Adella POV

I woke up drowning. Not in water, but in the scent of him.

Crushed cedar, ozone, and the heavy, electric charge of a violent storm. It was everywhere—seeping into my pores, clinging to the sheets that tangled around my legs. I bolted upright, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

This wasn't my narrow cot in the servants' quarters of the Hyde estate. This was a bed large enough to sleep a small army, dressed in charcoal sheets that felt like spun silk. The room was vast, a cavern of glass and dark wood overlooking the city skyline, cold and aggressively masculine.

I looked down. I was wearing a black t-shirt that hung to my knees. It smelled like him. Dallas.

Panic, sharp and acidic, clawed at my throat. The memories of last night crashed into me like a tidal wave—the rejection, the library, the desperate plea in the car, the contract.

I own you.

I scrambled out of bed, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. On the sleek ebony nightstand, a stack of items awaited me. A set of clothes—my exact size, brand new. A matte black credit card with no limit. And a single sheet of heavy cream stationery with handwriting that was jagged and sharp.

Business in the North. Do not leave the city. Use the card.

- D

And next to the note, a velvet box.

My hands trembled as I opened it. Inside sat a platinum band, simple but thick, devoid of diamonds but radiating a terrifying weight. I slid it onto my left ring finger. It fit perfectly. It felt heavier than a shackle.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, startling me. I picked it up, the screen illuminating the dim room. A text from an unknown number.

"Legal documents filed. You are now the primary beneficiary of the Marshall Estate and under the protection of the Blackwood Pack. Do not make us regret this."

It was from his Beta. I sank onto the edge of the bed, the air in the penthouse suddenly feeling too thin. I had traded a life of servitude for a gilded cage. I was safe from the world, yes, but I was locked in with a monster.

The phone buzzed again. And again. A continuous, angry vibration.

I looked at the screen. Braydon Hyde (52 missed calls).

My stomach twisted. For years, seeing his name would have made me smile. Now, it just made me want to vomit. The phone rang again, his face flashing on the screen—a photo I had taken of us last summer, laughing in the sun.

"Leave me alone," I whispered to the empty room.

The ringing didn't stop. It was a demand. A summons. As if I were still his little wolfless pet, expected to come running the moment he whistled.

Rage, hot and unfamiliar, surged through me. He had humiliated me in front of the entire Pack. He had chosen Katherine. He had erased me. And now he dared to call?

With aggressive force, I swiped the decline button and immediately blocked the number. The silence that followed was deafening, but for the first time in twenty-four hours, I felt a tiny spark of control.

By the time I reached the university library, my nerves were frayed. I had dressed in the clothes Dallas left—dark jeans and a cashmere sweater that cost more than my life's earnings—hoping to blend in.

"Adella!"

I froze near the reference section. A blur of red hair and boundless energy intercepted me. Azalea Sterling.

She was stunning, with eyes the color of honey and a smile that could disarm a bomb. As the adopted daughter of the Alpha King, she was royalty here. And she was the only she-wolf who had ever treated me like a human being.

"Azalea," I managed, clutching my bag tighter. "I... I have to study."

"Screw studying," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. She cornered me against a bookshelf, her expression shifting from friendly to intense. "Why did my father just transfer an amount of money into your account that could buy a small island?"

My blood ran cold. Of course. She would know.

"I..." My mind raced. I couldn't tell her I was her new stepmother. The thought alone was insane. "I'm doing some translation work for him. Ancient texts. From the library archives."

Azalea narrowed her eyes, sniffing the air around me. I prayed the scent of her father on me had faded, or that she would mistake it for the 'work' I was doing.

"Translation work," she repeated, skeptical. "Dad doesn't read. He growls and signs things."

"It's very specialized," I lied, my voice shaking.

She stared at me for a long moment, then shrugged, the tension evaporating as quickly as it had come. "Whatever. If he's paying, you're spending. Come on."

She grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the library, across the quad, and toward the student parking lot.

"Azalea, where are we going?"

"To see your other 'payment'," she chirped.

We stopped in the center of the lot. Surrounded by rusted Hondas and dented Toyotas sat a beast. A brand new Aston Martin, painted a lethal gunmetal grey. It gleamed under the afternoon sun like a weapon.

Heads were turning. Students were whispering.

"He had it dropped off an hour ago," Azalea said, dangling a set of keys in front of my face. "He said your Ford Fiesta was an 'insult to road safety'."

I stared at the car in horror. It wasn't a gift. It was a mark. A giant, flashing neon sign telling the world that Adella Everett was property of the Alpha King.

"I can't drive this," I whispered.

"You can, and you will," Azalea laughed, pressing the keys into my palm. She opened the driver's side door for me, her eyes dancing with amusement.

"Get in, Mrs. Marshall."

The air left my lungs. I looked at her, terrified she knew, but she was just grinning, making a joke about her father's over-the-top generosity. She had no idea that the title wasn't a punchline.

It was my reality.

I slid into the leather seat, the heavy platinum ring on my finger clinking against the steering wheel, and felt the cage door slam shut.

Adella POV

The interior of the Aston Martin didn't smell like new leather. It smelled like him.

Crushed cedar and the ozone of a gathering storm filled the cabin, heavy and suffocating. It was a sensory assault, a reminder that even miles away, Dallas Marshall was wrapping his fingers around my throat. I sat in the driver's seat, my hands gripping the wheel until my knuckles turned white.

"Connect your phone," Azalea urged, buckling her seatbelt. "This sound system is insane. I want to hear bass that rattles my teeth."

I fumbled with my cracked iPhone, plugging it into the sleek console. The system synced instantly, the large touchscreen dashboard lighting up. But before I could select a playlist, a message notification expanded across the entire screen, the letters bold and impossible to ignore.

Braydon: Stop playing games. Come home. You belong here.

The air in the car grew stagnant. The words hung there, glowing with a possessive toxicity that made my stomach churn.

Azalea let out a low whistle. "Wow. That's not just interested, that's creepy, obsessive psycho level." She poked the screen with a manicured nail. "He thinks you're a lost puppy, doesn't he? 'Come home.' Gross."

"He doesn't like losing things he considers his property," I muttered, quickly disconnecting the phone to banish his words.

"Well, you're driving a car worth more than his entire house now," Azalea smirked, leaning back. "Let him choke on that."

I forced a weak smile, starting the engine. The car purred like a beast waking from slumber. I was fleeing one monster only to drive straight into the lair of another, and the irony tasted like ash in my mouth.

Ten minutes later, we were huddled in a booth at the campus coffee shop. The scent of roasted beans and sugary pastries usually calmed me, but today, my nerves were wire-tight.

"You need to see this," Azalea said, sliding her phone across the table. Her playful demeanor had vanished, replaced by a sharp, protective edge.

On the screen was The Howler, the Pack's exclusive social media app. A photo of Katherine Parrish smirked back at me, her arm draped possessively over a brooding Braydon. But it was the caption that made my blood run cold.

Cleaning house. Finally getting rid of the wolfless parasites who think they can climb the ladder by clinging to Alphas. Purity matters.

"She's talking about me," I whispered, the shame burning my cheeks. The comments section was already filling with laughing emojis and cruel agreements from other Pack members.

"Don't worry," Azalea said, taking a sip of her latte. "I handled it."

I looked closer. Underneath Katherine's post, Azalea Sterling-daughter of the Alpha King-had commented a single emoji: a wolf skull.

In our world, that wasn't just a comment. It was a death threat. It meant you are dead to me.

"Azalea, you shouldn't have-"

"She's a bitch, and she's boring," Azalea interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "Besides, you have bigger things to worry about. Like... that."

She pointed a finger at my neck.

I froze. In my agitation, I must have tugged at the cashmere scarf Dallas had left for me. I quickly tried to readjust it, but Azalea's hand shot out, stopping me. Her honey-colored eyes widened, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled sharply.

"That's no bruise from a fall, Adella," she hissed, leaning in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "That's a claiming mark."

Panic seized my chest. The dark, purple mark on the sensitive skin of my neck throbbed under her scrutiny. It was where Dallas's teeth had grazed me last night, leaving a very obvious, very possessive souvenir.

"I... I walked into a door," I stammered, the lie tasting sour.

"Bullshit," Azalea scoffed. "I know what that kind of mark looks like. It reeks of possession." She narrowed her eyes, scanning my face. "Who is he? And don't tell me it's Braydon, because that's fresh, and it smells like... power."

I couldn't tell her. I couldn't tell the Alpha King's daughter that her father had bought me, claimed me, and married me in a span of twelve hours.

"It's... complicated," I managed, looking down at my coffee. "He's an older man. Someone... powerful."

Azalea stared at me for a long moment, the tension stretching thin. Then, unexpectedly, she grinned.

"An older man? A sugar daddy?" She laughed, delighted. "Oh my Goddess, Adella! That is the perfect revenge. Let Braydon rot while you get pampered by some rich, powerful Alpha. I love it."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. She didn't know.

Just then, Azalea's phone buzzed on the table. The screen flashed a caller ID that made her smile vanish instantly: The Bank.

"It's my dad," she whispered, her posture straightening reflexively. She answered, her voice shifting from gossip-girl to obedient daughter. "Hi, Dad."

I watched her face, my heart hammering against my ribs. She listened for a moment, her eyes flicking to me with a confused expression.

"Now? But I have Econ in an hour," she protested weakly. A pause. The voice on the other end was low, indistinct, but the tone of absolute command was unmistakable. "Okay. Yes, sir. We're coming."

She hung up and looked at me, grabbing her bag.

"Change of plans," Azalea said, her voice tight. "He wants us at the flagship store downtown. Immediately."

"Us?" I asked, dread pooling in my stomach.

"Yeah. He said you need to be prepped for a dinner tonight." She looked at me, a flicker of suspicion warring with her confusion. "Adella, what kind of 'translation work' requires a gala dress?"

I gripped the edge of the table, the platinum ring on my finger feeling heavier than ever. Dallas wasn't just keeping me; he was putting me on display.

"I don't know," I lied again, standing up on shaky legs.

But I did know. The King was summoning his property.

Adella POV

The private suite at the back of the Marshall Jewels flagship store was quieter than a tomb and twice as cold. The walls were frosted glass, thick enough to stop a bullet, isolating us from the hum of the city outside.

"Mr. Marshall insisted on the Luna Collection for you, Miss Everett," the store manager said, his voice dripping with professional reverence. He wore white gloves as he placed a black velvet tray on the low glass table between us.

Azalea, who had been sipping a sparkling water, nearly choked. She coughed, her eyes bulging as she stared at the tray.

"The what collection?" she sputtered, looking from the manager to me. "Adella, why is my father's staff showing you the royal engagement line?"

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Resting on the velvet was a ring that stole the breath from my lungs—a massive, iridescent moonstone surrounded by a halo of black diamonds. It was ancient, heavy, and screamed of a power I had no business wielding.

"There... there must be a mistake," I lied, my voice trembling. I shot a desperate look at Azalea. "We were supposed to be looking for a birthday gift for him. A watch. He must have... the manager must have misunderstood the appointment."

It was a flimsy lie. The manager's eyebrows twitched, but he was trained well enough not to correct the Alpha King's guest.

Azalea narrowed her eyes, her gaze flicking between the ring and the bruising mark on my neck. "A misunderstanding? That ring is worth more than the entire Hyde Pack territory. Who exactly is this 'sugar daddy' of yours, Adella?"

Before I could invent another lie, the heavy glass door to the suite crashed open.

The scent hit me first—sour milk and burning rubber. It was the smell of an Alpha's unchecked rage.

Braydon stood in the doorway, his chest heaving. He looked manic, his hair disheveled, his eyes wild with a mix of fury and humiliation.

"I knew it," he snarled, stepping into the room. The air pressure dropped instantly as he released his aura, a suffocating wave of dominance that was meant to crush me. "You think you can just walk away? You think you can parade around in my rival's store, trying on crowns you don't deserve?"

"Braydon, get out," I whispered, shrinking back into the leather sofa.

"No!" He lunged forward, ignoring Azalea, who had jumped to her feet. He grabbed my wrist, his fingers digging into my skin with bruising force. "You are coming home. You are a wolfless charity case, Adella. You don't belong in a place like this. You belong to me."

"Let her go!" Azalea shouted, grabbing his arm. "You are in Blackwood territory, Hyde. Back off!"

Braydon shoved her. It was a careless, violent motion that sent the Alpha King's daughter stumbling back against the display case.

"Stay out of this, princess," Braydon spat. "This is pack business. She is my property."

The pain in my wrist was blinding, but seeing Azalea stumble sparked something dark in my chest. For years, I had let him define me. Wolfless. Weak. Property. But the ring on the table—and the platinum band already on my finger—told a different story.

I wasn't just Adella the wolfless anymore. I was a woman who had sold her soul to a monster far scarier than Braydon Hyde.

I stopped pulling away. I went still.

"I am not your property," I said, my voice surprisingly steady.

Braydon laughed, a cruel, barking sound. "You have nothing without me. No wolf. No family. No money."

I looked him dead in the eye. "I have a husband."

The words hung in the air, sharper than any silver blade. Braydon froze. His grip on my wrist loosened just a fraction, shock replacing the anger on his face. In our world, marriage wasn't just a piece of paper; it was a binding of souls, a transfer of protection.

"What?" he breathed.

"I'm married, Braydon," I repeated, yanking my hand free. I stood up, smoothing my dress, channeling every ounce of false confidence I could muster. "Which means if you touch me again, you aren't just abusing an ex-girlfriend. You are declaring war on another Alpha."

Braydon's face turned a mottled shade of red. The humiliation was eating him alive. He took a step toward me, his hand raising as if to strike. "You lying little bitch, I'll—"

He never finished the sentence.

Two shadows detached themselves from the corners of the room. I hadn't even noticed the security guards until they were there—massive, silent men in black suits with the Blackwood crest pinned to their lapels. They didn't look like mall cops; they moved like executioners.

"Mr. Hyde," the manager said, his voice ice-cold. He was standing by the door, holding a phone. "You are trespassing. You have five seconds to leave before I notify the Alpha King that you assaulted his guests."

Braydon looked at the guards, then at me. He realized he was outgunned. The power dynamic had shifted so violently it left him reeling.

He lowered his hand, but the look he gave me was pure venom.

"You think a ring saves you?" he hissed, backing toward the door. "I don't care who he is. I will find him. I will challenge him for you, and I will tear his throat out. And when he's dead, you'll crawl back to my pack on your knees."

He turned and stormed out, leaving a trail of toxic pheromones in his wake.

I sank back onto the sofa, my legs turning to jelly. He was going to challenge my husband.

Braydon Hyde was going to challenge Dallas Marshall.

A hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat. He had just threatened to kill the Lycan King. He didn't just sign his own death warrant; he had practically gift-wrapped it.