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.

Alpha Marcus Stone stepped onto the platform, and the ballroom fell silent.

He was everything an Alpha should be—broad-shouldered, commanding, with silver threading through his dark hair that only added to his authority. His presence alone made the crowd straighten, conversations dying mid-sentence.

"Tonight," he began, his voice carrying effortlessly across the marble and crystal, "we gather to honor one of our own. A wolf who has shown remarkable growth, tactical genius, and unwavering dedication to this pack."

I stood in the shadows near the back wall, my fingers finding the clasp of my necklace. The silver burned against my skin, but I didn't let go. Not yet.

"Three years ago," Alpha Marcus continued, "Colin Phillips was a struggling Delta with potential but no direction. Today, he stands before us as a warrior who has single-handedly cleared three rogue territories, eliminated countless threats, and brought honor to the Silvermoon Pack."

Valkyrie snarled in my mind. *Lies. All lies.*

I watched Colin on the platform, standing tall in his ceremonial sash, his chest puffed out like he actually believed the words being spoken about him. Maybe he did. Maybe he'd told the lies so many times that they'd become his truth.

"It is my honor," Alpha Marcus said, placing a hand on Colin's shoulder, "to officially promote Colin Phillips to the rank of Pack Beta."

The crowd erupted. Applause thundered through the ballroom, glasses raised in celebration. I saw Mrs. Phillips in the front row, dabbing at her eyes with a silk handkerchief, playing the proud mother to perfection.

Colin stepped forward to accept the microphone, and the applause grew louder.

My fingers tightened on the necklace clasp.

"Thank you, Alpha Stone," Colin said, his voice steady and confident. "Thank you all for your faith in me. I know my rise has been... unexpected. But I've worked hard for this moment."

Worked hard. The words tasted like ash in my mouth.

"I want to share something with you tonight," Colin continued, pulling a small remote from his pocket. "Something that proves why I deserve this position."

He clicked the remote, and the massive screen behind him flickered to life.

My breath caught.

Ironclaw's face filled the screen—that distinctive scar running from his left eye to his jaw, the one I'd photographed less than forty-eight hours ago. The image was grainy, pulled from some database, but unmistakable.

"Two nights ago," Colin said, his voice dropping to something dramatic, "I tracked the Rogue General known as Ironclaw to an abandoned warehouse on the eastern border. He'd been terrorizing smaller packs for months, killing without mercy."

The crowd leaned forward, captivated.

Valkyrie's rage was a living thing now, clawing at my chest. *Stop him. Stop him now.*

But I didn't move. I needed to hear this. Needed to know exactly how far he'd go.

"The battle was brutal," Colin continued, pacing the platform like he was reliving it. "Ironclaw was massive—nearly three meters in his wolf form. His claws caught me here—" He gestured to his ribs, the exact spot where Ironclaw had actually caught me. "But I didn't back down. I couldn't. Not when our pack's safety was at stake."

He paused for effect, and the silence was absolute.

"I shifted fully, met him head-on, and after what felt like hours..." Colin's voice rose. "I tore his head from his shoulders with my bare hands."

The crowd exploded. Cheers, howls, stamping feet. Someone started chanting Colin's name, and others joined in until the ballroom shook with it.

I stood frozen, watching my kill—my fifty-thousand-dollar bounty, my three-hour hunt in the rain—being claimed by a man who'd been sleeping peacefully in our bed while I bled in the mud.

Then I saw her.

Azalea Stone stood in the front row, her elegant gown shimmering under the lights. She was looking up at Colin with something that made my stomach turn.

Admiration. Pure, genuine admiration.

Her eyes shone with it, her lips parted slightly like she was seeing a hero for the first time. This was the mate she'd been promised—strong, brave, protective. Everything a Beta should be.

She turned, scanning the crowd, and her gaze found me in the shadows.

Pity.

That's what I saw in her face. Not contempt or cruelty, but pity. Like she was looking at a wounded animal that needed to be put out of its misery.

She believed it. She believed every word Mrs. Phillips had fed her about me being a burden, a weak link, a wolfless waste holding back this "hero."

The necklace clasp dug into my palm.

Colin was still talking, describing details of a fight he'd never been in, using words like "savage" and "relentless" and "victory." The crowd ate it up, their new Beta, their champion.

And I stood in the back, wearing a wine-stained dress, watching the man I'd sacrificed everything for steal my glory and call it his own.

Valkyrie's voice was ice. *Enough?*

"Not yet," I whispered.

But my fingers found the clasp of the necklace and held it there, ready.

Because I knew what came next. I'd heard it in the pantry, heard the plan.

The rejection.

And when Colin opened his mouth to cast me aside in front of all these people, in front of the Lycan Prince watching from above, in front of Azalea Stone with her pitying eyes...

That's when I'd show them all what a real hero looked like.