Page 44 of Accidentally Forever

Chapter thirty-five

LANCE

The house is quiet, Sofie and Violet curled up in Sofie’s nest. Since her heat, she’s taken over my room but I’m not surprised. It’s the room closest to Puma’s, where Violet has been spending most of her time. It’s also the closest to the kitchen. I peer down the hallway from my seat at the kitchen table, almost as if waiting for my bedroom door to open and those big beautiful brown eyes to peek out. But no, they both need their rest and I’m not going to be the one to face one of Sofie’s adorable pouts.

I lean back in my chair, arms stretching over my head, muscles pulling tight before I exhale, letting them drop. A lazy grin tugs at the corner of my lips as I nod toward the dimly lit hallway. “Well, boys, I think it’s safe to say I’m never getting my damn room back.” Sofie’s scent clings to it, wrapped up in Violet’s, intertwined in a way that tells me neither of them are going anywhere.

It’s only a matter of time before Puma actually tries stealing Violet away from Sofie. Hell, I’m surprised Gray hasn’t yet. Hawk snorts, arms crossed, one boot kicked up against the leg of the table. “Like you even want it back.”

I grin, tipping my chair back onto two legs. “Fair point.”

The mood should stay light, should drift into something easier, but it doesn’t. It shifts instead, reality creeping in around the edges. Because there’s a reason the four of us—me, Hawk, Puma, and Gray—are still sitting at the kitchen table instead of sinking into the comfort of the women sleeping just down the hall. A reason the exhaustion pressing against my bones isn’t enough to send me to bed.

Puma rakes a hand through his hair, a deep frown cutting into his brow. His expression is unreadable, but I know that look. “We’ve got bigger problems than just a few pissed-off clients,” Puma says. He slides a folder across the table, fingers tapping against the surface. “Banks called. The lawsuit isn’t just about damages anymore. There’s a criminal case being built. Someone’s claiming the paintings weren’t just fakes—they were stolen.”

Hawk is the first to break it. “That’s bullshit.” The words come out clipped, his usual level-headedness cracking around the edges. “We don’t deal in stolen shit. We’ve been careful—”

“Careful doesn’t mean we aren’t being set up,” Gray cuts in. His fingers drum against the side of his glass, jaw tight. “Whoever’s pulling this isn’t fucking around. First, the fake rumors, now stolen art? This isn’t about business anymore. They want to burn us down.”

Puma nods, a flicker of anger shifting through his expression. “That’s exactly what Banks thinks.” His fingers stop drumming, stilling as he exhales sharply. “The problem is, we don’t know who’s behind it. And with all this noise, we’re gonna start losing real business if we don’t get ahead of it.”

Gray scoffs, shaking his head. “Already happening. Nolan basically told me to tread carefully because people are getting nervous.”

The family lawyer, Banks, has been a godsend, keeping us out of murky waters when things get a little rough. However, we’ve never dealt with rumors like this before and if our best client is saying to tread carefully, it isn’t good. “Great. So, what’s the next move?”

Puma doesn’t answer immediately. He looks at each of us, measuring his next words. He isn’t just the protector of our unconventional pack. He’s also our voice of reason, a man who’s been in this business far longer than any of us have. The silence stretches long enough to set my nerves on edge before he finally speaks. “First, we talk to Banks again. Figure out what angle the prosecution is playing at. If they’re serious about the stolen art claims, we need proof we weren’t involved.”

“That’s a given,” Hawk mutters.

Puma continues. “Second, we get Nolan to keep us in the loop on any business-side whispers. If there’s talk of fakes, I guarantee there’s a name attached to it somewhere. We find the source, we find who’s trying to pin this on us.”

Gray nods slowly. “And if we don’t?”

Our head Alpha’s shoulders drop just slightly and I can’t tell if it’s defeat or just a result of being tired. “Then we get dragged through the courts, and best-case scenario, we walk out with a reputation in fucking ruins.”

The more I think about it, the more the pieces don’t add up. Every new bit of information, every whisper of rumors, every well-placed accusation—it’s all too convenient. Too perfectly timed. Like someone has been laying the groundwork for months, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The lawsuit, the stolen art, the way clients are pulling back just enough to stir unease but not enough to sever ties completely. Someone isn’t just trying to mess with our business. Someone wants to dismantle us piece by piece.

Frustration twists sharp in my gut, bleeding into my tone. “Has anyone talked to Xavier?” My words cut through the low murmur of strategy being tossed around, silencing the room for half a beat before Puma shakes his head.

His expression hardens, his gaze flicking between us like he already knows I’m about to suggest something reckless. “No. And we can’t. Banks says that’s a bad idea. People are already trying to get their money back, getting spooked about the whole thing. If we start poking at him, it could blow back on us.”

I grit my teeth, fists curling against the table. “So what? We just sit here and wait?”

“No.” Puma leans forward, bracing his forearms against the surface. “We just need to point the finger in the right direction. Xavier’s involved, but he’s not the mastermind.”

I let it sit for a second, rolling through every possible name, every collector or dealer with enough power and pull to set us up like this. It’s not a long list, but one name keeps circling back. A name that’s been an issue since the moment our pack carved out its place in the art world.

Orion.

No one’s met him. He’s more of a myth than a man but he’s still a thorn in our side when his name comes up in conversation. If anyone is shady, it’s the man without a face. My gaze flicks to Puma. “You think it’s Orion?”

Puma doesn’t respond right away, but the way his expression doesn’t shift, the way his fingers press together like he’s already considered this, tells me everything I need to know.

“It’s the only guess I have,” I continue. “He’s the only collector that has enough pull to do something like this.”

Hawk raises an eyebrow, amusement flooding his features. “It’s not like we can go talk to him, though. Even if we could…”

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