Page 1 of Bitter Truths

1

BIANCA

18 Years Old

It’s my eighteenth birthday. Finally.

I tug my cover-up lower as I follow the trail to the waterhole. The fabric clings to my legs in the humidity, every step making me more aware of how exposed I’ll be soon. Sunlight flickers through the trees, warm and soft.

Clara handled Winston like a pro. I owe her. There was no way I was letting my brother tag along today. He’d ruin everything.

I love him. I do. But Winston guards my innocence like it’s some kind of national treasure. He means well, but it often feels like a cage… especially when his friends are around. His hot, unmated alpha friends, who I’ve been obsessed with forever and happen to be my scent matches. Unbeknownst to them.

Their voices float over the water, low and sharp.

“This is bullshit,” Owen says, sounding tense. “We can’t let them control ou⁠—”

“Quiet,” Weller snaps. “Bianca and Winston are due any minute.”

“We need leverage,” Tristan adds. “Our fathers don’t negotiate.”

I freeze mid-step. What the hell are they talking about?

A twig snaps under my foot.

Four heads turn. Four intense pairs of eyes lock on me.

Freddie’s grin breaks across his face like a sunrise, all teeth and warmth. Sin wrapped in gold. His green eyes glitter with mischief. Golden brown curls catch the light, wild and sweet. Then his scent hits me—honey and cedar… familiar and safe.

Owen looks at me like he’s starving. I’m convinced Weller is keeping him on a tight leash because I sense he’s had some naughty thoughts of his own. His dark eyes pin me where I stand. Blackcurrant and spice roll off him. His shirt is already gone—displaying a body shaped by fights and real danger, not just the gym.

Tristan rights himself like a startled cat, blond waves tumbling across his forehead. His gaze cuts across the water, narrowing as if zeroing in on prey. God, his body is unfair… so lean and powerful. My mouth waters. Burnt amber, fig leaf, and something darker reach me a beat later. Rich and a little cruel. I want to drown in it. In him.

Weller’s book snaps shut. I flinch at the sound. His eyes linger on me, slow, as if studying me to review later. He’s only twenty, but he carries himself like someone older… like he knows things the rest of us don’t. Teakwood hits first, then bergamot. His scent is demanding. Sharp. Delicious.

The mixture of their scents threatens to pull me under.

And I’d be more than happy to drown.

Oh god.

My lungs forget how to work.

All four of them are watching me now.

“There’s our birthday girl,” Freddie announces, his green eyes glittering with mischief.

My lips tilt up at the edges, even though the frantic thumping of my heart feels like it might break my ribs. I’ll deal with their strange conversation later.

“Hey, guys.”

Owen sprawls across a sun-warmed rock like he owns it.

“We thought you bailed, Princess,” he murmurs, his voice a sexy rasp, his dark eyes fixed on me like a predator assessing prey.

“Winston’s busy. Clara needed his help.”

“No Winston? That might be the best gift you get today, sweetheart,” Tristan drawls, a slight smile touching his full lips.