Chapter 4: Chapter 4 She’s MINE
Aria’s POV
On the drive, Harrison gave me a rundown of Crescent Moon Pack.
The assets were vast—most controlled by Vincent, smaller portions held by Victor Smith and Vincent’s late foster father.
Now that Vincent’s estate had passed to me, I was effectively the largest shareholder in the Smith family empire.
Victor and his son Lucas were managing Vincent’s estate in his absence.
Sylvia and Nathan were heavily involved as well—Vincent’s wife and stepson from Crescent Moon Pack.
From Harrison’s careful phrasing, neither was thrilled about my sudden appearance.
"Your uncle Victor has been waiting to meet you properly," Harrison said. "He wanted to reach out sooner, but the legal process took time."
"And Sylvia?"
His expression stayed neutral, but I caught the flicker. "Mrs. Smith is... adjusting to the new arrangements."
Translation: she hated me.
An hour later, the SUV passed through massive iron gates. Sprawling stone and glass set among manicured lawns and ancient trees whose canopy swallowed the sky.
Wings branching in every direction. A fountain in the circular driveway that belonged at Versailles.
The moment we crossed the threshold, something shifted in the air.
Harrison opened my door. "Welcome home, Miss Smith."
Home. The word still felt foreign.
But as I looked up at the towering facade, I couldn’t help thinking—maybe this was exactly where I was supposed to be all along.
---
I was still standing at the entrance when a hand touched my elbow.
"Miss Smith."
A man in his early fifties, kind eyes, silver-streaked hair, impeccably tailored. Something familiar in the set of his jaw, the shape of his shoulders.
"I’m Victor Smith. Your uncle."
I shook his hand. "Alpha Smith."
"Victor, please." He glanced toward the entrance, then back at me, his expression carefully neutral but his eyes carrying a clear warning.
"I wanted to catch you before you went inside. Sylvia and Nathan have been running things here for a long time. They’re not going to give that up easily. They’ll try to intimidate you. Maybe threaten you."
He paused. "Don’t let them push you into anything. You have every legal right to be here. Vincent wanted you to have everything."
I studied him. "Why are you helping me? You barely know me."
He hesitated. "Because Vincent was my brother in every way that mattered. And because you remind me of him."
Despite everything, I felt my lips twitch. "Thank you. For the warning."
----
Harrison led me through opulent hallways—crystal chandeliers, marble floors, oil paintings worth more than most houses—and stopped at a set of heavy oak doors.
"The main parlor. Mrs. Smith and Mr. Nathan are waiting."
The room was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking manicured gardens, expensive furniture in perfect symmetry.
Near the windows stood Sylvia—blonde hair swept into an elegant updo, diamonds at her throat and wrists, two servants at attention behind her. On the sofa sat Nathan, early thirties, crisp navy suit, posture honed by a lifetime of privilege.
Harrison made the introductions and withdrew. The silence stretched a beat too long.
"Your name is Aria?" Sylvia asked, though she clearly already knew.
"Yes."
"Sit. You’re home now. No need to be nervous."
I wasn’t nervous. And this didn’t feel remotely like home.
"Let’s not waste time," Sylvia said, settling across from me. "We need to discuss your inheritance."
Nathan placed a thick document on the coffee table. "My father’s passing left you as the legal heir. However, the Pack’s operations and partnerships cannot be entrusted to someone with no experience in our world. We’re prepared to offer you one hundred million dollars in cash. In exchange, you sign over all claims to the Smith family assets—stocks, properties, and operational control."
One hundred million. More than I’d ever imagined. But nowhere near what Vincent had actually left me.
I flipped through the pages. Voluntary relinquishment of all shares in Smith family holdings, operational control, and all real estate assets...
Sylvia sipped her tea. "Your mother and Vincent had a brief affair. You spent your childhood in an orphanage. One hundred million is more than generous given the circumstances."
Her voice dripped with false sympathy.
"But surely you understand—the Smith family cannot have an illegitimate daughter as its public heir. You’re still Vincent’s blood. You’ll always have a place in this family, in name at least."
She made it sound like a kindness.
Nathan slid a pen across the table. "Please sign."
I set the document down. "I refuse."
The word landed like a grenade.
Sylvia’s cup paused halfway to her lips. Nathan’s expression flickered.
"You called me illegitimate," I said steadily. "But the law doesn’t care about legitimacy—it cares about blood. Vincent left a will, hired a lawyer, had DNA tests run. Everything is documented and legal. I am his heir. The only heir."
Sylvia’s smile vanished. Her teacup hit the saucer with a sharp clink. "You may have the paperwork. But you don’t have the capability to manage an empire like this."
"That’s not your decision to make."
Nathan leaned forward. "This isn’t a negotiation. Our holdings span multiple Pack territories. Our relationships are delicate, built over decades. One wrong move could destroy everything." He paused. "You cannot fight an entire family."
"Maybe not. But I can fight for what’s legally mine."
Sylvia laughed—cold, brittle. "You’ve been in this world for five minutes. Do you really think the law is enough to protect you here?"
I picked up the document.
"The Smith estate is valued at over ten billion dollars. Annual revenue exceeds eight hundred million. You’re offering me one hundred million—barely one percent of what Vincent left me." I held it out to Nathan. "That’s not compensation. That’s robbery."
I stood and walked toward the door.
"If you want to discuss this properly—by law or by family rules—I’m willing. But I won’t be bullied into signing away my inheritance."
I paused at the threshold. "And just so we’re clear, Mr. Smith—you’re Vincent’s adopted son. Under the law, your inheritance rights come after mine. Are you really suggesting a man with no blood relation should inherit everything over Vincent’s own daughter?"
Dead silence.
Sylvia rose slowly, her expression hardening into something cold and dangerous. She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.
"Stop her," Nathan said.
I’d barely touched the door handle when two guards materialized from the shadows—massive, stone-faced, moving with trained efficiency that sent ice down my spine. I froze.
"Aria." Sylvia’s voice was deceptively calm. "I suggest you cooperate while I still have patience."
Nathan crossed the room until he stood directly in front of me. "If you’re unhappy with the offer, name your price."
I held his gaze, refusing to step back even as my heart hammered. "My price? You can’t afford it. Vincent left me ten billion dollars. Not one penny less."
Nathan’s expression went ice-cold. "Then we’ll have to do this the hard way."
The guards closed in. One yanked my arm, dragging me back toward the table. The other forced me into the chair, pinning my shoulders. I struggled, but werewolf strength against human desperation wasn’t a contest.
Sylvia turned to face the windows, her back to me. Like she couldn’t be bothered to watch.
Nathan picked up the document and the pen. "Sign it."
"Go to hell."
He grabbed my wrist, forcing my hand down onto the paper. I tried to pull away, but the guard’s grip was ironclad.
This was insane. They were going to force my signature. Forge my consent.
Panic clawed at my throat.
"Stop!" I shouted. "You can’t do this! This is illegal!"
"Illegal?" Sylvia’s voice drifted from the window, bored. "Darling, we *are* the law here."
The pen touched my fingertips. Nathan was seconds away from forcing my hand to move.
Then the parlor doors exploded open.
The sound was deafening—wood splintering, hinges shrieking.
Everyone froze.
A man stepped through the ruined doorway, flanked by half a dozen others in dark tactical gear. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
He was tall—at least six-foot-four—with broad shoulders and a build that spoke of lethal strength.
His hair was black, swept back from a face that could have been carved from granite. Sharp jawline. High cheekbones. And eyes...
God, his eyes. They were dark gray, almost black, and they swept across the room with the kind of cold calculation that suggested he was already deciding who would die first.
The guards released me instantly, stumbling back like they’d been burned.
Nathan went pale.
The man’s gaze swept the room before landing on me. Something flickered in his eyes—dark, possessive, and utterly terrifying.
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
Then he spoke, his voice a low, lethal growl that sent shivers down my spine.
"She’s MINE."
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