Chapter 1Seren's POV
After my seventh "affair," I asked Alpha Alaric for a rejection.
His claws hit the desk with a crack.
"Seren." He leaned back, studying me like I was some cheap moon-show. "What's it gonna cost me this time? The new Moonveil set? Something custom from Silverfang?"
I watched him flip open his checkbook.
"I said rejection, Alaric."
He laughed. His pen scratched across the paper like claws on stone. He signed his name, tore out the check, and threw it at my face.
"Five hundred grand. That should buy you three months of fake heartbreak."
The check drifted to the rug. I bent, picked it up, and ripped it apart in front of him.
"I mean it."
Alaric finally looked up. His gray-blue eyes flashed wolf-gold, then went cold.
"And then what? Reject me, and who pays for Evan's next treatment? Eighty grand, remember?" He stood, adjusting his cufflinks. "The Moon Gala starts soon. Go change."
He turned for the door, throwing over his shoulder, "Five minutes. Don't keep the driver waiting."
An hour later, we sat in the front row of the Moon Gala.
I held Alpha Alaric's arm and wore my trained Luna smile.
I was his perfect ornament - quiet, beautiful, and hollow as a moonless night.
Then Liora showed up.
She wore a blood-red gown, the pack's hottest she-wolf model, and she didn't bother hiding why she was there. She walked straight at us.
"Alaric!" She said his name like she had a right to it, ignoring me completely. "Look - there's the necklace I told you about."
In the glass case sat a pink diamond necklace up for auction.
Alaric's arm slid from mine. His hand found Liora's waist like it belonged there. "You like it?"
"Love it. But..." Liora shot me a look. "Will your Luna mind?"
The pack's stares pricked my skin. Whispers. Smirks.
"She won't." Alaric's voice was ice. "Seren's always been generous."
He lifted his bidding paddle.
"Five million."
The whole hall went wild.
I stood there, blood freezing in my veins. Five million. Two years of Evan's treatments.
He could toss five million at his mistress for a smile, but at home he'd choke me over Evan's medicine approvals and make me beg.
"Congratulations to Alpha Sinclair, winning this treasure for Miss Rowe!" the auctioneer howled.
Liora kissed Alaric's cheek in front of everyone. The crowd cheered.
I watched, sick to my stomach.
My phone buzzed. A message from the healers: Next moon's fees - $83,000.
I stared at it until tears spilled down my cheeks.
That was why I couldn't leave.
That was why I had to swallow it all.
"Seren." Alaric's voice came from above.
I looked up.
"Liora and I have business in the private room." He took her hand. "Stay here. Eat something."
He leaned in, voice low. "Don't wander. Reporters everywhere."
I stood by the wine tower for twenty minutes.
The private room door was cracked open. Laughter slipped out, mixed with ice clinking against glass.
I walked closer.
"...those dates of hers?" Liora's voice was coy.
"I set them all up." Alaric sounded drunk. "Three actors, two gallery assistants, a piano teacher, and a college boy. All mine."
Laughter exploded.
"You're not worried she'll actually fall for one?" a male voice asked.
"Seren?" Alaric laughed, cold. "She's a saint at heart. Needs three days to mentally prepare for holding hands. I know her - guilt is her cage. She can't play those games."
Glasses clinked.
"And those pills you feed her..."
"Contraceptives. Every morning in her vitamins." Alaric's tone was flat. "She thinks a pup will trap me. Please. A sick brother is already enough trouble - why add a pup?"
Glass shattered. I hadn't dropped anything. Someone inside had.
But something in my chest shattered.
I ran into the bathroom and locked the door.
The woman in the mirror had red eyes and shaking lips. I turned on the tap and shoved my face into the cold water.
The suffocating weight hit me. A howl clawed up my throat. I swallowed it.
But three years ago was crystal clear.
Moonlit Grove in autumn, Alaric wrapping a fur cloak around my shoulders, laughing that I wasn't wearing enough; him at Moon Hall listening to me play cello, then walking backstage with an armful of white moonflowers; him kneeling at my father's burial mound, saying, "Let me keep you, Seren. Let me protect you for the rest of our lives."
Water dripped from my chin into my collar.
The lock turned. I jerked up and wiped my face with paper towels.
Liora walked in. She touched the five-million-dollar pink diamond around her neck. Its shine made my eyes burn.
She leaned on the sink and touched up her lipstick. In the mirror, her eyes slid to me.
"Been crying?" She capped her lipstick. "I get it. Hearing your own mate say that must sting."
I said nothing and turned to leave.
She stepped in my way.
Chapter 2
Seren's POV
"Why run?" Liora smirked. "Want to know something? Alaric told me he can't stand that dead-fish look you get between the sheets. Says you're stiff as a frozen branch - only twitch when money's mentioned."
My claws pressed into my palms. The sting was the only thing keeping my wolf from snapping.
"Move," I growled low.
"What gives you the right to order me?" Liora laughed, leaning into my ear. "Every wolf in Moon City knows you're just Alaric's pet. Because of that sick brother, you can't even bare your teeth without checking your master's mood. If I were you, I'd have ended it ages ago. Save everyone the stink."
Her words cut through the last lie I'd been telling myself.
I slapped her.
The crack echoed off the bathroom walls. Her head whipped sideways. The pink diamond blazed like a tiny sun.
She touched her cheek, eyes wide - then her mouth curled into a winning smile.
The door slammed open.
"What's going on?" Alpha Alaric's voice cracked like ice.
Tears flooded Liora's eyes. She threw herself at Alaric. "She hit me! I was only trying to comfort her..."
"Reporters are right outside." Alaric shoved Liora aside and seized my wrist. "Apologize. Now." His Alpha voice pressed down on me, heavy as a paw on my neck.
"She called Evan a freak," I said, staring at him. "She told me to kill myself."
"I said apologize." His voice rose. "This is the Moon Gala. Reporters everywhere. That slap will tank Sinclair Pack's shares by dawn. Do you ever think before you act?"
"Shares?" I laughed, tears burning. "Is that all you care about, Alaric? Shares and appearances? She insults my family, and you want me to bow for your precious shares?"
"Your family?" Alaric sneered. "Without me, your brother would've been ashes years ago. Don't forget who keeps him breathing, Seren. Dignity costs, and you're broke."
Something inside me broke.
He was right. I had nothing.
My talent. My cello. My name. All of it died three years ago when I sold myself to Alaric to save Evan.
Behind him, Liora smirked.
I lowered my head. My voice came out flat. "I'm sorry."
"Bow," he ordered.
I bent. Ninety degrees.
Liora laughed and wrapped herself around his arm. "Fine. I won't hold it against someone so pathetic."
"Good girl." Alaric patted her hand, then glanced at me. "Go wait in the lounge. Don't come out till the gala ends."
I fled the bathroom, shoving past wolves with wine glasses. Their laughter trailed me like shadows.
The next day, I slipped out to Moon Hall without telling anyone.
The Moon City Philharmonic was holding cello auditions. My last shot. If I got in, I'd have steady pay. Maybe - maybe I could finally break Alaric's hold. Even covering part of Evan's healer fees would be hope.
The judge was an old friend. Elder Carrick.
When I lifted the bow, the familiar weight made my fingers shake. This wasn't Siren, my old master cello. Alaric had locked that away years ago. This was a secondhand practice cello.
But music was in my blood.
Bach's Cello Suites filled the empty hall. For one moment, I wasn't Luna Sinclair. I was Seren - the prodigy who once played solo at Moon Hall.
When I finished, Elder Carrick had tears in his eyes.
"Seren," he sighed. "Your hands are still there. Your soul is still there. Of course we'd love to - "
The phone on his desk rang.
Elder Carrick answered. His face went pale. He looked at me with pity.
"Yes, I understand Alpha Sinclair's position. Of course."
He hung up, helpless as a wolf watching another drown.
"Seren, go home."
"Why?" I begged. "You just said - "
"Alpha Sinclair called the pack council himself." Carrick looked away. "He said he won't have his Luna making a spectacle, working to 'please others.' If we hire you, Sinclair Pack pulls all sponsorship next season."
I grabbed my cello and ran into the rain. It mixed with my tears - salt and bitterness.
When I pushed open the door to the penthouse, it was past eleven.
Alaric sat on the sofa, whiskey in hand.
"Where were you?" he asked.
Chapter 3
Seren's POV
"You already know where I was." I stood in the foyer, soaked to the bone, hugging my cello case like a drowned pup.
"The audition at Moon Hall - fun, was it?" He swirled his whiskey. "Old Carrick almost wept at your little performance. Real touching."
I turned away. "I need to work."
"What you need is to learn your place."
"I'm not your omega, Alaric."
He laughed. Setting down his glass, he rose and stalked toward me. His fancy leather shoes made zero sound on the wool rug. Alpha grace. Predator's walk.
"Omega?" He reached out, fingers brushing my wet hair. "At least an omega knows to whimper for scraps. You? All you give me is that dead-eyed stare."
I smacked his hand away. "I have rights - "
"What rights?" He cut me off, eyes going wolf-cold. "You eat from my kill. You sleep under my roof. Your brother's life is bought and paid for by me, every single day. Your rights are what I hand you. And when I don't? You've got nothing."
His gaze dropped to the cello case in my arms.
"Still clinging to that useless chunk of wood?" He ripped it away. "Think this thing's gonna carry you out of my territory?"
"Give it back!"
He raised the case and slammed it into the floor.
The wood split. I dropped to my knees, watching my cello roll out of the shattered velvet. A crack ran down its body like a wound.
Alaric lifted his boot and brought it down on the neck.
"No!!!" I lunged.
Crack.
The neck snapped. Strings whipped loose, one slicing across my cheek, leaving a hot line of blood.
I knelt there in the splinters and broken wood, frozen. My wolf clawed at my ribs, howling to break free. I choked her down.
Alaric crouched, grabbed my chin, forced my face up.
"Remember this feeling, Seren." His breath was hot on my skin. "Remember what happens to your dreams. Remember who gives you everything - and who can take it all away."
He let go and pulled a black card from his jacket, tossing it onto the wreckage.
"No limit. Buy a new cello, new clothes, whatever shuts you up." He stood, fixing his cufflinks. "But if you ever go looking for work again..."
He paused. Smiled.
"Evan's meds - border patrol's been strict lately. A month or two delay? Completely normal. Right?"
I stared at the black card on the floor. Something in my chest went quiet. Dead.
Alaric headed for the bedroom, throwing back his final words:
"I'm going to the Fangborn territory next week. Taking Liora. You stay put. If I catch you pulling anything again, we won't be having such civilized talks anymore."
The door shut.
I sat in the ruins, cradling the broken neck. It used to hold my palm. It used to carry Bach, Dvořák - my whole life before twenty-two.
Now it was garbage.
Like my dignity.
Three days later, a text came from an unknown number.
Go to the Alpha's study. Third drawer on the left. Bottom of the pile. Blue folder. You'll see what you need to see.
I stared at the screen, blood running cold. A trap?
Another one of Alaric's little tests to see if his pet was behaving?
But I had nothing left to lose.
I went upstairs. The study door was unlocked.
Third drawer on the left. Financial statements, merger contracts, territory deeds. I dug through stack after stack, fingertips scraping the bottom.
I found it.
The edge of a hard folder. I pulled it out.
Blue cover. No label.
I opened it.
Moonrise Healer's Den letterhead. Heart Transplant Division. Patient: Evan Marlowe.
My eyes flew across the healer's words: end-stage dilated cardiomyopathy, EF 15%, maximum treatment reached. Recommend urgent cardiac transplant.
I turned the page.
Compatibility report. Dated three moons ago.
Donor ID: D-7291. Blood match. HLA compatibility: 98%.
Healer's note: High-priority match. Recommend immediate procedure. Limited window.
Then the last page.
A sticky note. Sharp, familiar handwriting - Alaric's.
Postpone. Maintain status quo. Requires extended observation.
His signature below. Dated the 15th. Three days after Evan's last critical episode.
I stared at those words for a long time.
Long enough for the letters to twist and crawl like serpents into my eyes.
Postpone.
Maintain status quo.
He'd found a heart that could save Evan. 98% match - nearly perfect. The healers said immediate surgery was needed.
But he buried it.
He signed the order, locked it in this drawer, then came home and told me, "Seren, the medicine approval process is complicated. Be patient."
Patient.
While he played his game of control.
While he made sure I could never run.
My stomach seized. I bolted to the study's bathroom, dropped to my knees, and dry-heaved. Nothing came up but bile burning my throat.
I pulled myself up. The face in the mirror was pale and twisted.
Three years.
Three years I'd endured his affairs, his humiliation, watching him crush my dignity in front of the whole pack. I told myself at least he saved Evan. At least my brother was alive.
Even that was a lie.
Evan was alive not because of Alaric's mercy.
But because I needed chains.
And Evan's heart was the most expensive link in Alaric's collection.
My hands shook as I grabbed my phone and photographed the documents. The flash exploded in the silent study like a soundless scream.
As I took the last shot, my phone buzzed.
The screen lit up: Moonrise Healer's Den.
I answered. A healer's voice shattered the silence. "Miss Marlowe? You need to come now! Evan's in cardiac failure - they're trying to revive him! We called your mate but his phone's off. Please - hurry. He's critical!"
