Sarah POV:

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Marcus asked, checking his reflection in the rearview mirror of the SUV.

"I need to be useful," I said softly, smoothing the skirt of my dress. It hung loosely on my frame; I had lost ten pounds in three days. "If I'm going to be... just a wife, I should focus on charity."

We were parked outside the pack orphanage. It was a grim brick building on the edge of the territory, usually underfunded. But today, Marcus was strangely eager to visit.

He reached into the back seat and pulled out a box. It was a limited edition mecha-robot, the kind that cost more than an Omega's yearly salary.

"A donation?" I asked innocently.

"Just something to brighten a kid's day," he said dismissively.

We walked inside. The scent of bleach and boiled cabbage hit me—or rather, the ghost of the scent. My human-like nose was pathetic compared to what I was used to.

The matron hurried over, bowing low to Marcus. "Alpha! We weren't expecting you."

"Just a casual visit," Marcus said, his eyes scanning the room.

Then, a blur of motion shot across the linoleum floor.

"Daddy!"

A small boy, about three years old, slammed into Marcus's legs.

The room went silent. The matron looked terrified.

Marcus froze for a second, then laughed nervously, peeling the child off his leg. "Well, aren't you a friendly one."

I looked at the boy. He was the spitting image of the photos in the safe. Dark hair, dark eyes, the same arrogant tilt of the chin.

Even without my wolf senses, the biological connection was screaming. In the werewolf world, a pup's scent is a mix of their mother and father. It is an undeniable signature.

"What's your name?" I asked, crouching down.

The boy sneered at me. "Oliver. And who are you? You look burnt."

"Oliver!" A woman's voice cut through the air.

Rachel stepped out from the back office. She wasn't wearing the gray uniform of the orphanage staff. She was wearing a silk blouse and tight jeans, dripping in gold jewelry.

"I'm so sorry, Alpha," Rachel cooed, walking over and placing a possessive hand on the boy's shoulder. "He's just spirited. He loves strong wolves." She glanced at me with veiled contempt. "He doesn't like... weakness."

"He's charming," I said, standing up. My legs felt weak. "Marcus, why don't you go with Miss...?"

"Rachel," she supplied.

"With Miss Rachel and Oliver to check the facilities? I need to sit down for a moment. The drive made me dizzy."

"Of course," Marcus said, looking relieved to get away from my scrutiny. He handed the expensive toy to Oliver. "Here, buddy. Let's go look at the playroom."

They walked away, a perfect little family unit.

I waited until they turned the corner, then I slipped into the hallway adjacent to the playroom. I couldn't hear whispers anymore, but the walls here were thin plasterboard. I pressed my ear against the surface.

"...she looks hideous," Rachel's voice came through, muffled but audible. "That scar on her neck? Disgusting."

"It serves a purpose," Marcus's voice replied. "It keeps her insecure. She won't leave me if she thinks no one else will want her."

"Why didn't you just kill her?" Rachel whined. "I want to be Luna now. The ceremony is in two days."

"We have to be smart, Rachel. If she dies suspiciously right after the fire, the Council investigates. If she 'steps down' because of her injuries and tragic loss of her wolf, I look like the benevolent Alpha caring for a cripple, and you step in as the mother of my heir."

"Look at this!" Rachel exclaimed. "I got a Moonlight Healing Crystal from the market. Should we use it on her? Maybe fix her face so she's at least presentable for the photos?"

"Don't waste it," Marcus scoffed. "Those crystals are rare. Keep it for Oliver. Sarah doesn't need healing. She needs to stay exactly as she is—broken."

"Mommy, tell the ugly lady to go away," Oliver's voice piped up.

"Soon, baby. Soon she'll be living in the servants' quarters where she belongs."

I pulled away from the wall. My hands were shaking, but not from fear this time. From rage.

He would rather see me scarred for life than waste a crystal on me. He was already planning to move me to the servants' quarters.

I walked back to the entrance hall.

When they returned ten minutes later, I was sitting on the bench, smiling.

"Did you have a nice tour?" I asked.

"Very informative," Marcus said. He looked flushed, happy.

"I think we should sponsor little Oliver," I said, looking directly at Rachel. "He seems... special. Don't you think, Marcus? He has your eyes."

Marcus paled. Rachel narrowed her eyes, trying to gauge if I knew.

"Yes," Marcus stammered. "Yes, maybe."

"Great," I said, standing up. "Let's go home. I have so much to prepare for the ceremony."

Prepare to burn it all down, I thought.

Sarah POV:

The "Charity Gala" was being held on the pack's private river cruise ship. It was a display of wealth and power, intended to show the neighboring packs that the Darkmoon Pack was thriving despite the recent "tragedy" of the future Luna.

I stood on the upper deck, gripping the railing. The wind whipped my hair across my face, stinging my eyes.

Below, on the main deck, the party was in full swing. Crystal chandeliers tinkled in the breeze. Waiters circulated with champagne.

Marcus was in the center of the crowd, holding a glass of wine. Rachel was beside him, not as a date—that would be too obvious—but as the "organizer." She wore a red dress that was cut low enough to be scandalous.

I saw Marcus tap his glass with a spoon. The music stopped.

"Friends, family," Marcus boomed, his Alpha voice projecting effortlessly. "Tonight is about the future. And speaking of the future..."

He gestured to the side. Oliver, dressed in a miniature tuxedo, ran out.

The crowd murmured.

"This young man," Marcus said, placing a hand on the boy's head, "has shown incredible potential. Tonight, I am bestowing upon him the Young Wolf's Dagger."

He pulled a ceremonial dagger from a velvet cloth. It was an ancient artifact, traditionally given only to the Alpha's direct heir.

The crowd gasped. Giving this to an orphan? It was a declaration of intent so loud it shattered eardrums.

I turned away. I reached into my purse and pulled out a small bundle of letters. They were the love letters Marcus had written me when we were teenagers. Before the power corrupted him. Before Rachel.

I flicked my lighter. The flame danced in the wind.

I held the corner of the paper to the fire. It caught instantly. I watched the ink curl and blacken, the promises of "forever" turning to ash. I let them go, watching the burning embers drift down into the dark water of the river.

"Dramatic, aren't we?"

I spun around.

Rachel stood there. But before I could speak, her body contorted. Bones cracked and reshaped. In seconds, a reddish-brown wolf stood on the deck.

She didn't shift fully—just enough to be terrifying. She stood on her hind legs, towering over me, her claws extended.

"No wolf," she growled, her human voice distorted by her shifting vocal cords. "Wolfless freak."

She shoved me.

I stumbled back, hitting the railing. Without my wolf's strength, I was frail. My head cracked against the metal.

"You don't belong here," she hissed, stepping closer. She grabbed my arm, her claws digging into the burn scars.

I cried out. The pain was blinding.

"Marcus doesn't want you," she sneered. "He pities you. You're just a placeholder until the ceremony is over."

"At least I didn't have to trap him with a lie," I spat back, adrenaline giving me courage.

Rachel roared. She swiped at me, her claws tearing the sleeve of my dress.

Then, hearing footsteps on the stairs, she suddenly threw herself backward.

She slammed into the railing and flipped over it, clinging to the edge with one hand, screaming.

"Help! She's crazy! She's trying to kill me!"

Marcus burst onto the deck, followed by a dozen guests.

He saw me standing there, breathing hard, my dress torn. He saw Rachel dangling over the dark water.

"Sarah!" he roared.

He didn't ask what happened. He didn't look at my bleeding arm.

He rushed past me and hauled Rachel up. She collapsed into his arms, shifting back to human form, naked and shivering, sobbing theatrically.

"She tried to push me," Rachel wailed, burying her face in his chest. "She said I was trying to steal you!"

Marcus turned to me. His eyes were glowing red—the sign of an enraged Alpha.

"Is this true?" he demanded.

"No," I said calmly. "She attacked me."

"Liar!" Rachel screamed. "Look at her! She's jealous! She's insane!"

Marcus took a step toward me. The air grew heavy.

"SUBMIT!"

He used the Alpha Voice.

It hit me like a physical blow. My knees buckled. I collapsed onto the hard deck, my forehead slamming against the wood. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. The command forced me into a posture of total submission.

It was the ultimate humiliation. An Alpha using the Voice on his injured, wolfless mate in front of strangers.

"You are a disgrace," Marcus spat, looking down at me with pure disgust. "Get her out of my sight. Lock her in her room until the ceremony."

Two guards grabbed my arms and dragged me away.

I didn't fight. I didn't cry.

As they dragged me down the stairs, I looked back at Marcus comforting Rachel.

Two days, I told myself. Just survive.

Sarah POV:

The cold, damp air of the underground cell pierced my lungs like shattered glass. I doubled over, my chest heaving as a violent fit of coughing wracked my broken body. Warm, metallic-tasting blood slid down my chin and dripped onto the unforgiving concrete floor. The tight walls of the windowless room seemed to press inward, suffocating me. My heart hammered against my ribs in a frantic rhythm. It was the same panic I felt twenty years ago, trapped in the crushed metal of my parents' car for ten agonizing hours.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. I heard the low, muffled voices of the guards. Then came the harsh grinding of metal on metal as a heavy key turned in the rusted lock.

The heavy iron door swung open. A blinding beam of harsh fluorescent light sliced through the pitch-black cell. I instinctively squinted, throwing my bruised arm over my face to block the sudden glare.

*Click. Clack. Click. Clack.*

The sharp, arrogant rhythm of expensive stiletto heels struck the concrete. It was the walk of a victor coming to gloat.

I slowly lowered my arm. My vision adjusted to the light, and my pupils contracted at the sight before me.

Rachel stood directly in the center of the light halo. She was wearing a dress. Not just any dress. It was the custom haute couture wedding gown that Parisian artisans had spent six months hand-stitching for me.

The pure white fabric, encrusted with crushed diamonds, looked entirely out of place in this filthy, blood-stained dungeon. The long, luxurious train dragged across the dusty floor, picking up the grime.

Rachel grabbed the sides of the silk skirt with both hands and did a slow, mocking twirl right in front of me. The heavy silk rustled loudly in the quiet room.

She looked down at me, her eyes filled with a sick sense of superiority. I was curled up on the freezing floor, covered in dirt and my own blood. She let out a soft, mocking laugh that grated against my ears.

I forced myself to swallow the thick blood pooling in my throat. I kept my face entirely blank, staring up at her with cold, dead eyes. I shifted my weight slightly, pulling my knees closer to my chest in a defensive posture.

Rachel didn't like my silence. She took a step forward. The sharp, needle-like heel of her custom shoe came down hard on my exposed right hand.

I sucked in a sharp breath through my teeth. Agonizing pain shot up my arm as the heel ground into my knuckles. I felt the bones bending, right on the verge of snapping. But I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted fresh blood. I didn't make a single sound. I learned that lesson the hard way in the foster homes after my parents died. Predators only bite harder when they hear their prey scream.

Rachel leaned down. Her face was inches from mine. A cheap, overpowering floral perfume assaulted my nose, completely masking her natural scent. She studied my pale, sweating face with deep satisfaction.

"Do you like it?" she asked, her voice dripping with a sickening sweetness. "Marcus spent all of last night leaving his Alpha scent all over this dress. He couldn't keep his hands off me."

Hearing his name sent a sharp, violent spasm through the deepest part of my chest. The mate bond I still shared with him pulled tight, cutting into my soul. But I didn't let the pain reach my eyes. My gaze only grew colder.

I used the pressure on my crushed hand as a distraction. I subtly shifted the angle of my left arm, sliding it closer to my body. Hidden deep inside the long sleeve of my torn shirt was a micro-recording device. I angled it directly toward her voice.

Rachel frowned, clearly annoyed that I wasn't sobbing or begging. She decided to drop her heaviest weapon.

She lifted her foot off my mangled hand and crouched down to my eye level. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, Sarah... that mountain road accident ten years ago. The one that left you a pathetic little orphan."

My breathing stopped completely. An imaginary heart monitor flatlined in my brain, screaming a high-pitched warning. I snapped my head up and locked my eyes onto hers.

Rachel saw my reaction. A wide, psychotic smile spread across her face. She let out a burst of joyful, manic laughter.

"Yes, that look!" she giggled. "It was me. I made a deal with the rogue wolves. I paid them to cut the brake lines on your parents' car."

My fingernails dug so deeply into my palms that crescent-shaped cuts opened up, bleeding freely. My inner wolf clawed at my ribcage, roaring for blood. I wanted to rip her throat out with my teeth. I used every ounce of willpower I possessed to keep my body completely still.

"And the best part?" Rachel leaned in closer, her breath hot against my cheek. "Marcus's parents knew. They got the warning about the rogues. But they wanted your family's mining territory. So, they just looked the other way and let them die."

My left thumb moved a fraction of an inch in the darkness of my sleeve. I pressed the tiny, concealed button.

A microscopic vibration buzzed against my wrist. The device was recording. It captured every single filthy syllable bouncing off the concrete walls.

Suddenly, I let go of my anger. The tension drained from my shoulders. I looked at Rachel not with hatred, but with the empty, hollow stare of someone looking at a walking corpse.

Rachel stopped talking. Her smile faltered. She shifted uncomfortably, shivering slightly as my dead gaze bored into her. The silence in the room suddenly felt heavy and dangerous.

A sharp whistle echoed from the corridor outside. It was the guards' signal. A high-ranking pack member was approaching the cell block.

Panic flashed across Rachel's face. She scrambled to her feet, clumsily gathering the massive skirt of the wedding dress in her arms. She looked like a guilty thief as she practically sprinted out of the cell, her heels clicking frantically against the floor.

The heavy iron door slammed shut. The lock engaged with a loud clank. Total darkness consumed the room once again.

I leaned my head back against the freezing concrete wall. I gently touched the warm metal device hidden in my sleeve. Outside the door, the steady, authoritative sound of leather dress shoes approached my cell.

"Since you all want me dead, let's see whose funeral it actually is tomorrow."