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.

Adella POV

The adrenaline that had sustained me in the jewelry store evaporated the moment we sat down in the velvet booth of The Gilded Bean, an upscale café three blocks away. My hands shook so violently that the china cup rattled against its saucer, threatening to spill the dark roast all over the pristine white tablecloth.

"Drink," Azalea ordered, sliding a sugar packet toward me. Her voice was firm, lacking its usual playful lilt. "You look like you're about to pass out, and I am not carrying you back to the car."

I took a sip, the bitter heat grounding me, but it couldn't stop the racing of my heart. Across the table, Azalea watched me with the intensity of a predator assessing its prey. She wasn't just my friend right now; she was the Alpha King's daughter, and she smelled a secret.

"Talk, Adella," she said, leaning forward. Her eyes, a piercing shade of amber, locked onto mine. "That ring. The Blackwood guards. The way the manager looked at you like you were royalty. Who is he?"

I swallowed hard. "Azalea, I—"

"Don't you dare lie to me," she cut in, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Braydon is unhinged. If you've got yourself mixed up with some dangerous underground crime lord to get back at him, I need to know. I can't protect you if I'm blind."

"It's not a crime lord," I whispered, my voice trembling. "It's... it's your father."

The silence that followed was heavier than lead. The clinking of spoons and the murmur of other patrons seemed to fade into a dull roar. Azalea blinked. Once. Twice. Her mouth opened, then closed.

"My father?" she repeated, the words sounding foreign on her tongue. "Dallas?"

I nodded, gripping the edge of the table until my knuckles turned white. "We signed the papers yesterday. It's a... a Binding Protection Contract. A marriage in name only."

I braced myself for her anger. I expected her to scream, to flip the table, to accuse me of gold-digging or betraying our friendship.

Instead, a strange sound erupted from her throat. It started as a snort and quickly spiraled into a full-blown, hysterical cackle. She threw her head back, laughing so hard that a few people turned to stare.

"Oh my Goddess," she gasped, wiping a tear from her eye. She reached across the table and grabbed my hand, squeezing it tight. "Adella, you didn't just get a shield. You dropped a nuke on him!"

"You... you aren't mad?" I asked, bewildered.

"Mad? I'm ecstatic!" Her grin was predatory, showing a hint of fang. "Do you realize what you've done? Braydon Hyde just threatened the Lycan King's wife. My father isn't just an Alpha, Adella. He's a monster in a silk suit. Braydon didn't just lose you; he declared war on a god."

She sat back, looking at me with a newfound respect. "So, I guess I should call you 'Mom' now?"

"Please don't," I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "It's just a contract, Az. He needed a wife to stop the Council's nagging, and I needed... safety."

"Safety," Azalea mused, her expression softening. "Well, you definitely got that. Nobody touches Dallas Marshall's things and lives to tell the tale."

Suddenly, Azalea went rigid. Her eyes glazed over, losing focus as she stared at a point over my shoulder. The air around her shimmered slightly with the static charge of a powerful Mind-Link.

I froze. Being wolfless, I had never experienced the telepathic connection of the pack, but I knew the signs. She was speaking to someone.

A moment later, she blinked, the color returning to her irises. She looked at me, her expression shifting from amusement to something akin to awe.

"He just linked me," she whispered.

My stomach twisted. "Is he angry? Did the manager tell him?"

"Oh, he knows," Azalea said slowly. "But he didn't ask about the store. He asked, 'Is she okay?'"

I stared at her. "What?"

"He asked if you were okay, Adella," she emphasized, leaning in. "My father doesn't ask questions. He gives orders. He commands. He demands status reports. In twenty-two years, I have never heard him ask a question that soft. He didn't ask about the damage to the store or the reputation of the pack. He asked about you."

For a second, a treacherous warmth bloomed in my chest. Is she okay?

But I crushed it instantly. I couldn't afford to be delusional. Hope was a dangerous thing for a girl like me.

"He's checking on his asset, Azalea," I said, my voice turning cold and flat. I pulled my hand away from hers. "Don't romanticize it. I am an investment. His property was attacked on his territory by a rival. Of course he wants to know if the 'goods' are damaged. It's bad for business."

Azalea frowned, shaking her head. "I don't think so. I felt his tone through the link. It was... dark. Possessive. That wasn't business."

"It's a contract," I insisted, picking up my coffee cup again to hide the tremor in my lip. "That's all it will ever be. And frankly, that's all I want it to be."

Azalea didn't argue, but the look she gave me was filled with pity—and a knowing skepticism that terrified me more than Braydon's rage. She thought this was a fairy tale starting. She didn't understand that monsters like Dallas Marshall didn't save girls like me because they cared. They saved us because they wanted to own us.

And I had just sold myself to the most dangerous owner of them all.