Chapter 9

Cora

“Hayden Wiltmen.”

The name hung in the air long after the doctor had spoken it. It reverberated against the walls and echoed in my ears.

My heart skipped a beat.

Hayden.

That name didn’t mean anything to me. I mentally rifled through everyone I’d met at work: the researchers, the assistants, even the janitorial staff. I then searched through the catalog of people I knew in my limited personal life.

No Hayden.

The doctor’s expression softened. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be more help, ma’am.”

I gave him a tired smile. “Thanks anyway.”

Leaving the hospital, I walked slowly, clutching the small folder of papers they’d given me and feeling like I was in a dream. The folder was mostly worthless now. My only hope was the missing sperm report. And Daisy.

Daisy… who still hadn’t returned a single call or message.

I’d textetd her again right after leaving the hospital.

“Daisy, please. I just need to ask about the report. Call me,” I begged her.

No reply.

By the time I got home, dusk was creeping over the windows like a bruise. I tossed my purse on the sofa and stared at my phone. I would make one more call. Just one.

Voicemail again.

I sank down on the couch, the silence closing in and threatening to suffocate me.

Something wasn’t right.

Daisy might be many things—flaky, dramatic, sometimes even immature—but she always replied eventually. Especially if I sounded worried.

She was my sister. I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing.

I dialed the local police, took a deep breath, and reported her missing.

In the hours that followed, I couldn’t help but fret. I turned to one of my favorite pastimes—baking—to give my hands and mind something else to do.

It wasn’t even two hours later when someone pounded on the front door like they were trying to break it down. The sound made me jump; I had finally been losing myself in the practice of putting icing on cookies.

I opened the door in a panic, and there she was.

Daisy.

She was disheveled, red-cheeked. Her eyes were blazing like she wished she could burn holes into me with her gaze.

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God. You scared me half to death! Are you okay? Where were you? I’ve been calling—”

“You called the police on me?” she snapped.

I blinked. “I thought something had happened to you! You disappeared, you didn’t answer, and I—”

Daisy shoved past me. “You’re unbelievable, Cora.”

“I was worried.” I shut the door behind her, trying to stay calm. “Come sit. I made cookies.”

I brought the plate over, still warm. They had fragranced the kitchen deliciously.

Daisy looked at the cookies like they were poison.

“You haven’t changed at all,” she said, voice suddenly trembling with rage. “Still playing the sweet, perfect sister. Still pretending you care.”

I froze. “What?”

Daisy slapped the plate off the table. The cookies scattered, some crumbling to pieces as they crashed against the floor. “Do you know how exhausting it is to grow up in your shadow?”

“Daisy—”

“Everyone always praised you! ‘Cora’s so hardworking.’ ‘Cora’s so selfless.’ ‘Cora this and Cora that.’ Do you know how frustration that is to hear all the time?”

I had never seen my sister so angry. She was like a different person, a stranger in my home.

“But you’re just a fake,” she snapped. “A fake bitch pretending to be the good guy.”

I stood there, stunned. The words hit harder than any slap.

“I worked hard so we could keep this house and so that I could raise my son,” I said quietly.

Daisy laughed bitterly. “Don’t act like you’re so selfless. Be honest. You did it so everyone would worship you.”

“That’s not true.”

“You don’t even see it, do you?” she spat. “You always have to be the martyr.”

I shook my head, numb. This couldn’t be happening. “I don’t understand where this is coming from.”

Maybe something else was going on with her, something I didn’t know about. Surely this wasn’t just about me, my police report, and my cookies.

She stepped closer, eyes blazing. “And no, I haven’t seen your stupid report. Stop dragging me into the mess you made, Cora. And stop interfering with my life!”

She stormed toward the door, wrenching it open.

I reached out instinctively. “Daisy, wait—”

“Don’t pretend to care about me. You make me sick.”

She slammed the door behind her.

The sound echoed in the silence.

I stood there for a long time, staring at the scattered cookies on the floor, wondering how everything had gone so wrong.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. Instead, I baked several more batches of cookies. Sugar cookies shaped like little wolves. Crescent moons glazed with colorful icing.

It was the only thing that made sense anymore.

I wrapped them carefully in wax paper the next morning and brought them to the office. A few of the werewolves gave me odd looks, but I smiled politely and moved on.

When I reached Kingston’s office, I hesitated. Then, remembering how he had stood up for Riley at the restaurant, I left a neat bundle of cookies on his desk.

The gesture made me feel better. Briefly.

That was, at least, until I walked past the break room and saw a pair of werewolf interns tossing my cookies into the trash.

One of them even wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. It smells like wet paper.”

“I think she used actual garbage as an ingredient,” the other one joked, pinching their nose for emphasis.

They didn’t notice me standing there. Or maybe they did and simply didn’t care.

I kept walking, my head down and face heating with shame.

I was grateful when a distraction from my humiliation came. Kingston had called a mandatory meeting.

When I arrived, he was standing at the head of the long table, sleek and cold as ever. His presence was dominating and authoritative, drawing the eye and earnest attention of everyone in the room. I couldn’t help but lean forward in my seat.

He announced the start of a new drug development project, his voice clear and commanding. I noticed that beside him was one of my werewolf-shaped cookies with a few bites already taken out of it.

“The new formula targets genetic defects in hybrid werewolves,” he explained, drawing my attention back up to his face.

My pen paused over the paper.

I didn’t fully understand what “genetic defects” meant in this context. Something about the phrase made my stomach twist. I glanced around the room. Most people nodded along, understanding the implications.

I didn’t. I felt like an outsider again.

Still, I drafted the meeting summary carefully. I would figure it out later.

Hours later, my phone buzzed under the table: Reminder: divorce lawyer appointment..

I winced. There was no way I would make it in time now. As much as I wanted to get this shame marriage over with, it was not happening today.

Finally, in the early hours of the morning, the meeting ended. I gathered my notes with stiff fingers and escaped into the hallway, exhaling for the first time in what felt like days.

One of my coworkers, Rock, came out beside me, yawning. “Three hours. The man really does love the sound of his own voice.”

“He’s an evil capitalist pig,” I muttered under my breath.

Rock choked.

“I mean, really, doesn’t he know we have lives outside of here?” I asked in exasperation.

My mind was on the divorce lawyer meeting I would need to reschedule. I still needed to pick up Riley from the babysitter’s and make food and—

I realized then that Rock hadn’t said anything in response.

“What?” I asked, looking up.

He didn’t answer.

He just kept winking. Frantically.

Then I noticed the change in air pressure. A shiver raced down the back of my neck.

I turned around and saw Kingston standing right behind me with an expression that chilled me to the bone.