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.

The next evening, Gareth waited at the bottom of the stone staircase in the pack hall. His hand stretched out, as he always did, expecting me to take it. But I didn’t.

For the first time in three years, I walked past him without a word. Gareth froze for a moment, surprise flickering in his sharp wolfish eyes, then quickly regained his calm, predator’s mask. He followed me in silence, sitting across from me in the carriage like a stranger I had never known.

Tonight was mine. It was the ceremony to celebrate my mother as the late Luna of the Silverfang Pack. I celebrated it by showing my hobby, knitting gowns. Six gowns I had spent years preparing.

Each stitch carried a memory of pain, of love lost, of a mother who had died broken.

The collection was my message to the world. It was a message no one could ignore. To the eight-year-old girl who watched her mother give up life while the pack ignored her cries.

One by one, the gowns appeared under the full moon’s silver light. The Ariadne gown was a soft pink, echoing my mother’s young love for my father. The Descent gown was shaped like a trapped bird, the moment she realized he had married her for power.

Meanwhile, the Unspoken gown was a deep cerulean gown that showed the night my father’s mistress was revealed and my mother was locked away for ‘causing a scene’.

After that, the Inheritance gown, a midnight black gown embroidered with thorned vines, the strength she passed to me through pain.

Last but not least was the Resurrection gown. It was a bright scarlet, sharp and fierce, the fire she had lit in my soul.

The pack applauded, howling in approval. But when the final gown appeared, my chest froze. Gwyneth stepped onto the stage. Wearing it.

The gown I had sewn with trembling hands, tears dripping onto the fabric. It held a piece of my mother. Her hair woven into the brooch at the collar. Her heartbeat. Her essence.

I gasped, horror slicing through me.

“No!” I stumbled forward, trying to stop her.

“She cannot wear that! She can’t! No!”

Before I could reach the stage, a hand gripped my wrist, bruising. I spun around. It was Gareth. His fingers dug into my skin. His eyes were unreadable, like a wolf who had already claimed its prey.

“Let go of me!” I hissed, trembling with rage.

“That gown carries my mother’s hair! And Gwyneth is my mother’s killer … why is she wearing it? Don’t you see?!”

He didn’t flinch.

“Do not cause a scene, Lady Freya. This is not about you.”

I yanked my arm free, staggering back as my world collapsed. Then, a deep voice rang across the hall. A tall man in ceremonial black stepped forward.

“My name is Alwin Oakwood, the Beta of Alpha Gareth, Alpha of the Grey Wind Pack,” he announced, bowing gracefully.

“Our Alpha believes all things beautiful should belong to their rightful owner. All these gowns belong to one person and that is Lady Gwyneth.”

Gwyneth pressed her gloved hand to her chest, pretending to be embarrassed.

“Oh … I had no idea Alpha Gareth would show me such honor. I am… deeply grateful. I hope to meet him soon. I have never seen him before.”

The pack members murmured, flashing their eyes with excitement.

“Gareth? The Alpha no one has ever seen?”

“And Lady Gwyneth has already captured his attention?”

“She must be special to earn such favor!”

I could barely breathe.

“What is this?” I whispered, voice sharp.

Before I could step closer, attendants rolled out the other five gowns. My other dresses, my life’s work, were hung carelessly on wooden racks, no reverence, no protection.

“All six gowns are gifts to Lady Gwyneth Greywind from Alpha Gareth,” the Beta continued.

“Who says Lady Freya should know her place and not interfere with the innocent Lady Gwyneth?”

The pack stared at me like I was a wolf trapped in a snare. Gwyneth looked around, wide-eyed, pretending innocence.

“Lady Freya … please don’t be mad. I never wanted to steal your spotlight. I’m sorry…”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear everything apart. Cry until my heart broke.

Gareth stood behind me, silent, watching. His eyes were cold, like a judge delivering punishment. He didn’t need words. He looked at me like I deserved this humiliation.

Public. Precise.

A lesson for daring to defy him.

I bit my tongue until I tasted blood. When the ceremony ended, all my dresses were gone. My tribute to my mother stolen. My name was erased.

I didn’t watch Gareth leaning toward Gwyneth with admiration. I didn’t watch Gwyneth’s sly smile.

What I knew was that I shifted into my wolf form to the old countryside farmhouse, the one on the edge of the forest. I almost collapsed once I reached the farmhouse.

I went to the garden. My mother’s garden. The one she fought to keep from being destroyed for a hidden pack vault.

The jasmine had bloomed early. I stood beneath it, in heels and ruin, a woman left with nothing. And I cried. Not polite tears. Not quiet ones. The kind that shook the soul. The kind that came from the deepest part of a broken girl.

Not just because I had loved Gareth, my fated mate, with a fire he used to burn me.

Not just because the pack adored Gwyneth and marked me as a villain.

But because I had let go of every piece of love I had ever given to this pack. Every hope I had ever held.

My screams echoed through the forest, unanswered.

Two days.

That was how long I stayed locked inside my den, packing my things in silence and preparing to leave the Silverfang Pack for good.

I ate almost nothing. I barely slept. My chest didn’t ache anymore. I was simply numb, as if my wolf had curled into a cold corner inside me and refused to move.

A knock came.

“Freya?” Gwyneth’s sweet voice floated through the door, fake as always.

When I didn’t answer, the door opened anyway. Gwyneth stepped inside like the Alpha’s house belonged to her alone.

“Sister, I know you’ve been … going through things. But it’s my birthday, and all the pack members are asking where you are. You need to come greet everyone. Even if Father is angry with you… you’re still his daughter.”

I stayed silent and kept folding clothes.

“Freya, please? I’m just trying to keep our pack peaceful.”

Then another voice followed. Deeper. Colder. His.

“Where are you going? Why can’t you act normal for once—”

“You are my warrior, not my Alpha. Don’t forget your place.”

My words cut through the air like claws, and Gareth stopped, his expression empty and unreadable.

I hadn’t seen him since the night he sold my legacy, the night he humiliated me in front of the whole pack. The night the male who had once been my fated mate treated me worse than a rogue.

“Lady Freya, you have everything,” he finally said, tone formal.

“The Silverfang Pack has a tremendous legacy. You don’t need to fight with your sister or torment her. The least you can do is show up for one night. Just behave.”

I laughed, sharp, bitter, and painful.

Behave.

Gwyneth sniffed softly, pretending to be innocent.

“Gareth, you’re my sister’s warrior and friend. Please help me. I only want Freya to come downstairs. Everyone is talking…”

I turned away.

If I looked at either of them any longer, I would tear the whole room apart.

“Fine. Get out. I’ll be there.”

My voice sounded dull, hollow. Because the only thing worse than breaking… was letting them see it.

The ballroom glittered in soft pink and gold, the walls covered in roses and glowing candles. Pack members laughed and chatted, the air thick with sweet perfume and wolf scents. Then I heard him.

My father.

Laughing loudly among high‑ranking Alphas and Betas.

“So, the Grey Wind Pack’s Alpha himself chased after my Gwyneth!” he boasted.

“Gareth, of all wolves. I always knew my daughter was special!”

Someone asked about me.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Freya?” he scoffed.

“A troublesome pup. Not like Gwyneth. She brings honor to the pack. Freya only brings problems and wants attention.”

I froze behind a marble column, hidden but listening. His words sliced through me like claws. Then Gwyneth’s voice rang out through the hall.

“Everyone!” she called sweetly.

“Before we cut the cake, I want to say something!”

The crowd gathered like pups chasing a treat.

She smiled beautifully, her eyes sweeping the room until they landed on me. She lifted her hand, inviting me forward like I was part of her little show.

“I know things have been… tense,” she said softly.

“But I want you all to know that my sister and I have made peace.”

I blinked.

She turned to me with fake sadness.

“I’m sorry for making you angry and jealous, sister. I never tried to compete with you. No matter how much you hate me… I always looked up to you. We are pack.”

The crowd murmured in admiration.

She turned back to the giant cake and cut it gracefully.

“To my sister,” she said. “May she one day find peace and purpose.”

Then she stepped closer and held the first bite toward me.

I didn’t take it.

Her whisper hit me like poison.

“The last thing you’ll ever taste as a Silverfang Pack’s member, bitch. First your mother died, and now it’s your turn to follow her. Father isn’t yours. Your ex‑fiancé wants me. Even your fated mate, your precious warrior, chooses me over you.”

My vision burned red. I turned away, refusing to let her see me break. But then my dress jerked sharply.

Cold air hit my back. Gasps filled the hall. The silk slid down my body in a cruel wave, leaving my breasts exposed. I grabbed the fabric too late.

People shouted. Wolves whistled. Voices hissed in shock. My hands shook as I tried to pull the dress up, but the clasp had been cut. Clean. Deliberate.

I knelt on the ground, tears stinging my eyes.

Behind me, Gwyneth gasped dramatically.

“Oh no, sister!” she cried. “Why would you do that? Again? Freya… is this for attention?”

The crowd turned toward me with disgust, pity, and hunger.

And then … he moved.

Gareth. From across the room, his gaze locked on me—cold, distant, Alpha‑hard. He didn’t shield me.

Didn’t growl. Didn’t protect the wolf who once carried his mark.

He shrugged off his jacket and dropped it. At my feet. Not on my shoulders. Not around me. As if he wanted to say, ‘Cover yourself. You shame us.’

I grabbed it with shaking hands and pulled it around me as I stood on trembling legs.

Gareth guided me toward the exit, his grip firm on my elbow.

No comfort. No warmth. Just the cold duty of a warrior escorting a disgraceful wolf.

In the bathroom, I shut the door fast and slid down the wall. The cold marble bit into my bare skin as I clutched his jacket to my chest. My breaths came in broken gasps. Shame crawled up my spine like fire. Tears fell hot and fast.

Outside, I heard Gwyneth’s fake cry.

“W‑Why would my sister do this?!”

Gareth’s voice followed, sharp and cold.

“The way she acts… like stripping in front of the whole pack means nothing. It’s something an innocent wolf like you will never understand, Lady Gwyneth.”

Then came the words that shattered me.

“I can’t believe a woman could act with so little respect for herself,” Gareth said. “Who undresses like that? For attention? Sympathy? A moment of praise?”

I stared at the floor.

“She’s always been an attention seeker,” he continued.

“Framing you. Acting like a… prostitute. Tonight proved it. No wolf with dignity would do something like that.”

The words were bullets.

One. After. Another.

He truly believed I wanted this. That I chose to be exposed like prey before a pack of hungry wolves. I once loved him more than the moon. I once believed the mate bond meant something. Now, I saw the truth.

Loving him had been the biggest mistake of my life.