My tears had barely dried when I found myself standing at the entrance of the Silver Crown Hotel. I wasn't supposed to be here. I was supposed to be at home, curled up in Violet's bed, surrounded by her stuffed animals, drowning in my grief.
Instead, Natalie's cruel phone call had ignited something primal inside me. My wolf, usually quiet and subdued, was now pacing restlessly beneath my skin, demanding retribution.
The hotel lobby was transformed into a child's fantasy. Pink and purple balloons lined the corridor leading to the grand ballroom. A banner reading "Happy Birthday, Isabelle!" stretched across the entryway.
My stomach clenched. Today of all days. The day I buried my daughter.
I smoothed down my black dress—the same one I'd worn to Violet's funeral just hours earlier—and straightened my shoulders. My grief had been private, hidden away in a quiet cemetery with only a handful of mourners. Natalie had made sure of that. But my rage? That would be public.
