The chains rattled first, metal scraping against marble. Then came the scent—venom, blood, something burned.
They dragged him in. Shackles dug into raw wrists, his broad shoulders scarred and bruised. Honey-blond hair hung in filthy tangles, but it was his black, empty eyes that made Bella’s breath catch.
“Major Whitlock,” Aro purred, “your new charge has arrived.”
The vampire in chains didn’t bow. He just stared.
Then—he laughed.
“Babysit a human?” His voice was gravel and steel.
A slow, cruel smile curved his lips.
“Oh, darlin’… you have no idea what you just signed up for.”

Renee’s breath caught as Jack stepped onto her porch, his sharp gaze landing on Bella. “She has my eyes,” he murmured.
Instinctively, she held her daughter closer. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Jack sighed. “You knew I’d find out.”
Before she could respond, Charlie’s cruiser pulled in. He stepped out, eyes scanning Jack with quiet authority. “Everything alright?”

Jack smiled coldly. “I’m here to collect what’s mine.”

Charlie’s stance stiffened. “Not here, you’re not.”

Renee’s heart pounded. She had made her choice—her family was here. And she wouldn’t let Jack take that away.

The ring on my finger felt like a shackle.
“You’re being unreasonable, love,” Edward’s voice held that particular tone that made my teeth clench. He stood by my desk, perfect and immovable as a marble statue.
“Angela’s birthday party is simply too risky right now.”
“Too risky?” I spun from my bookshelf. “It’s at her house, Edward. With her family. Just a small gathering of friends—friends I barely see anymore because there’s always some reason why it’s ‘not safe.'” “The situation with Victoria…”
“Is over. She’s dead.” I grabbed Angela’s invitation, waving it like a flag. “This is the third time this month you’ve stopped me.”

Jasper stepped off the plane in Florida, his shoulders finally free from the invisible weight of his century-long sentence. The warm, humid air hit him like a wall, a stark contrast to the cold, stone halls of Volterra. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, thinking, “A hundred years with the Volturi, and I still don’t have their flair for dramatic cloaks. Probably for the best – I’d look like a sweaty bat in this weather.” As he settled into his hotel room, the soft bed felt alien after years of Spartan accommodations, a prelude to the new life ahead.