Amiyah POV

The shutter clicked for the final time, signaling the end of the shoot. The studio crew let out a collective breath they seemed to have been holding for hours. Jadyn Ramsey, however, didn't rush to the changing room. Instead, he bounded off the set, grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat from his neck as he made a beeline for me.

"Dinner," Jadyn announced, his amber eyes sparkling with an intensity that made several female assistants swoon. "You. Me. The finest steakhouse in the city. My treat. Consider it a tiny down payment on the life debt I owe you."

The murmurs in the room ceased. Everyone, including a seething Ingrid, watched with bated breath. A Beta heir from a powerful Pack asking a lowly assistant out? It was unheard of.

I closed the file in my hands with a sharp snap. "I'm afraid I have to decline, Mr. Ramsey. My shift isn't over, and I have a mountain of paperwork waiting on the executive floor."

Jadyn’s face fell, resembling a kicked puppy. "Come on, Amiyah. You're not seriously going to choose filing papers over a reunion with your favorite... well, acquaintance?" He lowered his voice, glancing around. "Is your Pack in trouble? Is that why you're working here? I can help. Redstone has resources—"

"I am fine, Jadyn," I cut him off gently but firmly. "And I am here because I choose to be. Now, if you'll excuse me."

I turned on my heel, expecting him to leave. Instead, he flopped onto a plush sofa in the waiting area, crossing his long legs.

"Fine," he declared, flashing a charming grin at the stunned room. "I'll wait. Even the Alpha's assistant has to eat eventually."

Ignoring the whispers that erupted behind me like wildfire, I marched back to the elevator.

*

The atmosphere on the executive floor was suffocating. The moment I stepped out of the elevator, I felt the tension radiating from the Alpha's office. The glass walls seemed to vibrate with suppressed energy.

I had just sat down at my desk when the door to Grayson’s office flew open.

Grayson Wilder stormed out. His jaw was set so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek, and his scent—ozone and dark, brooding cedar—rolled off him in waves of agitation. He looked like a man who had just lost a wrestling match with a ghost.

He stopped in front of my desk, his shadow looming over me.

"Get your things," he commanded, his voice rough. "We're going out for dinner."

I blinked, looking up at him. "Excuse me? I have the quarterly reports to finish, and—"

"That wasn't a request, Amiyah." His eyes flashed, a swirl of gold bleeding into the dark iris. It wasn't desire; it was the frustration of a man forced into a corner. "My grandfather... insists. We are to be seen in public. Together. Now."

I realized then that this wasn't his idea. Elder Douglas must have pulled the leash. My Inner Wolf bristled at his tone, but I knew better than to argue with an Alpha whose pride was already bruised.

"Fine," I said, standing up and smoothing my skirt. "Lead the way."

*

The restaurant was dimly lit, smelling of expensive wine and truffle oil. It was the kind of place where deals were made and secrets were whispered. But as the maître d' led us to our reserved table, I saw a familiar figure rise from a booth near the window.

Grayson stopped dead in his tracks. A low, menacing growl rumbled in his chest, audible only to those with enhanced hearing.

"What is *he* doing here?" Grayson hissed.

Jadyn stood there, looking entirely too pleased with himself. He had evidently charmed the location out of the receptionist back at the office.

"Wilder," Jadyn nodded, his tone lacking the deference usually shown to an Alpha. He turned his beaming smile to me. "I told you I'd wait."

The dinner was a disaster from the start. The air around our table was thick enough to choke on. Grayson sat in stony silence, radiating a cold fury that kept the waiters trembling. Jadyn, conversely, seemed determined to poke the bear.

"So," Jadyn said, swirling his wine glass. "How long do you intend to keep her locked up in that glass tower, Grayson? She's a warrior, not a secretary."

"She is my fiancée," Grayson snapped, his hand clenching around his fork. "And her position is none of your concern, Beta."

I sighed, placing my napkin on my lap. "It's a three-month engagement, Jadyn. A contract. Nothing more."

I said it to diffuse the tension, to remind Jadyn that I wasn't trapped. But the words seemed to have the opposite effect on Grayson. His scent spiked, sharp and acrid.

Jadyn laughed, a sound of genuine relief. "Three months? Thank the Goddess. You deserve better than a man who treats his Pack like a corporation and his mate like an acquisition." He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Grayson's. "You're boring, Wilder. And cold. You have no idea what fire you're trying to dampen."

Grayson leaned in, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Careful, Ramsey. The Redstone Pack is currently negotiating for the southern territories. It would be a shame if those talks... collapsed."

The threat hung in the air. Jadyn’s smile vanished. But instead of backing down, he looked at Grayson with something akin to pity.

"You think you can bully everyone into submission," Jadyn said quietly. "But you have no idea who you're sitting across from. You're disrespecting a wolf of the Holloway bloodline. If her grandfather knew how you treated her..."

Grayson frowned, confusion flickering in his eyes. "Holloway? The Silvermoon family? She's from a no-name pack in the boonies."

"Believe what you want," Jadyn said, standing up. He threw a stack of cash on the table. "I've lost my appetite."

*

We left moments later. The walk to the valet stand was silent, but the air crackled with electricity.

"Amiyah!"

Jadyn caught up to us on the sidewalk. Before I could react, he pulled me into a tight hug. It was warm, smelling of sunshine and cut grass—a scent of safety from my past.

"Call me if you need anything," he whispered into my hair. "Anything at all."

I pulled back and patted his cheek, a gesture I used to do when he was a scrawny teenager. "Go home, Jadyn. Drive safe."

I didn't see Grayson move. I just felt the sudden, violent displacement of air.

A hand clamped around my upper arm, iron-hard and possessive. Grayson yanked me away from Jadyn, practically shoving me toward his waiting SUV.

"Get in," he snarled.

He slammed the door behind me and stormed to the driver's side. As soon as he was inside, the confined space was instantly flooded with his scent—overwhelming cedar, leather, and a burning, primal rage.

He didn't start the car. Instead, he turned on me, his eyes glowing with the full force of his Alpha power.

"Is that it?" he roared, the sound vibrating through the chassis of the car. "Is that why you look at me with nothing but ice in your eyes? Because you've already chosen *him*?"

"Grayson, you're being ridiculous—"

"Don't lie to me!" He leaned across the console, invading my space, inhaling deeply near my neck where Jadyn had hugged me. His lip curled in disgust. "You let him touch you. You let him leave his scent on you like a common stray marking a lamppost! Do you have no concept of your duty as my future Luna?"

My own wolf snarled in my head, hating the submission his Alpha tone tried to force on me. But beneath his anger, I sensed something else—something raw and terrified that he was trying desperately to bury under his rage.

"Duty?" I spat back. "Or property rights?"

The engine roared to life as he stomped on the gas, peeling away from the curb with a screech of tires that mirrored the scream of frustration in the air between us.

Amiyah POV

The silence inside the SUV was heavier than the steel chassis surrounding us. Grayson drove like a man possessed, his knuckles white against the leather steering wheel, the speedometer climbing to dangerous heights. But it wasn't the speed that made my *Inner Wolf* pace anxiously in my mind; it was the suffocating density of his scent.

Burnt cedar and ozone filled the cabin, thick and cloying, choking out the air conditioning. It was the smell of an Alpha on the brink of violence.

"You smell like him," Grayson finally broke the silence, his voice a low, vibrating growl that seemed to rattle my very bones. He didn't look at me, his eyes fixed on the blurring road ahead. "Every time I breathe, I taste his pathetic, grassy scent on you. It’s nauseating."

I crossed my arms, staring out the window at the passing city lights. "It was a hug, Grayson. A goodbye. Jadyn is a friend."

"A friend doesn't rub his scent gland against your neck!" Grayson slammed his hand on the dashboard, making me jump. The car swerved slightly before he corrected it. "He was marking you. Staking a claim. And you stood there and let him disrespect me."

"Disrespect you?" I turned to him, incredulity sharpening my tone. "We have a contract, remember? Three months. That is the extent of your claim on me. You don't own me."

He slammed on the brakes as we reached a red light, turning his body toward me. The gold in his eyes was swirling violently, swallowing the human iris. The power of his *Alpha Command* pushed against my mental barriers, demanding submission, but my own bloodline—ancient and strong—held firm.

"You are my fiancée," he snarled, leaning into my personal space. "You wear my ring. You live in my house. To the world, you are mine."

"To the world," I countered, my voice drop-dead calm despite my racing heart. "But in private? You haven't marked me, Grayson. There is no bite on my neck. No bond in our minds. Until you put your mark on me, do not presume to dictate who I can hug."

His gaze dropped to the bare curve of my neck. For a second, the rage in his eyes faltered, replaced by a hunger so raw it made my breath hitch. His nostrils flared, inhaling deeply, and I knew he was trying to find *my* scent beneath Jadyn's. But then the light turned green, and the moment shattered. He faced forward, jaw clenched tight enough to snap steel, and floored the gas.

We didn't speak for the rest of the drive.

*

The Blackwood Pack's annual Unity Gala was in full swing by the time we arrived. The grand ballroom was a sea of silk dresses and tuxedos, the air vibrating with the chatter of the elite. Grayson abandoned me the moment we stepped through the double doors, storming off toward the bar without a backward glance.

Fine by me.

I made my way to the powder room to compose myself. The encounter in the car had left my nerves frayed. When I stepped back out into the plush, carpeted hallway, however, my path was blocked.

Kirsten Matthews leaned against the wall, swirling a glass of champagne. She was dressed in a gown that cost more than most wolves made in a year, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed. She looked me up and down with a sneer that didn't reach her cold, calculating eyes.

"You look lost, little wolf," she drawled. "The servant's entrance is around the back."

I moved to step around her, but she shifted, blocking me again. She reached into her clutch and pulled out a sleek, black credit card, holding it out between two manicured fingers.

"Let's cut the charade," Kirsten said, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "We both know you're just a gold digger from some backwater pack in the middle of nowhere. You're out of your depth, honey. Grayson needs a real Luna, someone with breeding and status. Not... whatever you are."

She pressed the card toward my chest. "There's ten million dollars on this account. Take it. Leave tonight. Go back to the boonies and buy yourself a nice little trailer."

I looked at the card, then up at her face. The sheer audacity was almost impressive.

"Ten million?" I repeated, a small, amused smile playing on my lips.

"It's more money than you'll ever see in a lifetime," she scoffed.

I laughed softly, a sound that made her frown deepen. "Kirsten, my grandfather gives me more than that for my birthday just to update my wardrobe. Keep your pocket money. You might need it to buy some class."

I brushed past her, leaving her standing there with her mouth agape, the black card dangling uselessly in her hand.

*

I re-entered the ballroom, head held high, only to run straight into another wall of hostility.

Georgiana Wilder, Grayson's mother and the former Luna, materialized from the crowd. She was a formidable woman, draped in diamonds that looked heavy enough to crush a lesser wolf. Her disapproval hit me like a physical wave.

"Where have you been?" she hissed, grabbing my elbow with a grip that was painful. "The Alpha is speaking with the Elders from the Northern Territories, and his mate is nowhere to be found."

"I was using the restroom, Georgiana," I said, gently but firmly removing my arm from her grasp.

"A proper future *Luna* stands behind her *Alpha*," she lectured, her eyes narrowing. "She does not wander off like a loose Omega looking for attention. You are embarrassing this family. Do you have any idea how much effort we are putting into making you look presentable?"

My *Inner Wolf* bristled. I was done being treated like a prop.

"I thought a Luna's duty was to build relationships for the Pack," I replied coolly, meeting her gaze without flinching. "Not just to stand there like a pretty decoration to stroke the Alpha's ego."

Georgiana’s face went rigid with shock. Before she could unleash her retort, the room's chatter suddenly died down. A spotlight swept across the floor, landing on the grand stage where a black grand piano sat gleaming under the lights.

Kirsten Matthews was walking up the stairs to the stage, a microphone in hand and a predatory smirk fixed on her face. Her eyes locked onto mine across the room, promising a humiliation far worse than a private bribe.

Amiyah POV

The spotlight clung to Kirsten Matthews like a second skin. She sat at the glossy black Steinway, her posture rigid with practiced perfection. As her fingers struck the keys, a complex classical piece filled the ballroom. It was technically flawless, every note hit with precision, but it was cold. It lacked the heartbeat of the wild, the sorrow of the moon. It was music played for applause, not for the soul.

When she finished, the room erupted in polite, socially mandated clapping. Kirsten stood up, basking in the attention, before turning the microphone toward me. Her smile was sharp enough to draw blood.

"That was a little piece I learned during my summer in Vienna," she purred, her voice amplified through the speakers. Her eyes locked onto mine, gleaming with malice. "But I'm sure our guest of honor has her own talents. Tell me, Amiyah, do they have pianos where you come from? Or do you stick to howling at the moon?"

A ripple of cruel laughter spread through the crowd. I saw Georgiana near the front, sipping her champagne with a satisfied smirk. She was enjoying this. She wanted me to crumble, to prove that I was nothing more than the dirt beneath her designer heels.

My *Inner Wolf* growled, pacing in the back of my mind. *Show them, Amiyah. Show them what a Queen looks like.*

"I know a tune or two," I said, my voice steady as I walked toward the stage. The crowd parted, their gazes heavy with judgment.

I climbed the stairs and sat on the bench. The keys were cool under my fingertips. I didn't need sheet music. The melody was etched into my bones, a lullaby my grandfather used to play in the halls of the Silvermoon Pack.

I closed my eyes and let my hands move.

The first chord was soft, a whisper of wind through ancient pines. Then, the music swelled. I played the same piece Kirsten had just butchered, but I poured my soul into it. The notes weren't just sounds; they were emotions—grief, power, the loneliness of a winter night, and the fierce, burning love of a mate.

The chatter in the room died instantly. The air grew heavy, charged with the raw power of my bloodline. I wasn't just playing a piano; I was singing to their wolves.

As the crescendo hit, I opened my eyes and looked straight into the crowd.

Grayson was standing near the bar, his glass halfway to his mouth. He had frozen. His golden eyes were wide, fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. The anger and disgust from earlier were gone, replaced by something darker, hungrier. He looked at me as if he were seeing me for the first time—not as a nuisance, but as a creature of myth.

I held his gaze as I played the final, haunting note. It hung in the silence for a long heartbeat before fading into nothingness.

For a second, no one moved. Then, the applause broke out—not polite, but thunderous. A few wolves even let out low, appreciative howls.

I stood up and smoothed my dress, offering a small, cool nod to a pale-faced Kirsten. "Vienna is nice," I said softly as I passed her. "But nothing beats a classical education."

I walked down the stairs, feeling the shift in the room. The mockery was gone, replaced by wary respect. But before I could disappear into the shadows, the heavy double doors of the ballroom swung open again.

The Master of Ceremonies cleared his throat, his voice trembling slightly.

"Distinguished guests," he announced. "Representing the Silvermoon Pack... Beta Elias Vance."

My heart stopped.

A hush fell over the room, deeper and more profound than before. The Silvermoon Pack was a legend, reclusive and terrifyingly powerful. They rarely left their territory.

A tall, broad-shouldered man strode into the room. Elias wore a charcoal suit that strained against his muscles, his presence commanding immediate submission from the lesser wolves. His scent—rainstorm and steel—washed over the room.

He was my grandfather's right hand. He was the man who taught me how to throw a knife.

Panic flared in my chest. If he bowed to me, if he called me by my title, my cover would be blown. I would no longer be Amiyah the nobody; I would be the heiress to the most powerful pack on the continent.

Elias’s sharp gaze swept the room. His eyes landed on me.

Time seemed to stretch. I held my breath, pleading silently with him. *Don't do it, Elias.*

His eyes lingered for a fraction of a second—a flicker of recognition, a silent check to ensure I was unharmed—and then he looked away. He walked straight past me, as if I were a stranger, and headed toward Grayson and Georgiana.

"Alpha Wilder," Elias’s deep voice boomed, extending a hand. "Alpha Holloway sends his regards. He regrets he could not attend personally."

Grayson shook his hand, looking both honored and wary. "We are humbled by your presence, Beta Vance."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. My secret was safe, for now. But as I watched them talk, I saw Kirsten Matthews edging closer to the circle, her eyes gleaming with a new, desperate scheme. She looked from Elias to the crowd, her expression shifting from humiliation to calculating ambition.

She had no idea she was about to walk into a lion's den.