Galilea's POV:
I didn't sleep. The night stretched long and cold, filled with the frantic beating of my own heart. By dawn, the panic had receded, leaving a chilling clarity.
I paced, bare feet silent on the polished floorboards, scanning every detail. Then I saw it. In the corner near the floor: an old ventilation grate, brass tarnished with age.
I knelt and examined it. Rusted screws, frame slightly loose. I pulled a pin from my hair and worked at the edge, prying and scraping. Minutes later it came free with a soft groan.
Cool, musty air wafted out. The shaft was dark, but I could hear muffled voices below. I pressed my ear to the opening.
It was Eleanor and Rosalie.
"But Mother," Rosalie's voice was thick with false sympathy, "isn't it too cruel? Sending her to that beast?"
"It's necessary," Eleanor replied, voice hard. "This secures your path to the Prince. With Galilea married off to a brute like Barnes, no one will question your suitability. The Thornes will have a powerful—if unstable—alliance."
"But what if she finds out?" Rosalie whispered. "About where she really came from?"
My breath caught. I pressed my ear harder against the cold metal.
Eleanor let out a short, sharp laugh, entirely without warmth. "Find out what? That she's not the daughter of some distant cousin? That we found her swaddled in rags in a blizzard—the only survivor of a rogue camp destroyed in a pack war?"
The world tilted. My blood ran cold.
A foundling. An abandoned baby. Not family. Not even a distant relation. Just a stray they'd picked from the mud.
"She is nothing, Rosalie. A wolfless nobody. We gave her a name, a roof, twenty years of a life she never would have had. It's time she repays that debt."
The last thread of feeling I held for this house snapped. Those twenty years weren't kindness. They were an investment. And now they were cashing in.
I heard them mention a dowry—a small sum, just for appearances. Then footsteps fading.
Slowly, carefully, I fit the grate back into place. My hands were steady, but everything I'd believed lay in rubble. I stood, face pale in the morning light. The girl who'd loved this family, who'd craved their approval—she was gone. Someone colder stood in her place.
I walked to the door and began to knock. Not frantically. Steady, rhythmic thuds.
After a minute, the lock turned. A guard cracked the door open. "What do you want?"
"I want to see Eleanor and Harold," I said, voice even. "Now."
He scoffed. "You're in no position to make demands." He started to close the door.
"Tell them," I said, voice dropping to something low and dangerous. He paused. "Or when I become Luna of the Black Moon Pack, the very first order I give will be for your head."
His eyes widened. He saw something in my face that hadn't been there yesterday. He hesitated, then nodded and left.
Minutes later, I was escorted to the study. Eleanor, Harold, and Rosalie were all there, faces caught between annoyance and curiosity.
I was shoved into the center of the room. I didn't look at the guards. I looked at the three people who'd crafted my life from lies. A strange, serene smile touched my lips.
"You wanted to see us?" Harold demanded, impatient. "To beg? It won't work."
"No," I said softly. "Not to beg."
I took a breath and then, in that same calm tone, I repeated their conversation. Word for word. The beast. Securing Rosalie's path. The blizzard, the rogue camp, the wolfless nobody picked from the mud.
With every word, the color drained from Eleanor's and Rosalie's faces. They stared, mouths agape, eyes wide with undiluted horror. Harold looked from me to his wife, his expression shifting from confusion to dawning, furious understanding.
When I finished, the silence was absolute.
I let it hang, savoring their shock.
"So," I said, smile widening. "Now we can discuss my dowry. Not what you'll give me. What I'll take."
