Days passed without a single word about Maxwell's body. The Jones pack was rife with speculation, whispered rumors coiling like smoke in Elizabeth's ears. The absence of evidence had created a void, and in that void, stories flourished, each one more grotesque than the last. Elizabeth's patience thinned with every passing moment.
"Get up and shine, sleepy prince! It's already midday," Elizabeth's voice rang out, laced with sarcastic cheer as she yanked open the heavy drapes in Reynald's room. The sunlight poured in, harsh and unforgiving.
Reynald groaned, the sharp light stabbing at his eyes. He pulled the duvet over his head, muttering curses under his breath.
"Ever heard of knocking?" he growled from beneath the covers, his voice muffled and irritable.
Elizabeth didn't answer. Instead, she strode to the edge of his bed, sat down with calculated poise, and leaned in close. Her voice dropped to a whisper, cold and biting.
"By tonight, Reynald, it's either Maxwell's corpse or your corpse. Choose wisely."
She left before he could respond, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. For a moment, Reynald lay there, stunned by her words. His mother had never spoken to him like that before, and the weight of her ultimatum settled heavily on his chest.
Anxious and unsure of his next move, Reynald began mentally piecing together a plan when his phone buzzed incessantly on the nightstand. The name on the screen made his blood boil: Jolie. Mr. Lee's daughter had a knack for calling at the worst times. He ignored it at first, but when Jolie refused to stop, he finally snatched the phone and answered with an angry snap.
"What do you want, Jolie? I told you we're done! Why are you still calling me?"
Jolie's laughter on the other end was cutting, sharp as a blade. "You think you can just ignore me and walk away, Reynald? You're more naïve than I thought."
Before he could respond, the line went dead. His patience shattered along with his phone as he hurled it against the wall, the pieces scattering across the floor like fragments of his control.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth met with Mr. Adam, the family lawyer, hoping for some legal leverage. She needed Maxwell declared dead to finalize her hold over the estate.
"As I've said before, Mrs. Jones, without Maxwell's body, there's no case. No evidence means no death certificate," Mr. Adam explained, his tone weary. He began gathering his papers, avoiding her piercing glare.
"So that's it?" Elizabeth's voice was deceptively calm as she toyed with a pen on her desk. "Are we now nothing more than servants to the handicapped? Even dead, Maxwell manages to make my life hell."
Her grip tightened on the pen, and before she realized it, she had driven the tip into her palm. Blood welled up, but she didn't flinch, her focus elsewhere.
---
Determined to redeem himself in his mother's eyes, Reynald gathered the four friends who had been with him on the night of Maxwell's disappearance. Together, they returned to the Black Forest, combing the area where they had left Maxwell. The ground was undisturbed, save for dried bloodstains that had long since crusted over. There was no sign of Maxwell, alive or dead.
By evening, Reynald trudged back home, dreading Elizabeth's wrath. But his simmering anger flared anew when he entered her office and found Jolie sitting comfortably, sipping tea as though she were part of the family.
"What is she doing here?" Reynald demanded, storming into the room. He grabbed Jolie's arm, his grip firm as he moved to drag her out.
Elizabeth intervened, stepping between them with a calculated slap across Reynald's face. The sharp crack of it silenced the room. Reynald stared at her, stunned and humiliated.
"This girl," Elizabeth hissed, her eyes blazing, "has done what you couldn't. She knows where Maxwell is. And, for your information, he's alive."
Reynald's jaw clenched as disbelief and fury warred within him. Before he could respond, Elizabeth turned back to Jolie with a warm smile.
"My apologies, dear," she said sweetly. "Let's finish our conversation without any interruptions."
She held Jolie's hand and escorted her to the door, slamming it shut in Reynald's face.
---
Seething with rage, Reynald stormed back to his room and unleashed his fury on everything in sight. The sound of shattered glass and splintered wood echoed through the halls. He didn't care who heard him; his anger needed an outlet.
Later, there was a knock at his door. Elizabeth entered without waiting for an invitation. Her expression was softer now, though disappointment lingered in her eyes.
"Don't be upset with me," she began, sitting beside him. Her tone was calm but sharp, each word cutting deeper. "Everything I do is for your good. But your impatience and stubbornness have cost us. Today, we lost the very hotel you fought so hard to secure."
Her words hit him like a blow. Reynald looked away, guilt churning in his stomach.
"It was flagged that Maxwell was taken to a veterinarian," she continued, her voice a quiet storm. "Your task is to search every clinic for a white wolf. He's unique—finding him shouldn't be hard."
Without another word, she stood and left, leaving Reynald alone with his thoughts.
---
The search resumed the next day. Reynald visited clinic after clinic, questioning staff and demanding answers, but no one had seen a white wolf. Frustration mounted as his efforts yielded nothing. Then one of his friends mentioned a clinic in the South Pack's territory, and something clicked in Reynald's mind.
How had Jolie known about Maxwell in the first place?
Without hesitation, he called her.
"Jolie," he said, swallowing his pride, "I need access to your clinic. Name your price."
Jolie's laughter was as sharp and cruel as ever. "You already know what I want, darling. Marriage. Come to my father, ask for my hand, and I'll consider giving you the address."
Reynald clenched his jaw, his pride warring with his desperation. "Fine. I'll be there in a few minutes."
---
True to his word, Reynald accompanied Elizabeth to Mr. Lee's house, where he formally asked for Jolie's hand in marriage. The room buzzed with tension as Reynald made his request, his voice devoid of emotion. Jolie, for her part, was smug, her victory etched on her face.
Meanwhile, Zoelle, the veterinarian who had cared for Maxwell, finished her shift early. Before leaving, she gave her assistant Greg clear instructions.
"The wolf is in the storage unit, sleeping. Don't tell anyone. I'll release him tonight, so don't worry."
---
When Elizabeth and Reynald arrived at the clinic, only Greg was there. At first, Greg refused to divulge anything, his loyalty to Zoelle unwavering. But Elizabeth was not one to be deterred.
"Hiding that wolf could ruin you," Elizabeth said coolly, her voice a perfect balance of threat and persuasion. "Do you really want to risk jail for this?"
Greg wavered but remained silent. Elizabeth leaned in closer, her tone softening to a mockery of compassion. "I admire hardworking men like you. How about a deal? Tell me where the wolf is, and I'll make sure this clinic gets the funding it desperately needs. Maybe even a promotion for you."
Greg's resolve crumbled. With trembling hands, he led them to the storage unit where Maxwell lay sleeping, unaware that his past was about to catch up with .