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.

The applause faded like a dying echo.

Colin raised his hand, and the room went silent. That kind of instant obedience—it should have been earned through years of leadership, through blood and sacrifice. Instead, he'd bought it with my kills and worn it like a costume.

His expression shifted. Pained. Regretful. The face of a man about to do something difficult but necessary.

Valkyrie went still in my mind. Predator-still. Waiting.

"Before I take my oath," Colin said into the microphone, his voice carrying across the marble and crystal, "I need to address a household matter. Something I should have dealt with long ago."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. I saw heads turning, eyes searching.

"Freya," he said, looking directly at me in the shadows. "Come here."

Not a request. A command.

I stepped forward.

The crowd parted like water, creating a path straight to the platform. I felt their stares—curious, pitying, hungry for drama. Mrs. Phillips stood near the front, her hand pressed to her chest in mock concern. Azalea watched with those sympathetic eyes, probably thinking Colin was about to let me down gently.

I didn't shuffle. Didn't bow my head or round my shoulders.

I walked.

One foot in front of the other, my spine straight, my steps measured and precise. The wine-stained dress clung to my skin, but I wore it like armor. My fingers brushed the necklace clasp at my throat.

Not yet. Not yet.

I climbed the stairs. The platform felt smaller than it looked from below, the lights hotter. Colin stood at the center, microphone in hand, looking down at me with something that might have been triumph.

I stopped three feet away. Close enough to hear him breathe. Close enough to smell the cologne he'd bought with my money.

He leaned in, away from the microphone, his voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear. "Don't make a scene. Just accept it and go."

I looked up at him. Said nothing.

He straightened, turning back to the crowd, and his voice filled the ballroom again.

"Freya, you have been a burden on my potential for too long." He gestured at me like I was evidence in a trial. "A Beta needs a strong mate, not a wolfless charity case."

Gasps. Whispers. Someone in the back actually laughed.

Colin turned to face the audience, playing to them like an actor on stage. "For the good of the Silvermoon Pack, I must make a hard choice. A choice that will allow me to serve you all better."

My fingers found the clasp. The silver burned.

Valkyrie's voice was a purr. *Now?*

"Not yet," I breathed.

Colin's voice shifted, taking on that forced Alpha tone—the one he'd practiced in the mirror, the one that sounded like a child imitating his father. It pressed against the room, making lower-ranked wolves flinch.

"I, Colin Phillips, Beta of Silvermoon, reject you, Freya Wright, as my mate."

The words hit like physical blows. The mate bond—weak as it was, strained as it had been—screamed in protest. Pain lanced through my chest, sharp and cold.

But I'd felt worse. I'd taken claws to the ribs, teeth to the shoulder, silver bullets through the thigh.

This was nothing.

Colin wasn't done. He stepped closer, his voice rising with each word. "I reject your weakness. I reject your poverty. I reject you."

The crowd held its breath.

Mrs. Phillips dabbed at her eyes. Azalea looked away, unable to watch. Alpha Marcus stood off to the side, his expression carefully neutral.

And on the balcony above, the Lycan Prince leaned forward, his golden eyes fixed on me with laser focus.

Colin waited. Expecting tears, probably. Expecting me to crumble, to beg, to make it easy for him.

Instead, I laughed.

Not a sob. Not a bitter chuckle.

A real laugh, bright and clear, that echoed through the silent ballroom like breaking glass.

Colin's face went pale. "Freya—"

I reached up and unclasped the necklace.

The silver fell away from my throat, and the world exploded.

My aura hit the room like a shockwave. Pure, undiluted Alpha power that I'd been suppressing for three years, compressed and concentrated and furious. It rolled out in waves, crushing down on every wolf in the ballroom.

The Deltas at the doors dropped to their knees. The she-wolves who'd laughed at me gasped and stumbled. Even Beta Harrison, standing near the front, went rigid, his wolf recognizing a superior predator.

Colin staggered backward, his eyes wide, his mouth open in shock.

And I smiled.

"My turn."