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.

Dallas POV:

The smell of antiseptic woke me. The rhythmic beeping of a monitor confirmed I was in the pack clinic.

My chest felt hollow. The space where my wolf usually hummed was quiet. She was there, but she was dormant, buried under layers of grief and trauma.

"You're awake."

I turned my head. Desmond was sitting in the chair next to the bed. He looked terrible. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and he was sweating. The side effects of rejecting a mate.

"Why are you here?" I rasped. My throat felt like I had swallowed glass.

"I wanted to see if you survived," he said quietly.

"Disappointed?"

He flinched. "Dallas, I... I didn't want it to be this way. But the pack comes first. The merger..."

"Get out," I whispered.

His phone buzzed. He looked at it, and I saw the name Chelsea flash on the screen.

"I have to go," he said, standing up. "She's trying on the veil."

"Go to your wife, Desmond. Just remember, every time you kiss her, you'll feel the hole I left."

He walked out without looking back.

I closed my eyes, wishing I could sleep forever. But the door opened again.

Antone walked in. He was holding a small jar.

"I brought you something," he said, his voice slick with fake sympathy. "For the bruises."

He set the jar on the bedside table. "Desmond feels bad, you know. He wants to make sure you're... presentable for Alpha Simmons."

"I don't want your charity."

Antone leaned over the bed railing, lowering his voice. "You know, Dallas, Seattle isn't that far. Once the wedding is over... maybe I can visit. Alpha Simmons is a cripple. He can't satisfy a woman. You'll get lonely."

I stared at him, unable to comprehend the depth of his depravity. He was proposing I become his mistress while I was married to another Alpha, after his brother had rejected me.

"You want me to be your whore," I stated flatly.

"I want to take care of you," he corrected, a smirk playing on his lips. "Think about it. You'll need an ally."

I looked at the jar of cream. Then I looked at Antone.

If I fought him now, in my weakened state, I would lose. If I screamed, no one would care. I was a Rogue now. I had no rights here.

I needed to survive. I needed to get on that plane to Seattle.

"Okay," I lied. My voice was dead. "I'll think about it."

Antone's ego swelled. He patted my hand—the skin crawling at his touch—and straightened his jacket. "Good girl. I knew you were smart. The plane leaves in two hours. Don't keep your new master waiting."

He left, whistling a tune.

I slowly sat up, my body aching. I picked up the jar of cream and threw it into the trash can.

I walked to the window and looked out at the Morgan estate. The sprawling lawns, the grand house, the forest where I used to run. It was all a cage.

"Goodbye," I whispered to the empty room.

I turned my back on the view. I didn't know what awaited me in Seattle. Kennedy Simmons might be a monster. He might be a beast who would tear me apart.

But at least he wasn't a Morgan.

And right now, that was enough.