Lyra’s POV
I didn’t move at first. Just stood there, the door half-splintered from my kick, staring at him as my pulse thundered and my wolf snarled beneath my skin.
His fingers still clutched the picture of Elowen as though it were a sacred charm. His other hand…
Goddess above.
The evidence of his arousal strained against his pants. He didn’t even look startled to see me standing there. Not a flicker of guilt, not a twitch of shame. He simply tucked the photograph out of sight, straightened, and faced me—expression calm, posture impeccable.
Like I hadn’t just caught him worshipping her in the dark.
I should’ve lunged for his throat. Should’ve ended it right there.
Instead, I smiled.
“Need a hand finishing that?” My voice dripped honey, every syllable lined with venom.
His gaze stayed steady. Empty. Professional. “That won’t be necessary, Young Miss,” he said evenly. “It’s a private affair.”
Of course it was.
Still Young Miss. As if I weren’t the woman who’d shared a home with him for years. As if he hadn’t sworn to protect me with his life. But then came her—Elowen, with her angel’s smile and poison-sweet scent—and suddenly, everything else vanished.
I turned away, forcing my wolf to heel even as fury trembled through me. I’d spent years begging to be chosen. That ended now.
Let Elowen play the darling bloom. I’d be the venom in its roots.
He broke the silence first. “What are you doing here?”
I gave him a thin smile. “Nothing,” I lied, voice smooth as glass. “But you’ll be accompanying me to the fashion gala tomorrow. Elowen will be there.”
A faint twitch rippled through him at her name. Barely visible—but I saw it. I always did.
The next night, he waited for me at the base of the stairs, dressed in black trimmed with silver. Hair neat, posture rigid, eyes unreadable.
For the first time in years, I walked past him without a word.
His expression faltered—just slightly—but I caught the flicker.
The drive was silent. Suffocating. The air thick with everything we didn’t say. My wolf prowled inside me, restless, furious. But I kept my face still.
When we arrived at the Limited Edition Fashion Gala, every head turned.
I entered not just as Lyra Solari—daughter of the Solari line—but as the betrothed Luna of the Dravenwood Pack. They didn’t know yet, but soon they would. Even if my future husband lay cursed in eternal sleep, I’d walk as his equal.
Then she arrived.
Elowen. Glowing in pale silk, her smile syrup-sweet and calculated. She approached with a tinkling laugh. “Sister,” she greeted.
I turned sharply, voice cold enough to frost the air. “Don’t call me that.”
Behind me, Kael stiffened. I didn’t need to look to know his eyes had softened for her. They always did.
Then I saw her gown.
A masterpiece—midnight blue melting into silver like the night sky bleeding into dawn. Moonstones scattered across the bodice, the neckline trimmed with delicate wolf-thread lace. It was exquisite.
I hadn’t come for the spectacle or the applause. I came for a single purpose: to claim the perfect dress for my wedding to Alpha Dravenwood. Even if the ceremony lay weeks away, I intended to look every bit the Luna of an ancient, revered pack.
And that dress was mine.
“I’ll take it,” I told the designer.
She smiled apologetically. “It’s one of a kind. We’ve had offers—gold, gems, even blood-oaths.”
“I’ll pay double in gold.”
Then came her voice.
“Oh, I adore this one too,” Elowen cooed, brushing the sleeve with her fingers.
My spine stiffened. “I’ve already claimed it.”
Her lips curved sweetly, but her eyes gleamed. “Surely the designer doesn’t mind a bit of competition.”
Before I could tear into her, a man stepped forward—tall, dark suit, confidence radiating in quiet waves. He gave Kael a brief look before addressing the designer.
“I’ll take the dress,” he said. “Whatever the cost.”
The designer blinked. “And you are?”
He offered a slight bow. “Kaelen. Beta of the Luminara Pack. Our Alpha commands that anything Miss Elowen Solari desires tonight is to be hers—at any price.”
The room erupted in whispers.
“The Luminara Pack?”
“Why her?”
“Has their Alpha chosen her?”
Elowen blinked innocently. “I don’t even know him…” Then turned to me with that saccharine smile. “Lyra, you’re not still bidding, are you? I’d hate for you to empty your vault.”
My nails dug into my palms.
Kael didn’t so much as glance at me. His eyes were fixed entirely on her.
And the evening descended into humiliation.
Each time a new gown appeared, or a jeweled necklace, or a rare moonstone ring—the Beta outbid everyone. Each time, the treasure went to Elowen.
At last, I faced him. “Tell me, does your Alpha intend to leave anything for the rest of us?”
He flicked a glance toward Kael. “Our Alpha only cares for the Second Miss’s happiness. The rest of you are irrelevant.”
The words struck harder than I expected.
Kael smiled—smiled—at Elowen like she was divinity incarnate. I had to fight the urge to bare my teeth.
When the gala ended, Elowen stood amid the glow of admiration, radiant and adored.
I slipped out quietly, invisible again.
I climbed into the car and snapped, “Bloodmoon Club. Now.”
I needed something to burn. Liquor. Music. Anything that drowned thought.
Before the driver could move, Elowen slid in beside me, still smiling. “Sister, I’m coming too! You always know how to have fun.”
I nearly shoved her out. But Kael appeared, hand on the door. “Drive,” he said calmly.
I clenched my jaw.
As the car moved, she filled the air with chatter. “Isn’t it strange? The Alpha of Luminara Pack keeps sending gifts. I’ve never even met him! They say he’s devastatingly handsome.”
Kael chuckled. “That’s because he’s taken a liking to you. You’re… different.”
Then came her coy little question. “Do you like me too, Kael?”
He hesitated, searching for an answer. I didn’t give him the chance.
“If you two plan to flirt,” I said, voice cold as steel, “get out. This is my car.”
Elowen pouted, murmuring a soft “sorry,” all innocence and feigned guilt.
I turned toward the window—and in the reflection, I saw it.
His gaze on her, warm and tender.
Then it shifted to me. Cold. Hollow. Disgusted.
I smiled bitterly. So this was what men wanted—fragile tones, trembling lashes, and the illusion of sweetness.
Nothing like me.
