Dallas POV:

Two weeks had passed since the dinner. Two weeks of Desmond ignoring me in the hallways, and two weeks of Antone whispering sweet promises in the shadows.

Antone made me feel human. He took me on drives to the edge of the territory where we could walk in human form without being sneered at. He brought me flowers stolen from the greenhouse. He filled the void Desmond had carved out of me.

I was in Antone's room, waiting for him to finish his shower. He had left his laptop open on the bed. I moved to close it, not wanting to pry, but a notification pinged.

It was a group chat titled "The Inner Circle."

My eyes caught my name. I shouldn't have looked. I should have walked away. But my fingers moved on their own, scrolling up.

Beta_Antone: The little Omega is easier to crack than a walnut. She actually thinks I'm in love with her.

Pack_Warrior_2: Does Desmond care?

Beta_Antone: Desmond is grateful. I'm keeping his distraction busy so Chelsea doesn't smell the mate bond on him. I'm taking one for the team, boys. Besides, once I get her into bed, she'll be too ashamed to look at Desmond anyway.

Pack_Warrior_2: You're sick, man. She's practically your sister.

Beta_Antone: She's a servant. And honestly? I'm just imagining she's Chelsea. Have you seen the legs on the Taylor heiress? That’s the real prize.

The air left the room.

I backed away from the laptop, my hand covering my mouth to stifle a scream. The kindness, the flowers, the late-night talks—it was all a game. I was a pawn to protect Desmond's political marriage, and a practice doll for Antone's twisted fantasies about Chelsea.

The bathroom door creaked open. Steam billowed out, and Antone stepped into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Dallas?" He smiled, that same charming, boyish smile that had fooled me. "You look pale, sweetheart. Come here."

He reached for me.

For the first time, I really smelled him. Underneath the soap and the sandalwood, there was something else. A faint, cloying floral scent.

Chelsea's perfume.

He hadn't been in the shower alone. Or he had been with her just before coming here.

"Don't touch me," I whispered, stepping back.

Antone's smile faltered. He glanced at the laptop, then back at me. His expression shifted instantly. The warmth evaporated, replaced by the cold, arrogant sneer of a high-ranking wolf.

"You shouldn't snoop, Dallas. It's bad manners."

"You're disgusting," I spat, grabbing my bag. "You and your brother. You're both rot wrapped in silk suits."

I tried to push past him, but his hand shot out, gripping my arm like a vice. He wasn't gentle anymore. He yanked me back, throwing me onto the bed.

"Where do you think you're going?" Antone growled. His eyes were glassy, dilated. He was drunk on power and probably expensive scotch. "I've put in the time. I've played the nice guy. You owe me."

He climbed over me, his weight pinning me to the mattress. "Desmond doesn't want you. No one wants a broken Omega. You should be grateful I'm willing to claim you."

"Get off!" I screamed, thrashing against him. But he was a Beta. His strength was far superior to mine.

He buried his face in my neck, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin where a mating mark should go. "Just close your eyes," he muttered against my skin. "Just pretend I'm him. I'm pretending you're Chelsea."

The mention of her name snapped something inside me.

It wasn't a thought. It was an explosion.

A shockwave, cold and absolute, erupted from the center of my chest. It wasn't the fiery rage of a typical wolf. It was a blast of pure, kinetic energy, like a glacier cracking apart.

My hand moved before I told it to. I struck him across the face.

CRACK.

The sound was like a gunshot.

Antone didn't just turn his head. He was thrown off me, his body flying backward as if he'd been hit by a car. He crashed into the wardrobe, wood splintering on impact.

He slid to the floor, clutching his cheek. There was no burn mark, but his skin was stark white where I’d hit him, as if the blood had been terrified out of his veins.

"What..." He looked up at me, eyes wide with genuine fear. "What the hell are you?"

I scrambled off the bed, my entire body vibrating. My skin felt too tight. My vision sharpened, the colors of the room becoming hyper-vivid.

"I am not your toy," I said. My voice sounded different—deeper, layered with a growl that didn't sound like a regular wolf.

I didn't wait for him to recover. I turned and ran out the door, the strange chill fading back into the cold pit of my stomach, leaving me terrified of what I had just done.

Dallas POV:

I didn't sleep. I spent the night scrubbing my skin until it was raw, trying to wash away the phantom sensation of Antone's hands.

By morning, I had made a decision. I gathered every photo I had of the Morgan family—the ones where I stood awkwardly in the background—and threw them into the fireplace in the servant's lounge. I watched the edges curl and blacken. The smoke smelled like freedom.

"Dallas Cole. The Alpha requires your presence."

The pack Gamma stood at the door, his face impassive.

I followed him to the main office. The house felt like a tomb. Desmond sat behind the massive mahogany desk, his father, Alpha Marcus Morgan, standing by the window. Antone was there too, nursing a bruised jaw, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Sit," Alpha Marcus commanded.

The Alpha Command slammed into my shoulders, forcing my knees to bend. I collapsed into the chair, my muscles locking up against my will. This was the power of an Alpha—absolute control over the body of a lower-ranking wolf.

"We have a situation," Marcus began, turning to face me. "The Simmons Pack in Seattle has agreed to a trade deal. They control the shipping ports we need for our expansion."

He paused, his eyes cold and calculating. "Kennedy Simmons, their Alpha, requires a bride."

My blood ran cold.

Kennedy Simmons. The name was a ghost story in the werewolf world. They called him the Cursed King. Five years ago, he was the most powerful Alpha on the West Coast. Then came the ambush. Silver poisoning. It didn't kill him, but rumor said it rotted him from the inside out. He was paralyzed, unable to shift, a broken monster locked in his high-tech fortress.

"You want me to marry the Crippled Alpha?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"It is a generous offer," Desmond said, speaking for the first time. He looked at the paperwork on his desk, avoiding my gaze. "He needs a caretaker. Someone docile. An Omega is perfect for him."

"I am not a piece of furniture you can ship across the state!" I shouted, fighting the pressure of the Command.

"You are whatever I say you are!" Marcus roared. The room shook. "You should be grateful we kept you, Dallas. After your parents destroyed our lab."

I froze. "What?"

"Your parents didn't die in an accident," Marcus sneered. "They were incompetent. They caused the explosion that set our research back ten years. We took you in out of pity to cover up their mess. You owe this pack your life."

It was a lie. I could smell the sulfur of deceit rolling off him. My parents were top-tier warriors. They wouldn't make a mistake like that. They were murdered. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. I wouldn't scream. I wouldn't fight them—not here, not when I was powerless. I would verify the truth later, when I had claws of my own.

I looked at Antone. He stepped forward, putting on a mask of concern. "Father, surely there's another way. Dallas is... fragile."

"Silence," Marcus barked. "Sit down, Antone."

Antone sat instantly. He looked at me, and for a split second, I saw the panic. He wasn't worried about me. He was worried about losing his shield, his excuse, his punching bag.

I looked at Desmond. My mate. The man who was supposed to tear the world apart to keep me safe. He was signing a document.

The Transfer of Ownership.

He was selling me. Like cattle.

A strange calm settled over me. It was the calm of a prisoner who realizes the jail cell is actually unlocked, if only they are willing to walk through fire to get out.

"Fine," I said. The Alpha Command loosened as my resistance faded.

Desmond's pen stopped. He looked up, surprised by my surrender.

"I'll go," I said, standing up. I smoothed my skirt. "I'd rather live with a monster in Seattle than stay in a house full of cowards."

Antone flinched. Desmond's eyes narrowed, a flash of regret battling with his greed.

"Pack your things," Marcus said, dismissing me. "You leave after Desmond's wedding."

"No," I said softly. "I leave today. Or I don't go at all."

Dallas POV:

The hallway felt miles long. Every step away from the Alpha's office felt like I was dragging a heavy chain.

"Dallas, wait!"

Antone grabbed my wrist. He pulled me into an alcove, his desperation rolling off him in waves of sour sweat.

"You can't go," he hissed. "You can't leave me here with them. With her."

"Let go of me, Antone," I said, my voice devoid of emotion.

"I'll make it up to you," he pleaded, his eyes darting around. "We can... we can run away. Be Rogues."

"You?" I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "You wouldn't last a day without your father's credit card or the pack's protection. You're a parasite, Antone."

He snarled, his hand raising to strike me, but he stopped when footsteps echoed on the marble floor.

Desmond and Chelsea appeared. Chelsea was beaming, holding a garment bag that undoubtedly contained a wedding dress worth more than my existence.

"Is there a problem?" Desmond asked, his voice tight.

I yanked my arm free from Antone. "No problem. Just saying goodbye."

I looked at Desmond. The pull of the bond was still there, a hook in my heart, tugging me toward him. I had to rip it out.

"I have a condition for leaving quietly," I said to Desmond.

He stiffened. "What is it?"

"Reject me. Here. Now."

Chelsea's eyes widened. She looked between us, the realization dawning on her. She sniffed the air, finally catching the underlying scent of pine and storm beneath my distress. "You..." she breathed. "You're his mate?"

Desmond's face went pale. If he rejected his Fated Mate, his wolf would suffer. It could weaken him. But if he didn't, and he married Chelsea, the bond would drive him insane.

"Do it," I challenged him. "Or I scream it to the whole pack right now."

Desmond stepped forward. His eyes were full of pain, but his ambition was stronger. He squared his shoulders. The air in the hallway grew heavy with the power of the ritual.

"I, Desmond Morgan," he began, his voice shaking slightly, "Alpha Heir of the Morgan Pack..."

My wolf howled in agony, curling into a ball in the back of my mind.

"...reject you, Dallas Cole, as my mate and Luna."

The snap was audible. A physical force hit me in the chest, knocking the wind out of me. I staggered back, clutching my heart. It felt like my ribs were collapsing.

I looked up, tears streaming down my face, but I forced my voice to work. I had to finish it.

"I, Dallas Cole..." I gasped for air. "I accept your rejection."

The link severed.

The color drained from Desmond's face. He stumbled, grabbing the wall for support.

"And," I continued, turning to the Alpha who had just emerged from his office to watch the spectacle. "I hereby sever my link to the Morgan Pack. I choose to be Rogue until my transfer."

"Accepted," Marcus said coldly.

The Pack Link—the constant, comforting hum of a hundred other minds in the back of my head—vanished.

Silence.

Absolute, terrifying silence.

It was like going deaf and blind at the same time. The isolation hit me harder than the rejection. My knees gave out.

I fell to the floor, darkness encroaching on my vision. The last thing I saw was Desmond reaching out for me, his instinct trying to save what he had just thrown away, before Chelsea yanked him back.

"Let her fall," Chelsea hissed.

And I did.