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.