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.

Dallas POV:

The morning sun did nothing to warm the ice in my veins. My bags were packed, sitting by the door like silent tombstones marking the end of my life here.

"Ready to go, sweetheart?"

Antone leaned against the doorframe. He was dressed in a casual suit that cost more than a year of my wages, twirling his car keys. His eyes raked over my simple jeans and sweater with a possessiveness that made my skin crawl.

"I need to stop at the mall," he said, checking his watch. "Mother wants me to pick up her dry cleaning before I drop you at the airport. You can come. Maybe I'll buy you something pretty to remember me by."

"I don't want anything from you," I said, grabbing my purse.

"Don't be like that. You're going to a house of cripples and monsters. You'll need something soft to wear."

We drove in silence. The leather seats of his sports car smelled of new money and his cologne, a scent that used to comfort me but now just smelled like betrayal.

When we arrived at the high-end shopping district, the air was thick with the scents of other wolves. This was neutral territory, a place where high-ranking members of different packs mingled.

We walked toward the dry cleaners, but Antone stopped abruptly in front of a bridal boutique.

"Well, look who it is," he muttered.

My stomach dropped. Through the glass display window, I saw them. Desmond and Chelsea.

They were standing near the mannequins. Desmond looked bored, his phone in hand, while Chelsea was directing two terrified shop assistants.

"Let's go," I said, turning away.

"Nonsense," Antone said, gripping my elbow. His fingers dug into my flesh. "We should say hello to the happy couple."

He dragged me inside before I could protest. The bell above the door chimed, announcing our arrival.

Desmond looked up. His eyes locked onto mine immediately. For a second, his pupils dilated—the instinctual reaction of a wolf seeing its mate. Then, the wall came down. His face hardened into the mask of the Alpha Heir.

"What are you doing here?" Desmond asked, his voice low.

"Just passing through," Antone said smoothly, pulling me to his side. "Dallas wanted to see the dresses. Every girl dreams of her wedding day, right?"

It was a cruel lie. Chelsea turned, her eyes narrowing into slits. She was holding a veil, the lace delicate and snowy white.

"Oh, the Omega," Chelsea sneered. She walked over to us, the scent of her expensive perfume overpowering the room. "I suppose you are dreaming. It's a shame your groom can't even stand up at the altar."

I kept my face blank. "I'll wait outside."

"No, stay," Chelsea commanded. Her eyes glinted with malice. She turned to a rack of dresses and pulled out a gown. It was excessive—layers of tulle, rhinestones, and a corset that looked painful. "Try this on."

"What?" I asked.

"Try it on," Chelsea repeated. "I want to see how the style looks on a... lower-class body type. It will help me decide if it's too common for me."

"I am not your mannequin," I said, my voice shaking.

"Do it, Dallas," Desmond said.

I looked at him, betrayed all over again.

"She is the future Luna," Desmond said, his jaw tight. "You will obey her."

The Alpha Command wasn't fully behind his words, but the weight of his authority was enough. I took the heavy dress, my hands trembling, and walked into the changing room.

I stripped down and stepped into the gown. It was tight, constricting my ribs. I looked in the mirror. The white fabric contrasted sharply with my pale skin and the dark circles under my eyes. I looked like a ghost bride.

I stepped out.

The shop went silent.

Antone's mouth opened slightly. The shop assistants stopped working.

But it was Desmond who reacted the most violently. He dropped his phone. His gaze swept over me, from the exposed curve of my neck to the way the dress hugged my waist. A low, guttural growl vibrated in his chest. His wolf was surfacing, furious and possessive, seeing his mate in a wedding dress that wasn't for him.

"Take it off," Desmond snarled.

"Desmond?" Chelsea stepped between us, blocking his view. "What's wrong? Does she look that bad?"

"She is not worthy of white," Desmond said, his voice straining as he fought his own instincts. He stepped around Chelsea, marching toward me. "You look like a mockery. Take it off!"

He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising. He wasn't thinking. His wolf was in control, confused by the severed bond and the visual trigger. He yanked me toward the changing room.

"Let go!" I cried out.

I stumbled over the long train of the dress. My feet tangled in the tulle. I fell forward, hard.

My forehead struck the corner of the gilded mirror stand.

Pain exploded behind my eyes. I collapsed onto the plush carpet, the world spinning. I felt a warm, wet trickle run down my temple, over my cheek, and drip onto the pristine white bodice of the gown.

The metallic scent of blood filled the air.

But it wasn't just metallic. It was sweet. Intoxicating. Like wildflowers blooming in the snow.

The scent of a high-ranking wolf. The scent of a White Wolf, though none of us knew it yet.

Desmond and Antone froze. Their nostrils flared, inhaling the aroma that suddenly dominated the room.