The auction hall fell into a tense silence after Logan's threat hung in the air. I clutched my paddle tightly, knuckles white, as whispers rippled through the crowd. The Moon Stone had been whisked away, presumably to be delivered to me later—a small victory that felt increasingly hollow as Logan's eyes burned into mine.

Without another word, he turned and strode from the hall, his powerful shoulders rigid with fury. Milana followed, her designer heels clicking sharply against the marble floor, her face a mask of indignation.

I released a shaky breath, unsure if I should feel relieved or terrified by their departure. The Omega beside me shifted uncomfortably.

"You shouldn't have bid against her," she whispered, not unkindly. "His chosen mate."

"He's my fated mate," I murmured back, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

She shook her head, eyes wide with warning. "Not anymore, I think."

I had no chance to respond before the auction hall doors slammed open. Logan returned, his expression carved from ice. But this time, he wasn't alone. Beta Marcus Reed followed close behind, carrying a thick leather folder.

"Mr. Marshall!" Vincent, the auctioneer, stepped forward with a practiced smile. "Is there something else you'd like to contribute to our evening?"

Logan's lips curved into a smile that never reached his eyes. "Indeed." He took the folder from Marcus and held it aloft. "The Marshall Pack's most classified training secrets. Defensive formations. Offensive strategies. Patrol schedules. Everything our rivals would pay millions to know."

Gasps echoed through the hall. Such information was sacred to packs—their very survival depended on it.

"Sunny wants to play with pack resources," Logan continued, his voice carrying effortlessly through the stunned silence. "Let's see how she handles the consequences when these secrets are sold to the Northern Pack. Or perhaps the River Valley wolves would pay well to know our vulnerabilities."

My blood ran cold. The Marshall Pack had been my home for years. These secrets weren't just Logan's—they belonged to everyone who lived under his protection.

"Logan, please," I began, rising from my seat.

He silenced me with a single look. "You've made your choice, Omega. Now face it."

Vincent cleared his throat nervously. "Mr. Marshall, this is highly irregular—"

"Irregular?" Logan's laugh was sharp as broken glass. "Like an Omega outbidding an Alpha's chosen mate for a sacred artifact?"

He thrust the folder into Vincent's hands. "Start the bidding at one dollar."

As Vincent reluctantly took the folder, Logan turned to Marcus. "Execute the transfer immediately."

Marcus nodded, pulling out his phone. "Yes, Alpha."

"What transfer?" I asked, my voice barely audible over the growing murmurs.

Logan's smile widened. "Our mating ceremony assets, of course. The sacred ceremonial grounds reservation. The Luna coronation crown commissioned from the Southern metalsmiths. The alliance gifts from the neighboring packs." He ticked them off on his fingers. "All to be auctioned as individual lots."

The room spun around me. Our ceremony—the one he'd agreed to out of duty, at least—was to be dismantled piece by piece before the entire werewolf community.

"You can't," I whispered, though I knew he could. As Alpha, he controlled all pack resources.

"Watch me," he replied coldly.

One by one, Marcus announced the items. The ceremonial grounds reservation—sold to the River Pack for a fraction of its value. The Luna crown—purchased by a wealthy Beta's mate from across the territory. Each item stripped away another piece of what should have been my future.

I sank back into my seat, the weight of humiliation pressing down on me like a physical force. Around me, pack members averted their eyes, some with pity, others with thinly veiled satisfaction.

But Logan wasn't finished.

He disappeared again, returning minutes later with something that made my heart stop.

My mother's ceremonial urn.

The polished clay vessel, painted with the symbols of her lineage, contained all that remained of her after the fire that claimed her life. I'd kept it in my small apartment, in the place of honor it deserved.

"Logan," I breathed, rising to my feet. "No."

He placed it gently on the auction table, his movements deliberately slow. "Since you want to bid on sacred items, Sunny," he said, his voice dripping with false sweetness, "perhaps you'd like to bid on this instead."

Vincent stared at the urn, horror dawning on his face. "Alpha Marshall, this is—"

"Rogue trash," Logan cut him off, his eyes never leaving mine. "Bidding starts at one dollar."

The entire hall erupted in shocked gasps. Even Milana looked unsettled, her perfectly manicured hand rising to cover her mouth.

I stood frozen, my heart pounding so hard I feared it might burst through my chest. The medication in my pocket felt suddenly inadequate for the pain spreading through me.

"One dollar," I heard myself say, my voice coming from somewhere far away.

Logan's eyes gleamed with triumph. "Going once," he called, "for the ashes of a rogue."

The entire werewolf community watched as my mother's remains were offered up like trinkets, and I had no choice but to fight for them with the last shreds of my dignity.

"One dollar," I repeated, my voice barely a whisper as Logan placed my mother's urn on the auction table. The polished clay vessel gleamed under the chandelier light, the intricate patterns of her lineage—patterns I'd traced with my fingertips countless times—now displayed like trinkets for strangers to appraise.

The bidding began immediately.

"Five dollars," called a Beta from the Eastern Pack.

"Ten dollars," countered another.

Each bid felt like a knife twisting in my chest. My mother—reduced to a commodity, her remains treated with less respect than the decorative vases that had sold earlier.

"Fifty dollars," Milana's voice rang out, her red paddle flashing in the air.

I fumbled in my pocket, fingers closing around my medication bottle. My heart was racing, each beat more painful than the last. I needed to take my pill before—

"Two hundred dollars," I managed, raising my paddle with trembling hands.

Logan's eyes narrowed. "Going once..."

The room began to spin slightly. I popped open the medication bottle, tipping one of the small white pills into my palm.

"For the ashes of a rogue," Logan continued, his voice cutting through the murmurs, "going twice..."

I raised the pill to my lips, but before I could swallow it, a shadow fell across me. Milana's expensive perfume enveloped me as she stepped into the Omega section, her smile predatory.

"Such a shame," she said loudly enough for nearby wolves to hear. "Poor little Omega can't even afford to honor her mother properly."

She moved closer, her designer heels clicking against the floor. "What was she anyway? A rogue who couldn't even keep her mate? A failure who died alone?"

My vision blurred at the edges as my heart stuttered painfully. "Please," I whispered, "I need my medication."

Milana's gaze dropped to the pill cupped in my palm. Her smile widened as she deliberately placed her heel on my hand and pressed down.

"Oops," she said with mock innocence as my fingers splayed open, the precious pill rolling across the floor.

I gasped, trying to reach for it, but Milana increased the pressure, grinding her heel into my knuckles. Pain shot up my arm as tears sprang to my eyes.

"You know what's pathetic?" she continued, leaning down so only I could hear her next words. "A weak, worthless Omega who can't even protect what matters most."

Around us, pack members snickered and whispered. Some recorded the humiliation on their phones. Others looked away, unwilling to intervene.

"Let go," I pleaded, my chest tightening dangerously.

"Make me," Milana whispered back, applying more pressure.

I tried to pull away, but my strength was fading as my heart condition worsened. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision.

"Five hundred dollars," I gasped, raising my paddle with my free hand.

Logan's expression darkened. He nodded to two warriors standing nearby. "Restrain her."

The warriors moved with practiced efficiency, one grabbing my raised arm while the other twisted the paddle from my grasp.

"She has no right to participate in pack business," Logan announced to the room. "An Omega bidding on pack assets is against our laws."

"She's bidding on her own mother!" someone called from the back.

Logan's eyes flashed dangerously. "Silence!"

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a bundle of folded papers—letters, I realized with horror. My mother's letters. The ones I'd kept hidden in my apartment, her private words to me.

"Since we're discussing rogues," Logan said coldly, "let's examine what kind of woman she really was."

He unfolded one letter, his eyes scanning its contents. Then, with deliberate slowness, he held it over a candle on the auction table.

"No," I whispered, struggling against the warriors' grip.

The paper caught fire instantly, curling and blackening as Logan dropped it onto an empty plate.

"Such pathetic devotion to a rogue's life," he mocked, unfolding another letter. "Listen to this: 'My dearest Sunny, I dream of the day we'll be free from this pack's cruelty.'"

Tears streamed down my face as he burned letter after letter, each flame consuming my mother's words to me—her hopes, her fears, her love.

"Stop," I begged, my voice breaking. "Please stop."

But Logan continued methodically, his Alpha aura pulsing with cold satisfaction as he destroyed the last physical connection I had to my mother.

The room filled with the acrid smell of burning paper and the sound of my broken sobs as the warriors held me immobile, forced to watch as my past turned to ash before the entire werewolf community.