Vanessa's POV

The maid who had been assigned to bring me up to my room opened a door and ushered me through it.

I stood outside the door, hesitating for a while. My breath caught in my throat as I took in the grand room–high ceilings, intricate patterns of gold across the walls, plush velvet drapes-they spoke of money, of power. But then, what really stopped my breath was that familiar scent, wafting in the air—sandalwood and musk and something utterly unique to him alone.

My husband's scent.

I turned around, my heart racing as my eyes fell upon his things, neatly laid out on the table. My stomach twisted.

"We are going to be sharing rooms?" My voice shook a little, disbelief and apprehension curling in my chest.

The maid looked at me, perplexed, as if I'd just spoken in riddles. Right. No one here knew this wasn't anything but a marriage of convenience. A political arrangement.

My fingers curled into the taut fabric of my dress, my senses heightening at the knowledge that I stood on Alpha's territory. My husband's territory.

"I have to take my leave," she said and bowed, drawing back-the door closed smoothly behind her.

The silence wrapped itself in the room, weighing upon me. I swallowed, trying to shake off this feeling of unease that had risen in my spine.

I let out a deep breath and peeled off my dress, my muscles tight from the long day. Stepping into the adjoining washroom, the warm water massaged the knots at my back. A soft sigh escaped my lips as I allowed myself this one moment of reprieve before stepping out and slipping into a simple gown.

I settled onto the big bed and took up my book, turning the pages over, my sight never on its words, nor my heart nor brain involved by what might be said there. Still my eyes huddled towards the door. Come. Would he still show up? Do I wait for him or…

Just as sleep began to overtake me, a faint rustling stirred me awake. My lashes fluttered open, and my breath hitched at what lay before me.

There, seated in the dim glow of the room, was the Lycan Prince.

Relaxed, his posture was, yet something about the way he sat-shoulders squared, fingers idly tracing the armrest-simmered with an unreadable intensity.

"You're back," I whispered, my voice barely audible. My throat was dry. "Where have you been?"

His eyes, like small points, continued to pierce mine, and the space around us started to contract. His silence was palpable.

"I've been busy," he finally said; the words were clipped, far away.

"Busy?" I echoed, trying to decipher what he meant.

His jaw ticked, and for the first time, something flickered in his eyes. Something dark.

"I know about us being mates."

His words sent a jolt of surprise through me. My fingers curled into the sheets as I tried to process the weight of what he had just said.

Mates?

I parted my lips to say something, but nothing came out. My heart was racing against my ribs, a crazy rhythm of confusion and unease.

Then, just when I thought I couldn't be more unsettled, he spoke again.

"I know you were not the one I was meant to marry."

The air leaked out of my lungs.

I stared at him, making no effort to hide the raw emotions flashing across my face: shock, hurt, and something deeper, which I refused to name.

"Why tell me now?" I asked, my voice laced with frustration.

He didn't say anything but rose to his feet, his face unreadable. And quietly, he walked out, leaving me drowned in the ocean of questions that he had flung at me.

The palace walls seemed colder than they had been a while back.

As his words began to sink in, I felt as though I couldn't breathe in my room; I needed some air.

I navigated the corridors, my mind reeling. Rejection, wasn't it?

Why should it bother me? I had known this marriage was nothing but a political deal. I really should have been indifferent.

But I was not.

A movement from the shadows got my attention.

My heart skittered as the figure stepped forward. Recognition settled in.

The guard-the one I'd danced with on my wedding night.

"My Lady," he said smoothly, his head inclined. "What are you doing out so late?"

I let out a soft, humorless laugh. "I thought a walk would help clarify things in my head, but this palace is a maze. I think I'm lost."

His lips curled into a smirk. "Lost, huh?"

I nodded, hugging myself.

"I could lead you back if you don't mind," he offered, his voice warm, his expression unreadable.

I hesitated then nodded. "Alright."

We walked in silence, his presence oddly reassuring.

Just as we reached my door, he stopped. Flickering torchlight danced on his face, and his words became even more ominous.

"Be careful, my Lady. These people are not who they seem."

A cold feeling crept over me.

"What do you mean?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

But he was gone, already melted into the shadows like a wind.

Morning brought news that was not so pleasing.

My family was leaving.

I stood by the grand doors, waiting for the farce of farewells to be over.

"You have truly made me proud, my dear," my father said, smiling like the doting parent he had never been.

I almost snorted. It was painfully obvious his pride had nothing to do with me and everything to do with what this marriage meant to him.

My mother stepped forward, embracing me with shaking hands. She leaned in, her voice a murmur. "If I hear anything about your sister, I will let you know."

I stiffened. My sister. The only person I ever cared about.

She drew back, her eyes aglimmer with unshed tears. I wanted to care-I really did-but resentment held my tongue hostage. She, too, had played a role in forcing me into this union.

I let them leave without another word.

When they were gone, I set off aimlessly through the palace, my mind in a turbulent storm. The warning of the guard haunted me. What had he meant?

Back in my room, I occupied myself with unpacking the last of my things.

As I set my suitcase on the bed, I saw something that caught my eye.

A letter.

I caught my breath.

I could tell the handwriting in an instant.

My sister's.

I tore it open with trembling fingers. My eyes scanned the first few lines, and my stomach clenched.

The contents made my blood run cold.

And then, at the very bottom, one final sentence stole the air from my lungs.

Vanessa's P.O.V.

I stared at the letter, my heart racing with each word I read.

"You looked beautiful in that dress, Nessa, and I am not sorry for leaving the way I did. Call me selfish, but I get to be with the man I love, and for that, I don't regret ever running away.”

I could hear the words whispered in a soft, resolute tone, as though she were standing next to me. My sister's letter was a bittersweet tie to the life I had left behind, a reminiscence of what could have been. But weighty were her words. She had chosen love. And I? I was bound by duty, shackled to a marriage that was merely a façade.

At that time, this felt like betrayal, and in a blind rage, I scrunched up the letter in my hand, digging my nails deep into the frail paper. I cast it, without a second thought, into the furnace, watching as the flames greedily consumed her words. As if erasing the letter would purge the complicated emotions that still lingered inside me.

~

In the dim glow of my chamber, I sat in silence. For night after endless nights, I had waited, hoping and yearning to find satisfaction for that curiosity which had so deeply embedded itself within me. Dante's presence, the Lycan prince, my husband. Where could he be? Why did he linger in the shadows of my sleepless nights, ever watching but never speaking?

I woke up, just like the night before. And there he was….sitting in the corner, his eyes peering through the darkness, right at me.

A chill ran down my spine.

I sat up, my eyes on him in calculating assessment as my breath evened, my pulse sprinting chaotically. My eyes followed the slight scar running down from his eyebrow to just below his eye. How had I never seen that before?

He blinked and the spell broke as I turned my gaze off from his impassive gaze.

"Why do you keep watching me every night?" I whispered low, my voice barely audible in the silent room. "But you never try to start a conversation."

Dante rose, as if to retreat like he had on previous nights.

Not this time.

"Why do you watch me?" I insisted, my eyes digging deep into his face for even a shred of honesty.

His lips parted, his tone casual. "Call it curiosity."

I scoffed. "You could have just asked me instead of acting like a damn creep."

A chuckle rumbled from his chest, deep and rich. The sound coiled through my body, leaving warmth in its wake. I shifted, crossing my legs, suddenly too aware of the space-or lack thereof-between us.

"What's so funny?" I raised a brow.

He took a step closer.

"You speak as if we share something more than this arrangement," I pressed, my voice steady while heat crawled up my skin. "I feel like I'm married to a stranger who doesn't want to fulfill his duties."

His fingers flexed and his arms crossed over his broad chest. "This is an arrangement, merely a marriage of convenience," he said.

He stirred, bridged the rest of the distance separating us, his hands landing on either side of my body to cage me in. His earthy, richly intoxicating scent clouded my senses.

"And what duties…" he whispered, his lips skimming the shell of my ear, "do you speak of?"

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.

I wanted him to touch me.

I needed to feel the texture of his palm against my skin.

I tilted my chin up, my gaze caught by the shape of his lips, an invitation. This was purely physical. Nothing more.

"Touch me," I whispered.

His lips tugged sideways in a mirthless curve. "Do you want it badly enough to beg for it?" His words came low and husky, and beneath lay the hint of a turmoil–danger.

When I refused to speak, his hand moved. Slowly, deliberately, he traced the curve of my body from my breasts to my stomach.

His fingers pressed deeper, and I sucked in a breath.

"Beg for it," he whispered, bending to kiss the column of my neck.

"I—" My pride warred with the insatiable hunger burning through me. But my desperation won. "Please."

His smirk grew, satisfaction shining within his darker eyes.

Then he yanked my bra away in a sudden savage motion. A gasp parted my lips in shock, half in anticipation.

Dante was all hard edges and quiet restraint, but right now, there was nothing restrained in the way he looked at me.

His hands cupped my breasts, his thumb rolling over my already sensitive nipple before his mouth descended, his tongue circling, sucking, teasing.

A strangled sound left me as I arched into his touch, desperate for more, my fingers threading through his hair.

A guttural groan escaped him, and he yanked me farther in, the press of his erection against my core. The thin fabric of my nightgown did nothing to shield me against the heat of him.

His fingers slid beneath my gown, parting me with such ease. Like a fire surging in my veins, my desire leaped like wildfire.

Then he reached into his pocket, drawing out a foil package. My breath caught at my throat.

"You carry that around?" I asked, voice hushed.

His smirk was back. "Always prepared."

He rolled the condom over his hard length, and I stared, anticipation coiling every muscle in my body tight.

Gripping my ankle, he pushed my legs apart, leaving me completely at his mercy.

His gaze darkened as he looked at me-looked down at me.

"You look beautiful, spread wide open for me to ruin."

"Then ruin me," I pleaded, my voice desperate.

Something flickered in his expression, something unreadable. Then, he thrust into me, his cock stretching me, filling me so completely that my vision blurred.

My nails dug into his back as he moved, setting a rhythm that had me wobbling on the edge of his thrust.

His pace was slow, torturous.

In. Circle. Out.

A slow, agonizing dance.

"Dante," I moaned, holding onto him like he was the only thing binding me to the world.

I did notice how he avoided kissing me, but I didn't dwell on that. Not when pleasure was unraveling inside me like a storm.

And then-blazing, wrenching the air from my lungs, I fractured apart around him. My body convulsed, my screams consumed by the thick air between us.

Two more thrusts and he groaned, his body taut before he flew over the edge with me.

For one eluding moment, we hung suspended in something stark, something indescribable.

Then in a flash, it was gone.

Dante pulled away, getting dressed without a glance spared in my direction.

"Where are you going?" I asked, the vulnerability creeping into my voice.

He let out a scoff. "It was just sex, Nessa. Don't tell me you expected something more than that."

I flinched.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. "I'm already in love with someone else. It would complicate things if I treated you as anything more than what you are."

His words sliced through me.

Another woman?

Someone who would be his queen, leaving me as nothing more than a stand-in. A mistress in my own marriage.

I clenched my fists, willing my breathing to stabilize.

But before I had time to get a hold of myself, he turned again, his eyes narrowing.

"You should prepare yourself, Venessa," he whispered, "...because she's returning soon.”