”

“Which means what?” Freddie asks. “Corner her in a hallway? She’ll stab all of us next time.”

The image shouldn’t appeal to me as much as it does. Bianca’s blade finding its mark, her eyes blazing with fury instead of dead emptiness. I’ll take her anger over her absence any day.

“We could try catching her outside her parents’ house,” Freddie suggests.

“If Whitney checks the trackers and sees us showing up at Bianca’s house...,” Owen points out, shaking his head. “We can explain away Winston at the hospital. We’ve been friends forever. But Bianca’s house? That’ll bring Whitney home with a quickness.”

“He’s right. We’re going to have to take more drastic measures,” Tristan says, already calculating. “I’ll get the penthouse ready for a conversation. Set the security feeds on a loop so if anyone checks, they’ll see business as usual.”

Right. One of the many leashes that monitor our every movement. But Tristan’s skills with technology have bought us privacy before.

We’re prisoners in our own lives, with just enough freedom to pretend we have choices.

I look at my pack—really look at them. Freddie’s lost weight, shadows under his eyes, hands that shake when he thinks no one’s watching. Tristan cracking at the edges, his arrogance replaced by exhaustion. Owen clinging on to what remains of his sanity.

We’re all dying. Have been since that night. Going through the motions of existence while nothing meaningful remains.

The only thing that’s kept us breathing is the hope that someday Bianca would learn the truth. That she’d understand we never betrayed her, never chose someone else, never stopped loving her for even a single moment.

But seeing her today, witnessing what all this time believing our lie has done to her...

“We need to remind her who she belongs to.”

Owen’s head snaps up, his eyes widening. “Now you’re talking.”

“Not chasing her through hospitals,” I clarify. “But you’re right. Strategy isn’t working. She won’t let us close enough to explain.”