Aria’s POV
I froze, my broom in hand, my pulse drumming in my ears. "I didn’t do anything", I said.
Jas sneered. "Yeah, right. Like you’d dare. Must’ve been that pasta place I had for lunch—knew there was sothing sketchy about it. Always craving it, and now this."
He gritted his teeth, his legs pressed together like he was holding back the ocean.
"Keep sweeping! If I co back and you’re slacking off, I swear I’ll beat the hell out of you!" he barked before waddling off, shoulders hunched, his gait uneven.
I lowered my head, gave a small nod — the submissive gesture he wanted. My wolf hated it. Every muscle under my skin wanted to bare fangs, to growl low enough that only he’d hear it. But I stayed still.
When he was gone, I lifted my head and watched him hurry toward the public restroom, his thighs clenched tight. The sight almost made laugh.
Under the streetlight, I noticed the crushed plastic bottle I’d swept up earlier. Its label caught the light — the expiration date had been yesterday.
So that’s it. Fate had done one small favor.
I snorted softly and went back to work. The broom rasped against the pavent, each stroke scraping against the ache in my hip. The night air was cold, but sweat drenched my back. My legs felt like lead.
Then I heard it — a soft, hiccupping cry from the bundle strapped to my chest. My girl.
Lana.
Her tiny whimper carried a note I knew by heart: she was hungry.
I looked down the last stretch of the street. There was just a few feet left. My body scread to stop, but my wolf, stubborn and fierce, refused to yield.
Gritting my teeth, I finished my section and turned away, limping slightly but proud.
Later, when kara t at the door, her eyes went straight to the bruise blooming on my leg. She didn’t even need to ask. But she did anyway.
"Anita’s nephew gave you trouble again, didn’t he?"
I hesitated. "No."
The lie tasted bitter, like iron on my tongue.
She sighed, angry on my behalf. "That bastard... always picking on the cleaners. You and the baby, alone... How can soone like him still be walking around free?"
I didn’t answer. Instead, I pulled my pant leg back down and laid Lana gently on the bed.
Whether my plan would work tomorrow depended on Jennifer. I just had to hold out a little longer.
I bent down, brushed my nose against Lana’s cheek, breathing her in, and whispered a prayer to the moon goddess that watched over us both.
---
The next morning, I hadn’t even stepped out the door when Anita burst in with her little pack of cronies.
"Aria," she snapped, her voice sharp as glass. "You swept your trash into soone else’s assigned street. Do you think that’s acceptable? Get over here and apologize to Jas."
I tightened my hold on Lana. Her small warmth grounded as my pulse spiked.
"I’ll apologize," I said evenly, though my voice carried a growl beneath the surface. "But first, I want to see the site for myself. I need to confirm that trash is actually from my section."
Lana blinked up at Anita, unafraid — her wide beautiful blue eyes, just like mine, full of challenge.
"Trash is trash," Anita sneered. "You think you can tell which garbage belongs to you?"
I smirked, my wolf showing in that small, defiant curl of my lip. "Exactly. If even I can’t tell, then how did Jas magically know the trash on his street ca from mine?"
Her face tightened. For once, she had no answer.
Anita’s tone softened, but only slightly. "Fine. Go take a look then. But if you can’t prove that trash isn’t yours, you owe him compensation. Otherwise, you’re fired."
My stomach dropped. "I don’t have any money."
"Then we’ll deduct it from your wages!" she snapped.
Another deduction. Another wound.
The others had gathered around, their whispers soft as rustling leaves. I could sll their sympathy laced with fear. No one wanted to et my eyes for too long.
They knew the truth: trash didn’t co with a na tag. It couldn’t talk, couldn’t defend itself. Just like .
In their eyes, I’d already lost before the fight even began.
My wolf bristled under my skin, restless. Lost? Not yet.
A few minutes later, we made our way to the street Anita claid was "the scene." Her heels clicked sharply against the pavent, each step reeking of authority. The rest followed in uneasy silence, the crowd a pack of sheep behind a wolf that thought herself alpha.
The stench hit before we even stopped — wet tissue, old oil, the acrid sting of cigarette butts.
I stood there, my broom in hand, while Anita gestured dramatically at the pile of garbage littering the greenbelt.
Behind her, Jas smirked. His posture was all arrogance, his chest puffed, arms crossed, the swagger of a man who thought he’d already won.
I kept my eyes down, forcing my voice steady. "I don’t recognize this trash."
Anita turned on , her voice sharp.. "You—" she snapped, her voice rising. "You think you can just say ‘I don’t recognize it’ and walk away? The evidence is right there!"
The crowd flinched at her words.
I didn’t.
She crossed her arms, glaring down at , the glint in her eyes cold and calculated. I could see right through her performance. This wasn’t justice. It was theater. She wanted witnesses to my humiliation, to make an example out of the lone mother who dared to talk back.
"I have a witness." I said softly.
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