The rain hammered down like bullets as I crouched in the mud, watching Ironclaw's massive silhouette move through the abandoned warehouse. My name is Freya Wright, and tonight, like every other night for the past three years, I wasn't the wolfless Omega wife everyone believed me to be.

I was The Shadow.

My wolf, Valkyrie, growled low in my mind. *End him quickly. We need to get home before Colin wakes.*

I knew. The Rogue General had a bounty of fifty thousand dollars on his head—exactly what we needed for Colin's Beta ceremony fees. The ceremony that would finally validate all my sacrifices. All the nights I'd spent hunting while he slept peacefully in our bed, believing I was just a weak, wolfless burden.

Ironclaw turned, and I struck.

My blade sang through the air, a silver arc in the darkness. He was fast—faster than the intelligence reports suggested—but I was faster. Three years of hiding hadn't dulled my skills. If anything, the suppression made me sharper, more focused. I ducked under his claws, felt them whistle past my ear, and drove my knife upward into the soft tissue beneath his jaw.

He gurgled, eyes wide with shock. Even in his final moments, he didn't recognize me. No one did anymore.

I twisted the blade and stepped back as he collapsed. The rain washed his blood into the mud, mixing with the dirt until it looked like rust-colored paint. I pulled out my phone, took the required proof photo of his distinctive scar pattern, and pocketed the silver tag from his neck. The Lycan Council would verify the kill by morning, and the money would be in my account by noon.

*Fifty thousand dollars,* I thought, wrapping my ribs where his claws had caught me. The wounds were already healing—Alpha regeneration was one thing I couldn't fully suppress, though I'd gotten good at hiding it. *Fifty thousand dollars for Colin's future.*

For our future.

Valkyrie snarled. *There is no 'our' future with that weakling. You know this.*

I ignored her. I'd been ignoring her for three years.

The drive home was a blur of rain and streetlights. I parked two blocks away, as always, and slipped through the servant's entrance of the Phillips' house. My tactical gear went into the hidden compartment beneath the basement stairs—the one Mrs. Phillips didn't know existed because she'd never deigned to do her own laundry.

I'd just pulled on my worn nightgown when I heard footsteps above.

Colin was awake.

I climbed the stairs, my heart hammering for entirely different reasons now. The adrenaline from the kill was fading, replaced by the familiar anxiety of my domestic masquerade.

"Freya!" Colin's voice echoed through the hallway. "Where the hell have you been?"

I found him in our bedroom, preening in front of the full-length mirror. The new Beta sash gleamed across his chest—deep blue with silver threading. He looked... proud. Powerful. Nothing like the broken, bleeding wolf I'd saved on that rainy night three years ago.

"I couldn't sleep," I said softly, keeping my eyes down. "I was in the kitchen, preparing for tomorrow's gathering."

He wrinkled his nose. "You smell like rain. And mud. It's disgusting." He turned back to the mirror, adjusting his sash. "Iron my ceremonial cloak. The gathering is tomorrow night, and I need to look perfect. Alpha Stone will be watching, and I can't have you making me look bad."

Valkyrie roared in my mind. *Rip his throat out. Show him what real power looks like.*

I swallowed the growl that wanted to escape. "Of course. I'll do it right now."

"Good." He didn't even look at me. "And Freya? Try to stay in the background tomorrow. I know you can't help being wolfless, but... people talk. It reflects poorly on me."

Each word was a knife, but I'd learned to take them without flinching. "I understand."

His success was our success. His rank was our rank. That's what I told myself as I carried his cloak downstairs, my hands steady despite the rage burning in my chest.

The next evening, I stood in the pack house kitchen, my fingers working automatically to arrange hors d'oeuvres on silver platters. The gathering would start in an hour. Colin was somewhere upstairs, probably admiring himself in another mirror.

I reached for the spice cabinet and found it empty. The pantry. I needed the good saffron from the pantry.

I pushed through the swinging door into the narrow storage room, and that's when I heard them. Colin's voice, and his mother's, filtering through the thin wall that separated the pantry from the sitting room.

"—finally rid of her," Mrs. Phillips was saying. "That wolfless waste of space has been dragging you down for too long."

I froze, my hand halfway to the saffron tin.

"I know, Mother." Colin's laugh was light, easy. Like we were discussing the weather. "Freya's been... useful, I suppose. But now that I'm Beta, I need a proper mate. Someone with status. Azalea Stone is perfect."

"She's the Alpha's daughter," Mrs. Phillips purred. "Mating with her will secure your position permanently. You'll be untouchable."

"Exactly. And Freya..." He paused, and I could picture him waving his hand dismissively. "She's just a stain on my reputation now. A useless placeholder. I'll reject her at the gathering tomorrow. Publicly. Make it clear that I'm available for a better match."

The saffron tin slipped from my fingers. It hit the floor with a soft thud that they didn't hear.

Valkyrie's voice was ice and fury. *Now do you believe me?*

I backed out of the pantry silently, my heart no longer racing. It had stopped entirely, frozen into something hard and cold and sharp.

Three years. Three years of hunting, bleeding, sacrificing. Three years of suppressing everything I was so he could feel like a man.

And I was a stain. A placeholder. Useless.

I looked down at my hands—hands that had killed Ironclaw less than twenty-four hours ago. Hands that had earned every dollar that paid for Colin's training, his education, his precious Beta ceremony.

I touched the silver necklace at my throat. The one that masked my scent and suppressed my aura. The one that made me invisible.

*Not anymore,* Valkyrie whispered.

I smiled, and it felt like baring teeth.

The gathering was tomorrow night. Colin wanted to reject me publicly?

Perfect.

Let him try.

The guest bathroom mirror showed me a stranger.

Pale skin. Hollow cheeks. Dark circles under my eyes from three years of midnight hunts. The grey dress hung on my frame like a shroud—worn, faded, the hem frayed from too many washes. I looked exactly like what Colin wanted everyone to see: a wolfless nobody. A burden. A stain.

I touched the silver necklace at my throat. It burned.

It had always burned, actually. Three years of constant contact with blessed silver, suppressing my Alpha aura until I could barely feel Valkyrie's presence. The metal had left a permanent red mark on my skin, a brand of my own stupidity.

*Take it off,* Valkyrie purred. Not growled. Purred. Like a predator spotting wounded prey.

"Not yet," I whispered to my reflection.

I opened the small jewelry box on the counter—the one Colin had presented to me last month with such fanfare. "For my mate," he'd said, kissing my forehead like I was a child. The diamonds inside had cost exactly twelve thousand dollars. I knew because I'd earned that money killing a rogue pack in Nebraska.

I snapped the box shut and left it on the counter.

The dress would do. Let them see the Omega they expected. Let Colin preen and posture and prepare his rejection speech. Let him stand in front of the entire pack and call me worthless.

And then I'd show him what worthless really looked like.

Valkyrie's purr grew louder, vibrating through my bones. *Finally. Finally, you listen.*

"I'm not doing this for you," I told her. "I'm doing this because he deserves it."

*Does it matter?* She laughed, and it sounded like breaking glass. *Either way, he bleeds.*

I left the Phillips house through the front door this time. No more sneaking through servant entrances. No more hiding.

The Silvermoon Pack House blazed with light against the darkening sky. Cars lined the circular driveway—expensive ones, the kind that screamed status and power. I recognized Alpha Stone's black Mercedes, Beta Harrison's silver Lexus, and several vehicles I didn't know, probably belonging to visiting dignitaries.

And there, parked right at the entrance like a crown jewel, was a midnight blue Rolls-Royce with tinted windows and the Lycan Royal crest on the hood.

The Prince was here.

My stomach tightened. I'd heard rumors about the Lycan King's search for his missing elite warriors, but I'd assumed they'd given up years ago. Assumed I'd covered my tracks well enough.

Maybe I'd assumed wrong.

I parked my beat-up Honda in the back lot, between two pickup trucks that belonged to Delta wolves. The walk to the entrance felt longer than usual, my worn flats crunching on gravel while my mind raced through contingencies.

The main doors stood open, golden light spilling onto the stone steps. Music drifted out—something classical and pretentious that Mrs. Phillips probably chose. I could hear laughter, the clink of glasses, the low rumble of conversation.

I climbed the steps.

Two Delta wolves flanked the entrance, checking invitations. They saw me and smirked.

"Look who decided to show up," the one on the left said. Marcus, I think his name was. "Surprised you had the nerve, Freya. Everyone knows what's coming."

I kept my eyes down. Submissive. Meek. "I'm Colin's mate. I belong here."

"For now," the other one—James—laughed. "Enjoy it while it lasts, wolfless."

I walked past them without responding. Valkyrie snarled, wanting to rip their throats out for the disrespect, but I pushed her down. Not yet. Not yet.

The entrance hall was packed. Wolves in formal wear clustered in groups, drinking champagne and gossiping. I recognized most of them—pack members I'd served food to, cleaned up after, smiled at while they looked through me like I was furniture.

I kept to the edges, heading toward the main ballroom where the ceremony would take place. The crowd parted around me, not because they were making way, but because no one wanted to stand too close to the wolfless Omega.

Then I passed the VIP security detail.

They stood near the ballroom entrance, three massive wolves in dark suits with the Lycan Royal insignia on their lapels. Professional. Alert. Dangerous.

The one in the center—the head of security—went rigid as I walked by.

His nostrils flared. His eyes narrowed. He turned his head, tracking my movement with the focus of a trained killer.

I felt his confusion like a physical thing, pressing against my suppressed aura. He was trying to reconcile what he saw—a weak, wolfless woman—with what his instincts were screaming at him.

Something's wrong. Something doesn't match.

I kept walking, my heart hammering against my ribs. The necklace burned hotter, working overtime to mask whatever he'd sensed.

Behind me, I heard him murmur something into his radio. Low. Urgent.

Valkyrie laughed. *They know. They know something's off.*

"Good," I whispered, stepping into the ballroom where Colin stood on the raised platform, his new Beta sash gleaming under the chandeliers.

Let them wonder.

Let them all wonder.

Because in a few minutes, they'd have their answer.

The ballroom was a sea of silk and diamonds.

I stepped through the archway, and the noise hit me first—laughter, clinking glasses, the rustle of expensive fabric. Chandeliers dripped crystal light across polished marble floors. The air smelled like champagne and wolf musk, that particular blend of dominance and territory that made my skin crawl.

Colin stood on the raised platform at the far end, surrounded by admirers. His Beta sash caught the light every time he moved, and he moved a lot, gesturing broadly as he told some story that had the crowd hanging on his words. Probably about the rogue territory he'd "cleared" last month.

The one I'd actually cleared while he slept.

I kept to the wall, heading toward the refreshment tables where I could blend into the background. Just a few more hours. Just until he made his move.

"Freya!"

Mrs. Phillips' voice cut through the music like a blade.

I turned. She was gliding toward me, a crystal wine glass in each hand, her emerald dress shimmering with every step. Behind her, a cluster of high-ranking she-wolves watched with predatory interest—Luna Harrison, Gamma Chen's mate, and two others I didn't recognize.

"There you are," Mrs. Phillips said, her smile sharp enough to draw blood. "We were just talking about you."

Valkyrie stirred. *Careful.*

I kept my expression neutral. "Mrs. Phillips."

"I was telling the ladies about your... condition." She gestured vaguely at me with one of the wine glasses. "How brave you are, attending despite being wolfless. It must be so difficult, being surrounded by all this power you'll never have."

The she-wolves tittered.

Luna Harrison leaned in, her voice dripping false sympathy. "It's admirable, really. Most wolves in your position would have left the pack by now. Found somewhere more... suitable."

"Colin is my mate," I said quietly. "I belong here."

"For now," one of the others murmured.

Mrs. Phillips stepped closer, and I saw it coming a split second before it happened. The slight shift in her weight. The angle of her foot. The way her hand tilted the wine glass just so.

She stumbled forward, her heel catching on absolutely nothing, and I moved on instinct—reaching out to steady her.

Big mistake.

The wine glass tipped, and suddenly I was drowning in red. Cold liquid splashed across my chest, soaking through the grey fabric, dripping down my arms. The smell of expensive Merlot filled my nose.

The she-wolves gasped in perfect, rehearsed unison.

"Oh no!" Mrs. Phillips pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with fake horror. "I'm so sorry, Freya! How clumsy of me!"

Laughter rippled through the nearby crowd. Heads turned. Conversations stopped.

I stood there, wine dripping from my chin, staining my dress a deep crimson that looked almost like blood. The fabric clung to my skin, cold and wet and humiliating.

Mrs. Phillips dabbed at my shoulder with a cocktail napkin, her touch deliberately rough. "You poor thing. That dress was already so worn, and now it's completely ruined. What a shame."

More laughter.

Valkyrie roared. *Kill her. Kill her now.*

I wiped a drop of wine from my cheek. Slowly. Deliberately.

Then I looked at Mrs. Phillips.

I didn't say anything. Didn't need to. I just looked at her, my expression completely blank, and watched the color drain from her face.

Something in my eyes must have shown through. Something that made her take an involuntary step back, her smile faltering.

The laughter died.

"Excuse me," I said softly.

I turned and walked away, leaving a trail of red droplets on the white marble.

The crowd parted. No one spoke. I could feel their eyes on my back, confused by whatever they'd just witnessed.

I found a shadowed alcove near the balcony doors, partially hidden by a marble column. My hands were steady as I pulled a handkerchief from my small purse and dabbed at the worst of the stains. The dress was ruined, but that didn't matter. Nothing about this dress mattered.

The necklace burned against my throat, working overtime to suppress the rage flooding through my system.

"Interesting."

The voice came from above.

I looked up. The balcony overlooked the ballroom, and standing at the railing was a man I'd only seen in photographs. Tall. Dark hair. Eyes like molten gold. The Lycan Prince wore a perfectly tailored black suit, and even from this distance, his aura pressed down on the room like a physical weight.

He was looking directly at me.

Not at the wine-stained dress. Not at my bowed head or submissive posture.

At my stance.

I realized with a jolt that I'd positioned myself wrong. My feet were shoulder-width apart, weight balanced, hands loose at my sides. Ready to move. Ready to fight.

A warrior's stance.

The Prince tilted his head slightly, and a small smile played at the corner of his mouth. He raised one hand, and a massive wolf in a dark suit materialized beside him—his Gamma, probably.

The Prince leaned in, whispered something, and the Gamma's eyes locked onto me.

Valkyrie laughed, wild and reckless. *They see you.*

I forced myself to slouch, to round my shoulders, to look small and defeated. But it was too late.

The Prince knew.

And across the ballroom, Colin stepped up to the microphone, his voice booming through the speakers.

"Thank you all for coming tonight. I have an important announcement to make."

My heart didn't race. It went cold and steady, like ice forming over still water.

Showtime.