Five years later, Stella was released from prison—only to face the brutal vengeance of Joseph, the new Alpha. Convinced she had caused his father’s death, he tormented her mercilessly. Yet he never imagined the truth: the accident five years ago had been his father’s doing, and Stella had been innocent all along. Now, as Joseph realizes he’s fallen in love with her, where does that leave him?

– Release

“Name?”

“Stella Hart.”

“Possessions?”

“Duffel bag. No cash.”

The guard nodded, stamped a form, and slid it through the slot beneath the glass.

“You're free to go.”

Free. The word echoed like a foreign language.

Stella stepped through the iron gates, blinking at the vastness of sky. No sirens. No buzzers. Just air—unfiltered, untouched, too bright. She tightened her grip on the fraying handle of her bag.

The bus idled at the end of the cracked lot, steam curling into the morning chill. She climbed aboard and took the rear-most seat. Only one other passenger—a wrinkled woman knitting with red yarn.

Her phone buzzed once. A single text.

FROM: CATHERINE

*Don't contact us again.*

She stared at the message for a full minute before deleting it.

The bus rattled to life.

---

“You sure about Greenridge, miss?” the driver asked as they pulled off the highway. “Not many go there willingly.”

“I don’t have anywhere else,” Stella said quietly.

“Suit yourself.”

Trees lined the winding roads, summer leaves just starting to crisp. Every bend brought her closer to the place she swore never to see again.

“You were the nanny, right?” the woman with the yarn asked suddenly.

Stella stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“Greenman family. I saw your face on the news. Said you seduced that Alpha.”

“I didn’t.”

The woman gave a small shrug. “Didn’t think you did. Men like that… don’t need seduction.”

Silence stretched. Stella turned toward the window. Memories clawed through glass—Alpha Greenman's sweaty breath, the grasping hands, Victoria's broken whisper: *If this gets out, the whole pack falls.* And the courtroom, where no one cared what she said.

---

The bus screeched to a halt.

“Greenridge,” the driver grunted.

Stella stood. The duffel’s weight pulled at her shoulder, but she didn’t flinch. She stepped off.

The air smelled like pine and old mistakes.

“Welcome back, murderer,” someone hissed from a bench. Two teenage boys snickered.

She ignored them and walked toward the employment center.

Across the street, a black SUV sat idling. The windows were tinted, but behind one of them, a man watched her every move.

Joseph Greenman tapped his finger against the steering wheel.

“She looks smaller than I remember,” he muttered.

“She was eighteen, sir,” said the Beta beside him. “People tend to grow thinner in prison.”

Joseph’s jaw flexed. “Don’t make excuses. She killed my father.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t need to know. I watched her lie in court.”

“She didn’t say much at all, if I recall.”

“That’s the lie,” Joseph snapped. “She said nothing. No denial, no defense. Just silence.”

He opened the door. “Stay here.”

---

The employment office stank of ink and sweat. Stella filled out the form under flickering fluorescent light.

“Felony?” the clerk asked without looking up.

She hesitated. “Yes.”

He stamped the application. “Nothing available. Maybe next month.”

“I just need anything. Cleaning. Lifting. Kitchen work—”

“Not for ex-cons.” The man leaned back in his chair. “Try the shelters.”

Stella turned away, throat tight.

She didn’t make it to the door before a familiar voice stopped her cold.

“Miss Hart.”

She froze.

Luna Victoria stood near the coat rack, pristine in pearl gray, her silver hair swept into a regal knot.

Stella turned. “Luna Greenman.”

“I thought you might be here. Walk with me.”

They stepped into the sunlight. Victoria’s heels clicked on the pavement.

“I’ve arranged a temporary position,” she said. “Housekeeping. The packhouse.”

Stella inhaled sharply. “There’s nothing else?”

“You’ll be paid. Meals included. It's that or the shelters.”

“I assume it’s conditional,” Stella said flatly.

“Confidentiality agreement. Extension of the original. No speaking of what happened.”

“What happened,” Stella repeated. “You mean the truth?”

Victoria’s expression never changed. “Do you want the job or not?”

Stella’s hand trembled as she signed the agreement.

---

The mansion looked the same.

Stella paused at the front gates. Shadows of memory danced across the lawn—the sound of children laughing, the heavy fall of Alpha Greenman's boots.

The door opened before she knocked.

Joseph stood in the doorway.

“I see the charity program is working overtime,” he said coolly.

“Joseph,” Victoria chided.

He stepped aside without another word.

Inside, the house echoed with coldness. Stella followed Victoria through polished halls until they reached the servants' wing.

“Your room,” the older woman said. “Shift begins at six a.m.”

She left.

Stella opened the door to a cramped attic space beside humming boilers. A cot. A rusted mirror. One bare bulb swinging from the ceiling.

She sat. Pulled a photo from her duffel—her mother, smiling in a sunlit garden.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But I’m still standing.”

Footsteps echoed in the hall.

Joseph’s voice drifted through the door.

“She’s back. Just like nothing happened. And I swear to God, I’ll make her pay.”

Stella lay back on the cot, eyes wide open, spine pressed to the wall.

Outside, a storm gathered in the distance.

– Contract of Servitude

“You’ll report to kitchen duty at six. Laundry at ten. General scrubbing after that.”

The head maid, Greta, rattled off instructions without glancing up from her clipboard. Her tone was sharp, efficient, devoid of pity.

“Yes, ma’am,” Stella replied.

“You’ll wear this.” Greta handed her a plain brown uniform and pointed toward the staff bath. “You’ve got ten minutes. Alpha doesn’t like delays.”

Stella shut the door behind her and slowly changed, her fingers stiff. The fabric was coarse, slightly too tight across the shoulders. She stared at herself in the cracked mirror.

The bruises from prison had faded, but nothing could erase the wear in her eyes.

---

Downstairs, Joseph stood in the foyer, flanked by several pack members—warriors, administrators, even his girlfriend Rebecca in a fitted red coat.

When Stella entered, silence fell.

“She’s the new help?” someone muttered.

“Parole charity,” Joseph said loud enough for everyone to hear. “The pack council insists we do our part. So here she is—murderer turned maid.”

Stella kept her head down. She would not give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Take a good look,” Joseph continued. “This is what leniency looks like.”

Rebecca gave a theatrical shiver. “And what does she look like? Still thinks scrubbing floors is beneath her, I bet.”

“I’m here to work,” Stella said quietly.

Joseph raised an eyebrow. “Speak up, Hart. Or has five years dulled your voice?”

“I said,” she repeated, lifting her head, “I’m here to work.”

Their eyes locked. For a moment, the room blurred. Her face was thinner, paler than he remembered. But those eyes—still defiant.

“Very well,” he said coolly. “Greta, show her to the attic. She doesn’t need to mix with the regular staff. Give her the boiler room slot.”

Rebecca smiled. “You’re too kind, darling.”

“She doesn’t deserve kind,” Joseph muttered.

---

The attic room was hotter than she remembered. The boiler’s clunking heat filled the air, making sleep a challenge. Stella sat on the edge of the cot and carefully unpacked what little she had. A worn sweater. Toothbrush. The photo of her mother.

She stared at it for a moment, tracing the smile with her thumb.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” she whispered. “I should’ve run that night.”

A knock startled her.

She stood and opened the door.

Luna Victoria.

“May I come in?” the older woman asked.

Stella hesitated. “Of course.”

Victoria stepped inside, her gaze scanning the room with faint disapproval. “We offered better quarters, you know.”

“Joseph overruled it.”

Victoria didn’t deny it. She glanced at the photo still in Stella’s hands.

“You were never meant to return,” she said softly. “But the pack demanded charity cases be reintegrated. I used it as a pretext.”

“Why?” Stella asked. “Why bring me back?”

“To keep an eye on you.”

“Because I’m dangerous?”

“Because you know too much.”

They stared at each other.

“I kept your secret,” Stella said. “I lost five years for it.”

“And I’ve paid in silence every day since.”

“Your son thinks I murdered his father.”

“He’s wrong.”

“Then tell him.”

Victoria’s expression hardened. “I can’t. Not yet.”

“Then we’re done here.”

Victoria turned to leave but paused at the door.

“You’re not the only one carrying a burden, Stella. But remember: silence can protect, and it can destroy.”

---

Hours later, Stella knelt in the grand hallway, polishing the ancestral swords. Her hands moved methodically over the gleaming metal. One slip, and—

“Still polishing?” Joseph’s voice rang out behind her.

She stood, stiff-backed. “You assigned me this.”

“I thought you’d give up halfway.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know enough.”

He stepped closer, staring at her.

“These blades belonged to our founding Alphas. One wrong touch, and they say ghosts haunt you.”

“Better ghosts than liars,” she said quietly.

His eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

She held her ground. “Nothing.”

“I could make this worse for you.”

“You already have.”

A tense silence.

Joseph studied her for a long moment, then leaned in. “Why didn’t you defend yourself in court?”

“Would it have mattered?”

“Yes.”

“Not to people like you.”

“People like me?” His voice turned dangerous.

“Rich. Powerful. Protected. You think you see everything, but you don’t.”

His jaw clenched. “I see enough to know you don’t belong here.”

“Then stop dragging me back.”

Another silence. He turned to leave, then paused.

“You’ll be serving dinner tonight,” he said. “Rebecca’s joining me.”

She gave a slight nod.

“And wear something that doesn’t scream ex-convict.”

“I wasn’t given options.”

He looked at her, then abruptly turned away and stalked down the hall.

---

That night, she stood at the edge of the dining room, dressed in the standard brown maid uniform, hair pulled back tightly. She served plates in silence while Joseph and Rebecca laughed over wine.

“She doesn’t speak much, does she?” Rebecca asked sweetly.

“She didn’t speak much at her trial either,” Joseph said, eyes fixed on his glass.

“She’s learned her place then.”

“No,” he murmured. “She’s just hiding it better.”

Stella didn’t flinch. She poured water. Cleared dishes. Endured.

When the dinner ended, she returned to the attic.

The boiler rattled in the corner. She lay down, sweat-drenched, exhausted, but wide awake.

Outside her door, she heard footsteps pause.

Joseph’s voice, low. “Let’s see how long you last, Hart.”

Then silence.

She turned to the wall and whispered, “Longer than you think.”

– First Clash

“Wake up, Hart! You’ve got an audience today.”

Stella jolted upright. Greta stood in the doorway, scowling. “Alpha wants the ceremonial swords polished again. He says they weren’t gleaming enough yesterday.”

“They were spotless,” Stella muttered, sitting up.

Greta folded her arms. “Tell that to him.”

---

The grand hall shimmered with morning light. Alphas from neighboring packs lounged near the long table, dressed in silk and wolfhide. The blades glinted in their mounts along the wall—symbols of pride, legacy, power.

Stella knelt in silence, cloth in hand, her every movement watched.

“Is that the prisoner girl?” one of the guests asked, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“The killer maid,” another snickered.

Joseph’s voice rang out above the murmurs. “Indeed. Rehabilitated, apparently. Let’s see if she remembers how to clean.”

Stella’s jaw tightened. She wiped down the silver hilt of the largest blade. Her fingers trembled—but only slightly.

Then it slipped. The hilt spun in her palm, knocking against the marble base with a sharp clang.

Everyone froze.

Joseph stood slowly. He walked over and snatched the blade from her hands.

“You think this is a game?” he snapped.

“No,” she said.

He slammed the sword down on the table. “My father died clutching his chest, and you walked out alive. And now you want to polish his legacy like nothing happened?”

She met his gaze. Her voice was soft but unwavering. “I didn’t kill him.”

“Really?” Joseph sneered. “Then explain the silence. Explain the bruises. The way you ran.”

“I ran because no one would believe me,” she said.

“Believe what?” His voice was sharp, but something beneath it faltered. “That he attacked you? That the mighty Alpha Greenman lost control over some maid?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The room spun with heat and shame.

Laughter broke the tension—cruel, echoing.

“Looks like she can’t speak after all,” someone muttered.

Joseph looked around, face unreadable.

“She’s just a servant,” Rebecca called out from the corner. “Let her clean and leave the talking to real wolves.”

That stung more than expected. Stella stood, eyes glassy.

“I may be a servant,” she said quietly, “but I remember who I am. And I won’t forget what your father did.”

Gasps rippled through the room.

Joseph’s hand tightened around the blade’s hilt.

“You’re dismissed,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I haven’t finished,” she replied.

“I said dismissed.”

She bowed stiffly, turned, and walked out.

---

Back in the hall, silence lingered.

One of the older Alphas leaned toward Joseph. “You’re handling this all wrong.”

Joseph’s voice was low. “I’m handling a murderer with too much pride.”

“Or a witness with too much silence,” the elder said.

Joseph said nothing.

---

Later that afternoon, Stella was sweeping petals in the garden. The banquet had ended. The guests were gone. Her hands still shook.

Luna Victoria appeared without warning.

“You humiliated my son,” she said.

“He humiliated me first.”

Victoria studied her. “You’re not entirely wrong. But Joseph is grieving in his own way.”

“Grief doesn’t excuse cruelty.”

“No, but it explains it.”

Stella kept sweeping.

“You don’t trust me,” Victoria said finally.

Stella looked up. “Should I?”

“No,” Victoria admitted. “But I’m asking you to be patient. Joseph... isn’t as unshakable as he pretends.”

“Then maybe he shouldn’t be Alpha.”

Victoria’s face hardened. “He didn’t ask for the title. He inherited it with the body.”

That silenced Stella.

Victoria stepped closer. “You were brave today. But this pack isn’t ready for the truth. Not yet.”

“I’m not here to tell it,” Stella said. “I’m here to survive.”

Victoria nodded once. “Then survive smart. Don’t provoke him again.”

Stella returned to sweeping as Victoria disappeared among the hedges.

---

That evening, Joseph stared at the sword still lying on the long table.

Rebecca approached, wine in hand.

“Still thinking about her?” she asked lightly.

“She embarrassed me.”

“She challenged you.”

“Same thing,” he snapped.

Rebecca tilted her head. “If she bothers you that much, send her away.”

“She’s a liability.”

“Then get rid of her.”

Joseph’s jaw flexed. “Not yet.”

Rebecca frowned. “Why not?”

“I want the truth.”

Rebecca’s smile twitched. “And what if you don’t like it?”

He didn’t answer.

---

In the servant quarters, Stella curled up on her cot, pressing the photo of her mother against her chest.

She’d spoken out. Not all of it, not yet—but more than she had in years.

Her body ached, but her spirit hadn’t shattered.

Outside, footsteps passed.

They paused by her door.

Joseph’s voice—barely audible—whispered to no one.

“She’s not lying.”

Then silence.