Six Years, No Ring, Just a Contract

For six years, I believed we were building a future.

Then he slid a document across the table.

Not a marriage proposal. Not a bonding registration.

A mistress agreement.

Three years. On call. No questions asked. If I get pregnant, I deal with it alone.

He had already arranged a status-matched bond with someone else. He just wanted to keep me in the shadows.

I signed it. I had no choice. My debts were drowning me, and he knew it.

What he didn't know was that I was already pregnant. And that my mother—the one he thought was dead—was the heir to the wealthiest pack in the region.