The drive to The Moonlit Steakhouse was a blur of nausea and adrenaline. My body felt like it was being twisted on a rack, my bones grinding against each other as the Shift Fever peaked. But the rage... the rage was a cold, solid thing that kept me upright.

"Val, are you sure about this?" Lilian asked, her arm wrapped tightly around my waist to support me as we stumbled out of her car. "You're burning up. You should be in bed."

"I'm exactly where I need to be," I gritted out. The cool night air did nothing to soothe the fire under my skin.

The restaurant was the crown jewel of our pack's territory—a place of mahogany wood, crystal chandeliers, and prices that made most pack members weep. Keaton had told me for months that the pack budget was too tight for date nights. He told me we had to sacrifice.

I pushed through the heavy oak doors, Lilian struggling to keep pace with my feverish stride. The maître d' stepped forward to stop us, but one look at my glowing gold eyes made him freeze and step back, his head bowing instinctively.

The scent hit me first. Rosemary, garlic, and the rich, metallic tang of rare steak. It made my stomach cramp with hunger, a stark contrast to the cold, congealed broth sitting on my nightstand back home.

I didn't have to search for them. They were seated at the best table in the house, bathed in the soft, romantic glow of a private booth near the fireplace.

Keaton looked magnificent, I had to admit. He was wearing the charcoal suit I had bought him for his inauguration as Acting Alpha. But my eyes were drawn to Scarlet. She was giggling, leaning across the table with a fork in her hand. On the end of the fork was a piece of filet mignon, dripping with juice.

"Open wide, Alpha," she cooed, her voice carrying over the low hum of conversation.

Keaton leaned in, taking the bite from her hand, his eyes locked on hers. As he chewed, he didn't pull back. Instead, he leaned further, burying his nose into the curve of her neck. He inhaled deeply, his lips brushing the sensitive skin right over her scent gland.

A collective gasp went through the nearby tables. Nuzzling like that wasn't just flirting; it was a precursor to marking. It was an intimacy strictly reserved for mates.

"Keaton," I said. My voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the restaurant like a whip.

Keaton jerked back as if burned. Scarlet dropped her fork, the metal clattering loudly against the fine china.

"Valentina?" Keaton stood up, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. His expression wasn't one of guilt. It was annoyance. "What the hell are you doing here? Look at you—you're a mess."

I stood there, swaying slightly, my red dress clinging to my sweat-dampened skin. "You said you were on patrol. You said the rogues were active."

"This is pack business," Keaton snapped, puffing out his chest. "Scarlet has been... instrumental in organizing the archives. I'm rewarding her diligence."

"By nuzzling her neck?" I took a step forward, my hands balling into fists. "Is that standard protocol for assistants now?"

Keaton's eyes narrowed. He stepped around the table, putting himself between me and Scarlet. "You are hysterical, Valentina. The fever is messing with your head. You're making a scene and embarrassing me in front of the pack elders dining upstairs."

He deepened his voice, engaging his Alpha tone—a mimicry of authority he had practiced in the mirror for years. "**Submit, Valentina. Go home and wait for me.**"

The command slammed into me, designed to force my wolf to bare its throat. But instead of submission, something ancient and terrifying woke up inside my chest. My wolf didn't cower. She laughed.

*Submit to him?* she snarled in my mind. *He is nothing.*

The pressure inside me exploded outward. It wasn't a physical shift, but a wave of pure, suppressed Alpha aura.

*CRACK.*

The wine glass in Keaton's hand shattered.

Then the water glasses on their table. Then the carafe on the table next to them.

*SMASH. CRASH. TINK.*

The sound was deafening. Shards of glass rained down onto the white tablecloths. Patrons screamed and scrambled out of their chairs. The restaurant fell into a terrified silence.

Keaton stared at the bleeding cut on his palm, then at me, his eyes wide with shock. For a second, I saw fear. But it was quickly replaced by fury.

"You're unstable," he hissed, grabbing my upper arm. His grip was bruising. "Get outside. Now."

He dragged me toward the exit, his fingers digging into my flesh. Lilian tried to intervene, but Keaton shoved past her. He hauled me out onto the stone steps of the restaurant, away from the prying eyes of the pack.

"Have you lost your mind?" Keaton shouted, releasing me so hard I stumbled. "You could have hurt someone! This is exactly why you aren't ready to be Luna. You can't control yourself!"

"I can't control myself?" I laughed, a harsh, broken sound. "You're cheating on me on my birthday, Keaton!"

The heavy door opened behind us. Scarlet stepped out, looking perfectly composed. She stopped beside Keaton, placing a possessive hand on his forearm. She looked at me with a pity that made my blood boil.

"Oh, Miss Valentina," she sighed, shaking her head. "You really shouldn't be out in this condition. You look... contagious."

She took a step down the stairs, lifting the hem of her silk dress to avoid a puddle. The movement was deliberate. As the fabric rose, the light from the streetlamp caught the glint of silver around her ankle.

Time stopped.

It was a delicate chain of woven silver, adorned with a single charm: a crescent moon intertwined with a wolfsbane flower.

My breath hitched in my throat. That wasn't just jewelry. That was *my* grandmother's anklet. A Royal Lycan heirloom passed down through three generations of Bishop women. It had gone missing from my jewelry box two weeks ago. Keaton had told me I probably misplaced it because I was "clumsy."

"Where did you get that?" I whispered, pointing a trembling finger at her ankle.

Scarlet looked down, feigning surprise. She wiggled her foot, letting the silver catch the light again. "Oh, this? It was a gift. Alpha Keaton gave it to me just tonight. A little token of appreciation for all my... hard work."

She looked up at me, a smirk playing on her lips that Keaton couldn't see.

"He said it was too elegant for someone who spends all day in bed," she added softly.

I looked at Keaton. He didn't deny it. He didn't even look ashamed. He just crossed his arms, shielding his mistress and the stolen heirloom.

"It was collecting dust, Val," he said coldly. "At least Scarlet wears it well."

The last tether of my restraint snapped. The fever didn't matter anymore. The pain didn't matter. The only thing that existed was the absolute, crystal-clear realization that I was going to burn his entire world to the ground.

The drive back to the Pack House was silent, a suffocating vacuum where the air was thick with Keaton’s simmering rage. I sat in the passenger seat, my body radiating heat from the Shift Fever, but my mind was icy cold.

As soon as the heavy front doors clicked shut behind us, Keaton spun around. He didn't ask if I was okay. He didn't ask about the fever.

"You are hysterical," he spat, pacing the foyer floor like a caged animal. "Do you have any idea what you just did? Elder Thomas was upstairs! You shattered glassware like a feral rogue!"

I leaned against the wall to keep upright, the marble cool against my burning skin. "I shattered a glass because you were nuzzling your assistant's neck in public, Keaton."

"I was securing loyalty!" he roared, his voice bouncing off the high ceilings. He stepped into my personal space, looming over me with that borrowed Alpha authority I had bought for him. "Scarlet is vital to this pack. You, right now? You are a liability. You are jealous, ungrateful, and unstable."

Ungrateful. The word almost made me laugh. I had given him everything—my family's connections, my inheritance, my pride.

"I am your mate," I said, my voice low.

"Are you?" Keaton sneered, leaning down until his nose almost touched mine. "Because mates support their Alphas. They don't humiliate them. Listen to me closely, Valentina. Tomorrow, we are having a reconciliation lunch. You will apologize to Scarlet for ruining her business dinner. You will apologize to me for disrupting pack harmony."

He paused, letting the silence stretch before delivering the killing blow.

"If you don't," he whispered, his eyes dark and cruel, "then at the Pack Gathering on the full moon, I will publicly Reject you. I will cast you out, Valentina. And without my protection, a wolf who can't even shift is nothing."

The threat hung in the air, heavy and poisonous. He thought he held the power of rejection. He had no idea that the only thing keeping his rank was my silence.

***

The next morning, the fever had settled into a dull, throbbing ache in my marrow. I dressed slowly, choosing a simple black dress that felt like mourning clothes. If Keaton wanted a performance, I would give him one.

I walked into the private dining room, expecting a quiet meal. Instead, the table was set for a feast. Roast duck, truffled potatoes, and bottles of vintage wine covered the mahogany surface.

And there, sitting in the high-backed chair to the right of the head of the table—the Luna’s chair—was Scarlet.

She looked up as I entered, her eyes wide and mocking. She was wearing a cashmere sweater that looked suspiciously like one Keaton had claimed was "lost in the laundry" last month.

"Ah, Valentina," Keaton said, not bothering to stand. He gestured vaguely with his wine glass toward the far end of the table, near the door. "Sit. You're late."

I looked at the empty chair at the foot of the table. The position reserved for guests. Or subordinates.

I didn't argue. I walked to the end of the table and sat, the distance between us feeling like a canyon.

"Now that we are all here," Keaton announced, slicing into his duck with precise, aggressive movements. "We need to discuss the upcoming Full Moon Festival. Since you are obviously too... sickly to handle the stress, Valentina, I’ve decided to reassign the planning duties."

He smiled at Scarlet. "Scarlet will be taking over the Luna duties for the festival. She has the energy for it. And the temperament."

Scarlet beamed, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin. "I'm honored, Alpha. I've already got so many ideas for the decorations. Gold and crimson, I think."

She turned her gaze to me, her expression shifting into a mask of faux sympathy. "Don't worry, Miss Valentina. I know it must be hard for you, being so weak. Honestly, it’s for the best. Some wolves just aren't born to lead."

The silver fork in my hand bent under the pressure of my grip.

*Not born to lead.*

The irony was so sharp it drew blood. I looked at Keaton, who was watching me with expectant arrogance, waiting for me to bow my head and apologize as he had commanded.

My hand went to my throat. My fingers wrapped around the heavy silver pendant resting there—the Bishop family crest. The roaring lion entangled with ivy. It was the key to the vault. It was the symbol of the millions of dollars I had poured into this pack to fix their crumbling infrastructure, to buy their weapons, to feed their people.

It was the weight of my ancestors, hanging around my neck, choking me for the sake of a man who would replace me with a social climber in a stolen sweater.

"You're right, Scarlet," I said softly.

The room went quiet. Keaton smirked, thinking he had won.

"It is a heavy burden," I continued, my voice gaining strength, vibrating with the Alpha timbre I had suppressed for so long. "And it costs more than you could ever afford."

I yanked my hand down.

*SNAP.*

The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet room. The silver chain broke, biting into the skin of my neck, but I didn't feel the pain. I felt liberation.

I stood up, the heavy silver crest clenched in my fist. Scarlet looked confused. Keaton looked wary.

"Valentina, sit down," Keaton warned.

I walked the length of the table, my steps echoing on the floorboards. I stopped right behind Scarlet. She smelled like cheap vanilla and deceit.

"You want my place?" I asked, staring down at her.

I opened my hand and dropped the heavy silver crest directly into her bowl of steaming lobster bisque.

*SPLASH.*

Hot, orange soup exploded outward, coating Scarlet’s face, her hair, and the stolen cashmere sweater. She shrieked, jumping up and knocking her chair over.

"My face! You crazy bitch!" she screamed, clawing at the mess.

Keaton slammed his hands on the table, rising to his feet. "Valentina! Have you lost your mind?"

I didn't flinch. I felt lighter than I had in years. The fever in my blood was no longer a sickness; it was fuel.

"If you want my life so bad," I said, my voice cold and steady, "take the responsibility that comes with it. I'm done paying for your delusions."

I turned on my heel and walked out of the dining room, leaving the screams of the mistress and the roar of the false Alpha behind me.

The soup incident had bought me silence, but it hadn’t bought me safety.

Back in the guest room, the Shift Fever was no longer just a fire in my blood; it was a physical weight, crushing my lungs and making my bones ache with a deep, grinding throb. My wolf was scratching at the back of my mind, desperate to break free, but I couldn't let her out. Not yet. Not while I was surrounded by enemies in the very house I had paid for.

I needed a guard. A real one. Not the pack warriors who bowed to Keaton’s borrowed authority, and certainly not Keaton himself, who was likely plotting his next move with Scarlet over dry-cleaned cashmere.

I pulled a burner phone from the hidden compartment in my jewelry box. I had kept it for emergencies, a habit from my father’s paranoia. I dialed the number of a man the pack whispered about in terrified tones.

Twenty minutes later, a shadow detached itself from the hallway darkness.

Hugo Martinez didn't look like a wolf; he looked like a weapon carved from granite. He was a rogue mercenary, scarred and brutal, wearing worn leather and a scent that smelled of rain and old blood. He leaned against my doorframe, his dark eyes assessing my trembling form with zero pity.

"You look like hell, Princess," he rumbled.

I didn't have the energy for banter. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a velvet pouch. Inside were my diamond stud earrings—two carats each, flawless clarity. I tossed them to him.

"Guard the door," I rasped, leaning heavily against the dresser. "No one comes in. especially not the Alpha."

Hugo caught the pouch effortlessly. He peeked inside, a smirk tugging at his scarred lip. "Steep price for a babysitter. But for you? I’ll make an exception."

He stepped into the hallway, crossing his massive arms over his chest. He was a wall of muscle and menace, a stark contrast to the polished, soft-handed boys Keaton surrounded himself with.

It didn't take long for the peace to break.

"What is this filth doing in my Pack House?"

Keaton’s voice boomed down the corridor. I dragged myself to the doorway, needing to see this. Keaton was storming toward us, his face still flushed from the restaurant humiliation. Two Delta warriors trailed behind him, looking unsure.

Hugo didn't even uncross his arms. He just looked down at Keaton like he was a particularly noisy chihuahua.

"Move, rogue," Keaton spat, puffing out his chest to maximize his height. "You are trespassing on Silverfang territory."

"I was invited," Hugo drawled, his voice a low gravel that vibrated in the floorboards. "By the lady. She’s paying better than you do."

Keaton’s eyes snapped to me, narrowing with fury. "You hired a rogue? A murderer? Have you lost your mind, Valentina? Get him out of here before I have the warriors skin him!"

"He stays," I said, my voice weak but steady. "Since my fiancé is too busy feeding his mistress, I had to outsource my protection."

Keaton snarled, his control snapping. "I am the Alpha! I decide who stays!"

He threw a punch. It was fast, powered by his anger, aimed squarely at Hugo’s jaw.

It never connected.

Hugo moved with a speed that blurred the air. One hand shot out, catching Keaton’s fist mid-swing. The sound of flesh hitting flesh was a dull thud. Hugo didn't flinch. He didn't even shift his weight.

Keaton gasped, his eyes widening as he tried to yank his hand back. Hugo held him fast, twisting his wrist just enough to force Keaton onto his toes.

"Sloppy," Hugo tsked, shaking his head. "Too much weight on your front foot. Your center of gravity is all wrong."

Hugo shoved him back. Keaton stumbled, flailing to keep his balance before crashing into the opposite wall. The Delta warriors took a step forward, but Hugo flashed a feral grin, his canines lengthening. They froze.

"That's a Beta stance, 'Alpha'," Hugo mocked, dusting off his hands. "You fight like a secretary."

The silence that followed was absolute. The insult hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. To call an Alpha a Beta was the ultimate disrespect, but to have it proven so effortlessly... it was a castration.

Keaton’s face turned a violent shade of purple. He straightened his suit jacket, his hands shaking with impotent rage. He knew he couldn't win this fight. Not physically.

"You will regret this," Keaton hissed, pointing a trembling finger at me. "You think you can embarrass me? You think you can bring stray dogs into our home? I’ve called a meeting."

He smirked, regaining some of his slimy confidence. "My parents are on their way. And so are yours. Let’s see how high and mighty you act when Richard and Eleanor Bishop see what a mess their daughter has become."

He spun on his heel and marched away, barking at his warriors to follow.

Hugo looked back at me, raising an eyebrow. "Parents? That’s his big play?"

"He thinks he can shame me into submission," I whispered, a cold smile touching my lips. "He has no idea."

An hour later, the sound of engines drew me to the window. The fever was peaking, sweat drenching my back, but I refused to lay down.

Below, in the circular driveway, a silver Mercedes sedan pulled up. Keaton’s parents, Margaret and John Hayes, stepped out. Margaret was wearing a fur coat that was far too warm for the season, dripping in gold jewelry that looked gaudy in the afternoon sun. She looked around the grounds with a critical, hungry eye, as if calculating the property value.

Then, the atmosphere shifted.

The air grew heavy, static charging the space between the trees. The gravel crunched under the weight of heavy tires as a motorcade of three black, armored SUVs rolled through the gates. They moved in perfect formation, silent and predatory. There was no chrome, no flash. Just military-grade precision.

The lead vehicle stopped. The driver, a Lycan warrior twice the size of Keaton, stepped out and opened the rear door.

My father, Alpha Richard Bishop, emerged. He wore a simple black suit, but the power radiating off him was palpable even from the second floor. He didn't look at the house. He didn't look at the Hayes family, who were now staring with open mouths.

He looked up, straight at my window.

Even through the glass, I saw his eyes flash gold. Beside him, my mother, Luna Eleanor, stepped out, her expression carved from ice.

Keaton thought he had called my parents to scold a rebellious child. He didn't realize he had just summoned the executioners.