Financial Freeze

Elena POV:

The boardroom of Barron Logistics was conditioned to a temperature that kept humans alert and wolves on edge. My father, Alpha Marcus Barron, sat at the head of the mahogany table.

"You want to cancel the engagement?" he asked, rubbing his temples. "Elena, the elders expect this union. Damien is the strongest warrior we have."

"Strength without loyalty is a threat, Father," I said. "He is sleeping with Eve. He admitted he only wants me for the title."

My father sighed. "Males have... urges. Once the Mating Mark is placed, he will settle down."

"He is not my Mate," I stated. "I feel no Spark. If I let him mark me, I will be tied to a man who despises me."

Father looked at me, eyes softening. He knew the lore. A forced mark without the Fated connection resulted in a weak union.

"What do you propose?" he asked.

"I propose we stop funding his rebellion," I said. I pulled out my tablet. "Damien and the other six adopted wards—they act as Eve's personal guard. They spend pack funds on her clothes, jewelry, and... supplements."

"Supplements?"

"Chemicals," I said. "I am freezing their accounts. All of them. Effective immediately."

My father hesitated, then nodded. "You are the heir. If you wish to wield the whip, be ready for the backlash."

"I am ready."

I executed the command. Within seconds, the notifications would hit their phones.

I left the office and headed toward the main staircase of the manor. As expected, the backlash was immediate.

Damien stormed through the front door, Eve trailing behind him. The other six brothers flanked them.

"What did you do?" Damien shouted, waving his phone. "Card declined? At the pharmacy? Eve needs her medicine!"

"Medicine?" I stood at the top of the stairs. "You mean the scent masker she uses to confuse your senses? Or the suppressants she takes to hide the fact that she isn't an Omega?"

"She fell!" Damien roared.

On cue, Eve stumbled. It was theatrical. She grasped the banister, let out a soft cry, and crumpled to the floor.

"Eve!" The seven men rushed to her.

Damien looked up at me, eyes flashing red. "You did this! You stressed her out!"

"She tripped over her own lies," I said.

"Enough!" Damien bellowed.

He unleashed the Alpha Tone.

It slammed into me like a physical blow. A wave of dominance demanding submission. Using it on a high-ranking female was a grave insult.

My knees buckled. Midnight howled in protest.

“Stand up!” she screamed. “Do not let him see you weak!”

I gripped the railing, knuckles white, forcing my legs to straighten.

"You... used the Tone on me," I whispered.

I remembered years ago, when my father had forced a young Damien to submit. Damien had sworn he would never use such force on a pack member.

Now, he used it to defend a liar.

"Fix the accounts, Elena," Damien snarled, turning to carry Eve away. "Or you will regret it."

"The accounts stay frozen," I called out. "And Damien? You just declared war on your future Alpha."

He didn't look back.

The Sabotaged Shift

Elena POV:

I needed to run.

Politics and heartbreak were suffocating me. Usually, I would Shift, but I was still recovering from the residual pressure of Damien's Alpha Tone.

So, I chose riding.

I saddled Storm, a massive grey stallion only I could handle. The training ring was empty. I mounted, feeling the familiar rhythm clear my head. I urged him into a gallop.

Faster, Midnight urged. Outrun the stench of them.

I pushed Storm harder toward a high wooden oxer.

"Up, boy!" I commanded.

Storm launched. He was perfect.

Then, a sharp snap echoed through the arena.

The girth strap gave way.

Gravity vanished. The saddle slid sideways mid-air. I fell, hard.

I hit the sand with a sickening crunch. My left leg twisted at an unnatural angle. Pain, white and blinding, exploded up my thigh.

"Aggh!" I screamed.

Storm bolted. I lay there, gasping. My vision blurred. I tried to call upon my healing factor, but the pain wasn't fading. It was searing, burning like fire.

I looked down. A piece of the saddle equipment had pierced my breeches.

Silver.

A silver buckle, sharpened to a point, was embedded in my thigh.

"Help!" I grit my teeth, trying to Mind-Link. Father! Anyone!

The Mind-Link was static. Jammed.

The stable doors creaked open.

I looked up through the haze, expecting a stable hand. Instead, I saw Damien.

He was leaning against the doorframe, checking his watch. He didn't rush.

"Damien..." I gasped. "Help me. The saddle..."

He walked over slowly. His face was a mask of mock concern.

"Elena? My god, what happened?"

He crouched down, but he didn't reach for the first aid kit. He just looked at the wound.

"My leg..." I choked out. "It's silver."

"Looks painful," Damien said, his voice devoid of real empathy. "I told you that tack was getting old. You really should be more careful with your equipment."

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead. His touch made my skin crawl. Up close, I smelled it on his fingers—leather polish and the faint, metallic scent of silver filings.

"I'll go call the medics," he said, standing up leisurely. "Don't go anywhere."

He didn't run. He walked. Taking his time.

"Why?" I whispered to his retreating back.

He paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder with a cold smirk.

"Maybe a few weeks in bed will remind you who protects this pack, Elena. You're vulnerable alone."

He walked out, leaving me writhing in the sand.

I closed my eyes, focusing on the pain. I wouldn't beg. I would take this agony, this burning fire in my leg, and I would forge it into a weapon.

The Auction of Honor

Elena POV:

Three days later, I walked into the Grand Ballroom, leaning heavily on a cane.

The silver wound had closed, but the limp remained. Tonight was the Annual Charity Auction.

I wore a dress of deep crimson silk, high-necked to cover bruises, with a slit revealing my bandaged leg. I wore my injury like a badge of war.

"Elena," a soft voice spoke beside me.

Javier, the pack Beta. He held a glass of champagne, eyes scanning the room nervously.

"You shouldn't be walking on that leg," Javier said.

"I'm fine, Javier."

"Damien is here," Javier warned. "And he brought her."

I looked across the room. Damien was in a tuxedo. Eve was clinging to his arm, wearing a white dress that looked suspiciously like a wedding gown.

The auction began. Items came and went.

Then, the auctioneer unveiled the centerpiece.

"Lot number 45. The 'Tears of the Ocean'."

A necklace of blue diamonds and moonstones. A symbol of the ultimate Luna.

"Bidding starts at five hundred thousand," the auctioneer announced.

"Six hundred," I said.

"Seven hundred!" Damien's voice rang out.

I turned. He was grinning at me.

"Eight hundred," I countered.

"One million!" Damien shouted.

The crowd gasped.

"One point two," I said.

"Two million!" Damien yelled. He was manic. He wanted to buy the symbol of my birthright for his mistress.

I raised my paddle. "Two point five."

"Three million!" Damien roared.

I paused. I lowered my paddle.

"Sold to Mr. Damien Paul for three million dollars!"

Damien smirked, puffing out his chest. He walked to the stage, Eve trailing behind him like a excited puppy. He pulled out a black card—not his personal one, but the Emergency Tactical Reserve card.

"Put it on this," Damien told the clerk loudly. "Pack security expense."

He shot me a look of triumph. He thought he'd outsmarted me. He thought I'd only frozen his personal accounts.

The clerk swiped it. Frowned. Swiped it again.

"I'm sorry, sir," the clerk said into the microphone, his voice echoing through the silent hall. "This card has been flagged. 'Unauthorized Access'."

Damien froze. "That's impossible. Try it again."

"It's frozen, sir. By order of the CFO, Miss Barron."

I smiled from across the room. I had audited the tactical funds that morning.

"It seems the Head Warrior is insolvent," I said, my voice carrying clearly.

Damien looked at Eve. She was reaching for the necklace, but the clerk pulled it back.

"I'll pay later!" Damien shouted, sweat beading on his forehead. "I am the future Alpha!"

"Cash or credit now, sir," the clerk said firmly. "Next bidder?"

"I'll take it," I said, raising my hand. "For two point five. Since the previous bidder defaulted."

The auctioneer nodded. "Sold to Miss Elena Barron."

I walked to the stage, handed over my personal card—which cleared instantly—and took the box.

I looked at Damien and Eve.

"You can't afford the price of leadership, Damien," I whispered. "Or the jewelry."