Raising His Hidden Heir

Chapter 2

The sharp sizzle of bacon hitting the hot cast-iron skillet was the only thing anchoring Nora to reality.

She stood in the massive, sun-drenched kitchen of the pack house, mechanically flipping the meat with a pair of silver tongs. She hadn't slept a single wink. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the golden wolf’s head biting the vine. She saw the heavy silver of Darius’s watch nestled against black lace. She saw the way Darius’s hands had lingered on the bare skin of Ivy’s neck.

*Breathe,* her inner wolf commanded, pacing restlessly in the confines of her mind. *If you panic, you die.*

Nora gripped the edge of the marble counter until her knuckles turned white. She was the Luna of the Obsidian Ridge Pack. She was a Sterling. She did not break.

"Something smells incredible," a smooth, cheerful voice announced.

Nora instantly smoothed her features into a mask of placid domesticity. She turned, pasting on a bright, welcoming smile as Darius strode into the kitchen. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to expose his muscular forearms, looking effortlessly handsome.

"Good morning, my love," Nora said, her voice steady. She stepped forward to meet him, accepting his kiss on her cheek. It took every ounce of her willpower not to flinch away from his scent.

"You look a little tired, Nora," Darius noted, his thumb brushing lightly under her eye. "Did you not sleep well?"

"Just pre-Gala anxiety," Nora lied smoothly, stepping back to tend to the stove. "There are so many moving parts. The caterers are threatening to back out if we don't finalize the menu by noon."

"Let the event planners handle it," Darius scoffed, pouring himself a cup of black coffee. "That's what I pay them for. You shouldn't be stressing yourself over trivial details."

"It’s my duty as Luna," Nora replied evenly. "I want everything to be perfect. Especially if you are announcing Ivy’s new executive rank."

Before Darius could respond, the kitchen doors swung open, and Ivy breezed in. She was wearing a tiny tennis skirt and a fitted crop top, but what drew Nora’s eye immediately was her neck.

The pearl choker rested heavily against Ivy’s collarbones, a stark, gleaming reminder of the ghost haunting Nora’s mind.

"Morning!" Ivy chirped, hopping up onto one of the high velvet barstools at the kitchen island. "Nora, tell me you’re making those blueberry scones."

"Just bacon and eggs today, sweetheart," Nora said, carrying a massive platter to the island. She set it down and took a seat across from Ivy, pouring herself a cup of tea. She kept her eyes fixed on the necklace.

"I was admiring the necklace you gave Ivy yesterday, Darius," Nora said casually, taking a slow sip of her Earl Grey. "The pearls are remarkably lustrous. Truly a magnificent piece."

Darius smiled over his coffee mug, looking entirely unbothered. "Only the best for our girl. I knew the moment I saw it that it belonged on her."

"I haven't taken it off," Ivy preened, touching the pearls with a delicate finger. "It feels like it was made for me."

Nora’s nails dug into her own palms under the table. *It was made for my sister, you little thief.*

"The clasp was so unique," Nora continued, her tone light, conversational. "I don't think I've ever seen craftsmanship like that in modern jewelry. Where on earth did you say you found it?"

Darius didn't miss a beat. "An antique dealer in the city. Down in the artisan district."

"Really? Which shop?" Nora asked, leaning forward with feigned enthusiasm. "I’d love to go down there and look for a matching bracelet for the Succession Gala. It would tie my whole outfit together."

For a fraction of a second, Darius’s jaw tightened. It was a minuscule tell, one only a wife of ten years would notice. "It closed down, actually. The old man who owned it retired and moved out of state right after I bought the necklace. I practically stole it from him, he gave me such a good price."

"What a shame," Nora murmured, taking another sip of tea to hide her trembling lips.

"Don't be jealous, Nora," Ivy chimed in, rolling her eyes as she piled eggs onto her plate. "Darius buys you things all the time. You have a whole vault of Sterling family jewelry anyway."

Nora smiled, a cold, dead thing. "Of course not, sweetheart. I’m thrilled you love it. It’s just... funny how things find their way to us, isn't it?"

Darius checked his phone, suddenly standing up. "I have a meeting with the Enforcers in twenty minutes. Ivy, do you want a ride into town? I know you wanted to look at dresses."

"Yes! Let me just grab my purse," Ivy said, jumping off the stool.

"Have a wonderful day, you two," Nora said, standing to collect the plates.

Darius leaned in and kissed her on the lips. "Love you, Nora. Don't work too hard today."

"I won't," she promised.

She waited in the kitchen, listening to the heavy oak front doors open and close. She waited until the distinct roar of Darius’s Aston Martin faded down the long, winding driveway of the estate.

The moment the house was silent, Nora dropped the plates into the sink with a loud clatter.

The mask fell.

She moved with terrifying purpose, marching out of the kitchen and taking the grand staircase two steps at a time. She walked straight down the west wing corridor, stopping in front of the heavy mahogany doors of Darius’s private home office.

It was locked, of course. But Nora was the one who had hired the security firm to install the biometric locks. She pressed her thumb to the scanner. The light blinked green, and the heavy door clicked open.

She slipped inside, locking the door behind her. The room smelled overwhelmingly of Darius—pine, ozone, and power. It made her stomach churn.

She went straight to the massive oil painting of the Obsidian Ridge landscape hanging behind his oak desk. She reached behind the frame, pressing the hidden latch, and swung the painting outward to reveal the steel wall safe.

Darius thought he was so clever. He thought she was just a submissive, doting wife who cared only about flower arrangements and charity galas. But Nora had watched him punch in the code three years ago through the reflection of the window pane.

She quickly tapped the keypad. *0-8-1-2*.

The heavy steel bolts retracted with a heavy clunk.

Nora pulled the safe open. It was filled with stacks of banded cash, velvet boxes of emergency gold, and several thick manila folders. She ignored the money and pulled out the folders, dropping them onto the desk.

She needed to know if he was hiding anything else. If he had Margot’s necklace, what else had he salvaged from the lake? What else had he lied about?

She sifted through the first folder. Pack treaties. Border dispute settlements.

The second folder. Offshore bank accounts. Shell companies. Nora paused, scanning a document detailing the transfer of funds into an LLC called *Blackwood Holdings*. The amounts were staggering—millions of dollars bled from the pack’s main treasury, her inheritance, funneled into a private account.

Her blood boiled, but she forced herself to keep digging.

She opened the third folder. It contained a single, crisp legal document inside a plastic sleeve.

Nora pulled it out, her eyes scanning the heavy legal jargon at the top. It was a property deed.

*Property Title and Transfer of Ownership.*

*Purchaser: Blackwood Holdings LLC (Sole Proprietor: Darius Vance)*

*Property Address: 442 Whispering Pines Road, Lake Serenity.*

Nora stopped breathing.

Lake Serenity. The lake house.

The very same lake house where her family used to summer. The lake house where Margot had taken the boat out during a sudden, freak thunderstorm. The lake house where her sister had drowned.

Nora’s hands shook violently as her eyes darted to the date of the sale at the bottom of the deed.

*Date of Purchase: August 12th.*

Margot had died on November 3rd.

The deed was for the exact lake house where Margot drowned, purchased under a shell company by Darius three months *before* Margot’s "accidental" death.

A choked sob tore from Nora’s throat, and she slapped a hand over her own mouth to stifle the sound. The necklace wasn't a coincidence. The watch wasn't a mistake.

Her husband hadn't just found a piece of jewelry. He had owned the property where her sister died. He had been there.

He murdered her.