My grandmother, Luna Moira Silverfang, always gave Gwyneth everything. The fortune worth billions. The perfect debut ball. The carefully planned rise of “The Silverfang Pack’s Beloved Future She-Alpha” among the packs.
That was when I knew she would give me only one thing, a mating ceremony covered in thorns.
As expected, an envelope arrived the next morning. It was sealed with dark red wax stamped with the Blackwing crest, a coiled serpent wrapped around a crown. I stared at it for a long time before my shaking fingers finally broke the seal.
[Intention of Mating Ceremony
Lady Freya Silverfang of the Silverfang Pack and Alpha Auron Blackwing of the Blackwing Pack
The Moon Priestess has agreed to bless the mating ceremony.]
Another letter was attached for me.
[Lady Freya, I will come to collect you in three days.
A private castle has already been prepared. Your bridal fittings are scheduled.
Our mating ceremony is in two weeks.
Auron Blackwing]
Our mating ceremony? In two weeks.
I set the letter on the desk, my hand numb. This was it. I had been sold again. Only this time, I had spoken the words that sealed the deal. And now I finally saw that this pack had never accepted me at all.
Walking down the hallway, thinking of the life I was about to throw away, I passed by Gareth’s room. And the sounds coming from inside made me freeze.
Low breaths. Rough groans. The room shook with raw, wild desire. I reached for the door without thinking. Then, I opened the gates of hell.
Gareth sat shirtless, muscles tight, sweat shining on his skin. His hand moved between his legs, his head tilted back, lost in pleasure. Papers lay scattered everywhere. On the floor, the bed, and the desk.
My heart stopped when I saw them.
Gwyneth.
He had drawn her face from every angle. Smiling, laughing, looking over her shoulder, and her hair messy like she had just woken up in his arms. And there was more. Sketches of her body.
Not dirty. But soft, intimate curves.
In one drawing, Gwyneth was lying on her back with her head turned and her lips slightly opened. In another, her arms stretched above her head, a thin sheet barely covering her thighs.
I froze as Gareth lifted one sketch. It was one where Gwyneth was topless, her back arched. He brushed his lips against the paper and moaned her name.
“Gwyneth … Gwyneth … ”
Everything inside me crumbled. Gareth hadn’t just used me. He had never even seen me.
Then, his voice broke the silence.
“No,” he growled.
“I can’t return to the pack until she’s mine. I want her as my mate. Gwyneth is everything I want for the Grey Wind Pack.”
My breath caught in my throat. The Grey Wind Pack? Did that mean Gareth was my former betrothed whom I had never met. Was he the one who rejected me publicly after my mother’s funeral, calling me unworthy of his blood?
A tear slipped down my cheek in horror. He had been beside me all this time, wearing a new name, a new face …
And I had let him in like a lamb walking to the slaughter.
“I am only here for Gwyneth,” he said again.
“I always was. Freya? Still throwing herself at me like a dog in heat. You think I would waste three years on her if she wasn’t useful?”
My chest tightened painfully.
“She’s lonely. That makes her easy. Always trying to tempt me with those clothes … like some cheap woman.”
I couldn’t breathe. My legs barely held me up.
Three years...
Three years I let him into every part of my life.
From my plans, my fears, even to my mother’s ashes. I thought he was emotionless, untouched by beauty or status. But all along … Gareth had been chasing Gwyneth.
It reminded of the reason my mother died of heartbreak. The day my mother learned my father had a hidden mistress and another pup, something inside her broke. She stopped eating, stopped talking, started scratching at her own skin until she bled.
I was eight when they took her to the psychiatric wing. Her empty eyes looked at me one last time. One day, she walked into the sea wearing pearls and never returned. They called it an “accident.”
Gwyneth moved into our home the next week. Took my room. Called my mother “that unstable woman.”
When I was ten, she accused me of pushing her down the stairs. My father slapped me in front of everyone. I should have walked away. Should have yelled. But I stood in Gareth’s doorway, frozen, as he finally noticed me.
He didn’t even flinch. He stood up slowly, grabbed his clothes, and dressed without shame like I was nothing but a low-rank Beta who forgot to knock.
“Even if I’m your warrior … you should knock before entering, Lady Freya,” he dryly said.
Lady Freya. As if he didn’t know every detail of my life. As if he hadn’t held me on the bathroom floor when I lost my mother’s castle in court and cried until I couldn’t breathe. He picked up his sketchbook carefully, wiping it like it was something precious.
I swallowed my pain and said, “Tomorrow is an event I’m organizing. You will follow me as my warrior.”
“Will Lady Gwyneth attend?”
My heart tore apart.
“W-What? It’s a tribute for my mother … for her death anniversary! Why would I invite her?!”
Gareth’s expression darkened instantly, not out of respect for my mother. But it was because I insulted Gwyneth.
“Follow me tomorrow. That is an order,” I said, turning away as my throat burned.
Then, just loud enough for me to hear, he murmured, “She’s still chasing me… thinks one night in my bed changed anything. It’s pathetic.”
I stopped. Gareth didn’t know I heard. He didn’t care if I had.
To him, I was nothing but a stepping stone. I left the door wide open behind me.
Let the cold wind sweep in. Let the truth settle over everything. My story in this pack was ending.
And I was walking away from the chaos.
