Anya POV

The elevator ride to the Alpha's floor felt like an ascent to the gallows. When the steel doors slid open, the silence of the corridor hit me harder than a physical blow. The air up here was different—thinner, colder, and saturated with a power that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up.

I clutched my purse to my chest, my knuckles white, and forced my legs to move. The thick, dark carpet swallowed the sound of my footsteps, making me feel like a ghost haunting a place I had no right to be.

Standing guard outside the double mahogany doors of Room 1501 was a man I recognized only from company newsletters. Heath Jacobson, the Alpha's Beta. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over a chest that looked like it was carved from granite.

He straightened as I approached, his expression shifting from boredom to a guarded alertness.

"Ms. Carroll," he said, his voice low and devoid of warmth. He didn't ask how I got up here; he just stepped in front of the door, a human barricade. "You shouldn't be here."

"I know," I breathed, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. "Please, Mr. Jacobson. I left something inside. The Shadow Creek files. It's... it's a matter of life and death for my career."

Heath looked down at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. There was no pity in his gaze, only the calculation of a man whose sole job was to protect his leader. "The Alpha is not to be disturbed. Especially not by you. Not tonight."

"I just need the folder," I pleaded, desperation clawing at my throat. "I don't even need to see him. If you could just—"

Suddenly, Heath went rigid. His eyes glazed over, staring at something I couldn't see. The air around him seemed to vibrate. He was Mind-Linking.

A chill ran down my spine. Declan.

A moment later, Heath blinked, the connection severed. He looked at me with a new, unsettling expression—something between confusion and wary respect. He stepped aside, gesturing to the door.

"The Alpha will see you now."

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I reached for the handle, my hand shaking, and pushed the door open.

The scent hit me instantly.

It was a storm trapped in a bottle—ozone, wet pine, and deep, dark earth. It was heavy, cloying, and terrifyingly masculine. It wrapped around me, pulling me in, making my knees weak.

Declan was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to me. He had discarded his suit jacket, and his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the cuffs, sleeves rolled up to reveal powerful forearms.

"I... I didn't mean to intrude," I stammered, staying close to the door, ready to bolt. "I just need the blue folder I left. Then I'll disappear."

Declan turned slowly. His golden eyes locked onto mine, and I felt the weight of his gaze press down on me, pinning me to the spot. He didn't look angry. He looked... hungry. Like a predator toying with a wounded rabbit.

He took a step toward me, the movement fluid and predatory.

"A folder?" His voice was a low rumble that vibrated in my chest. "From which night are you referring to? The one where a wolfless girl thought she could summon her Alpha to her bed and then scurry away like a frightened mouse?"

The shame burned my cheeks, hot and stinging. He was twisting the knife, using my own actions to flay me open.

"I was drunk," I whispered, unable to meet his intense stare. "I... I sent that text by mistake. I don't remember anything that happened after. I'm sorry."

"You don't remember," he repeated, his tone unreadable. He stopped just a few feet away from me. The proximity was suffocating. "How convenient."

"Please, Sir. Just give me the file."

He ignored my request entirely. He walked past me to the wet bar, the casual dismissal stinging more than his words. He poured a glass of water, the sound of liquid hitting crystal echoing in the silent room.

"My investigators tell me your mother, Marie, has been on the transplant waiting list for three years," he said, his back to me again. "Congestive heart failure. Stage four. She doesn't have much time left, does she?"

I froze. The blood drained from my face. "Leave my mother out of this."

"The state insurance won't cover the specialist she needs," he continued, turning around to face me, the glass of water untouched in his hand. "But I can. I can have the best cardiac surgeon in the country fly in tonight. I can cover the surgery, the recovery, the medication. Everything."

My breath hitched. Hope, cruel and sharp, pierced through my fear. "Why? Why would you do that?"

Declan set the glass down on the counter with a deliberate clink. He looked at me with a cold, terrifying resolve.

"Because I need something from you."

He walked toward me until he was looming over me, his scent overwhelming my senses. He leaned down, his golden eyes burning into my soul.

"Marry me."

I stared at him, my mouth falling open. The words made no sense. "What?"

"You heard me," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, like he was closing a business deal. "I need a wife. You need your mother to live. We can be at the courthouse tomorrow morning."

The room spun. This wasn't a proposal. It was a trap. A golden, deadly trap set by a King who held my mother's life in one hand and my freedom in the other.

Anya POV

The air in the penthouse suite seemed to solidify, pressing against my lungs until I could barely draw a breath. Marry him? The absurdity of it clawed at my throat. He was the Alpha King of the business world, a predator at the top of the food chain, and I was... nothing. A wolfless nobody.

Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the haze of his overwhelming scent. I couldn't do this. I couldn't be a pawn in his games, a placeholder for the woman everyone knew he truly wanted.

"I can't," I blurted out, the words tumbling over each other. My hands clenched into fists at my sides. "I... I have a boyfriend."

The temperature in the room plummeted instantly.

Declan didn't move, but the atmosphere around him shifted violently. The scent of wet pine and ozone spiked, turning acrid and freezing, like a blizzard tearing through a forest. His golden eyes darkened, the pupils dilating until they were almost entirely black.

He took a step closer, invading my personal space with terrifying ease. "Who?"

The single word was a command, heavy with Alpha authority. It vibrated in my bones.

My mind went blank. I had no boyfriend. I had no one. But I couldn't let him know that. I couldn't let him see how pathetic and available I truly was. I opened my mouth, but no name came out. My silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Declan let out a dark, humorless scoff. The sound was sharp enough to cut glass.

"Lying to an Alpha is a dangerous game, Ms. Carroll," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, rumbling with a threat that made my knees tremble. "Especially to me."

He turned away abruptly, the loss of his intense focus leaving me feeling strangely cold. He walked to the desk, snatched up a thick document, and tossed it onto the coffee table in front of me. It landed with a heavy thud.

"You have until tomorrow morning to end it with him. Whoever he is," he said, his back to me. His tone was final, brooking no argument. "Sign this, and your mother lives. Now get out."

I grabbed the folder, my fingers shaking uncontrollably, and fled.

The heavy mahogany door clicked shut behind me, but the silence of the corridor offered no sanctuary. I leaned against the wall, trying to steady my racing heart, clutching the contract to my chest like a shield.

"There you are!"

The harsh voice made me jump. I looked up to see Dannie Hill, my manager, storming down the hallway. His face was flushed with anger, his tie loosened as if he'd been pulling at it in frustration.

"Mr. Hill," I stammered, pushing off the wall. "I was just—"

"I don't care what you were doing!" Dannie spat, stopping inches from me. He reeked of stale coffee and nervous sweat. "You've caused enough trouble tonight. Where are the Shadow Creek files? I need to salvage this disaster before the Alpha decides to fire the whole department because of your incompetence."

"They... they're inside," I whispered, glancing nervously at the door to Room 1501. "I left them on the table."

"Useless," Dannie hissed. He reached out and grabbed my upper arm, his fingers digging into my flesh painfully. "You little bitch, don't play games with me! You're going back in there to get them, or I swear I'll make sure you never work in this city again."

"Let go!" I cried out, trying to wrench my arm free, but his grip was iron-tight.

Suddenly, a sound tore through the air—a low, guttural growl that seemed to vibrate through the very walls of the hotel. It didn't sound human. It was the sound of a beast disturbed, a predator protecting its territory.

"Take. Your. Hands. Off. Her."

The voice came from behind the double doors, muffled but undeniable. It wasn't a shout; it was a death sentence spoken in a whisper. The sheer power behind those words hit us like a physical wave.

Dannie froze. The color drained from his face instantly, leaving him ashen. He released my arm as if I were burning hot, stumbling back so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet. He looked at the closed door with sheer terror in his eyes, then at me, confusion warring with fear.

Without another word, he turned and scrambled down the hallway, disappearing into the elevator.

I stood alone in the corridor, rubbing my throbbing arm. My heart was hammering against my ribs. Declan had heard. He had intervened. But why? He had just threatened to ruin me, yet he wouldn't let another man touch me?

Confusion swirled in my head as I made my way out of the hotel and back to my reality.

Thirty minutes later, I was sitting on the edge of the sagging mattress in my cheap temporary room. The neon sign outside flickered, casting long, dancing shadows across the peeling wallpaper. The contract lay on the bed next to me, ominous and heavy.

I dialed Camryn's number. I needed to hear a friendly voice. I needed someone to tell me I wasn't crazy.

"Anya? Oh my Goddess, are you okay?" Camryn's voice was high with worry. "I heard Dannie was on a rampage."

"I'm... I'm alive," I said, my voice cracking. I didn't tell her about the growl. I didn't tell her about the Mate pull I felt, or the way his scent made my empty soul ache. I just told her about the deal. The surgery for the marriage.

There was a long silence on the other end. Then, Camryn let out a sharp breath.

"Anya, listen to me," she said, her tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He's an Alpha. They don't do anything without a strategy. He's probably doing this to secure a placeholder before he officially announces his union with Kristin Larsen! Think about it. The Alpha King's daughter? That's a political match made in heaven. He needs a wife now to secure some asset or law, but he can't marry her yet. You'll be a secret, a nobody! You can't sign it!"

Her words hit me like a bucket of ice water.

A placeholder.

Of course. It made perfect sense. Why else would a man like Declan Blackwood want a wolfless girl like me? I wasn't his chosen one; I was a convenience. A temporary fix until the real Queen arrived.

"I know, Cam," I whispered, tears pricking my eyes. "I know."

I hung up the phone and stared at the contract. Then, my gaze drifted to the lock screen of my phone—a picture of my mother, smiling in a hospital garden before the sickness took her light away.

Declan Blackwood was a monster. He was trapping me in a loveless, sham marriage while he waited for his true Luna. But as I looked at my mother's face, I realized the trap had already snapped shut. The only question left was how much of myself I would lose before he finally let me go.

Anya POV

The neon sign outside my window buzzed like a dying insect, casting intermittent red stripes across the contract lying on the bed. It stared at me, a paper beast waiting to devour my freedom. A placeholder. The word echoed in my mind, bitter and sharp.

I was just reaching for my phone to delete Declan's number when the screen lit up. It wasn't him. It was the hospital.

My stomach dropped to the floor. It was past midnight. Hospitals didn't call at this hour for good news.

"Miss Carroll?" The voice on the other end was clipped, urgent. "This is the ICU nurse at Pack General. You need to come. Now."

The drive was a blur of panic and blurred streetlights. When I burst through the double doors of the Intensive Care Unit, the smell hit me first—antiseptic, stale air, and the metallic tang of impending death.

I found her behind a glass wall. My mother, Marie, looked so small in the hospital bed, her skin the color of parchment. Tubes snaked out of her like vines, and the rhythmic beeping of the monitor was the only thing proving she was still with me.

"Anya."

I spun around. Dr. Evans stood there, his expression grim. He was a Beta, kind but efficient, and right now, he couldn't look me in the eye.

"What happened?" I choked out, pressing my hand against the cold glass. "She was stable yesterday."

"Her heart is failing, Anya. Rapidly," Dr. Evans said, his voice low. He glanced at his clipboard, a frown creasing his forehead. "We've been trying to manage it with medication, but... looking at her charts, it seems the dosage she's been receiving over the last month wasn't the high-grade synthesizer we prescribed. It was a generic substitute."

My blood ran cold. "Substitute? But the Pack insurance covers the best..."

"Someone authorized a switch to a cheaper alternative," he interrupted gently, though his eyes held a flicker of anger. "It wasn't effective. The damage is done. She won't last the week without a transplant."

The world tilted on its axis. "A transplant? Okay. Put her on the list. Please."

Dr. Evans sighed, the sound heavy with pity. "Because she is human and not Pack-born, she is Tier 3 on the donor list. The only way to bypass the wait and secure a heart immediately is through the private sector. We have a specialist in Switzerland, but the cost..." He hesitated. "It's one million dollars. Upfront."

One million dollars.

The number hung in the air, absurd and terrifying. It might as well have been a billion. I was a waitress. A wolfless nobody living in a motel.

"I... I don't have that kind of money," I whispered, my voice trembling.

"I'm sorry, Anya," Dr. Evans said softly. "I wish there was another way."

He left me standing in the hallway, the silence of the hospital pressing against my eardrums. I felt like I was drowning.

With shaking fingers, I dialed the only person I had left.

"Anya?" Camryn answered on the first ring, her voice thick with sleep. "What's wrong?"

"It's Mom," I sobbed, sliding down the wall until I hit the cold linoleum floor. I curled into a ball, hiding my face in my knees. "She needs a heart. Now. It costs a million dollars, Cam. A million."

There was a stunned silence on the other end. Then, I heard the rustling of sheets.

"Okay. Okay, listen to me," Camryn said, her voice fierce and desperate. "I have savings. My grandmother left me some bonds. It's about twenty thousand. I can transfer it to you right now. Maybe we can get a loan for the rest? Maybe the Pack will—"

"Twenty thousand," I repeated, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in my throat. Tears streamed down my face, hot and stinging. "Cam, that's... that's everything you have."

"I don't care! Take it!"

"It's not enough," I whispered, the fight draining out of me. "It's not even close."

"Anya..." Camryn's voice broke. "Am I supposed to just accept this? Is this the Moon Goddess's punishment for being wolfless? For being us?"

Her question hung in the air, unanswered. The unfairness of it all choked me. We were good people. We worked hard. But in this world, power was the only currency that mattered. And I was bankrupt.

"Keep your money, Cam," I said, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. My voice sounded strange to my own ears—hollow, dead. "I know what I have to do."

"Anya, don't—"

I hung up before she could finish.

Slowly, I stood up. My legs felt heavy, but my mind was suddenly, terrifyingly clear. The tears had stopped. There was no room for grief anymore, only survival.

I looked through the glass one last time at my mother's fragile chest rising and falling. One million dollars.

Declan Blackwood had offered me a deal. I had thought it was a trap, a cage for a placeholder wife. But looking at my mother, I realized it wasn't a trap. It was a lifeline.

I turned away from the ICU and walked toward the exit. The automatic doors slid open, revealing the city skyline. In the distance, the penthouse of the Blackwood Hotel pierced the night sky like a dark obelisk.

I wasn't going there to negotiate. I was going there to surrender.