The Alpha’s gaze caught mine, tracking the way my eyes lingered on that obsidian watch. A heavy, dangerous silence stretched between us until he leaned in. His scent—cold rain and crushed cedar—washed over me, making my skin prickle.

"It’s a fake, Brooke," he murmured, his voice a low vibration against my ear. "Borrowed it from a rogue friend. I only wear it when I need to look like I’m worth more than the dirt in my boots. Didn't think you had an eye for high-caste trinkets."

He slid the watch off and shoved it into his pocket with a careless shrug.

"It’s a damn good imitation," I whispered, stepping back as my ears began to burn. The heat from his body was staggering.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Of course. A man cast out of the Pierce Compound would have connections in the black markets of the Shifter Citadel. For a second, I’d actually panicked, thinking I’d been sold to a high-ranking spy or a criminal lord. A street-hustler was much easier to handle.

Logan tilted his head, his dark brows drawing together. He looked at my flushing face with a strange, piercing intensity. The rumors said the Lawson girls were all sirens—promiscuous and power-hungry. My reaction seemed to trip his predatory instincts in a way he hadn't expected.

"The loser is finally here. Why are we still standing around?"

Madison’s sharp voice sliced through the tension. she strutted forward, her fingers hooked into Jason’s arm like claws. "Since the groom finally crawled out of his hole, let me introduce a real wolf. This is Jason Miller, heir to the Miller pack lands. We’re family now, Logan. Maybe Jason can find some use for you."

Jason looked like he wanted to shift into a flea and hop away. He kept his head down, refusing to meet my eyes.

I looked at the two of them—the sister who stole and the mate who betrayed—and I felt a cold, jagged stone settle in my gut. I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just smiled thinly.

"A lovely introduction, Madison," I said, my voice as sharp as a silver blade. "But you’ve changed 'soulmates' so many times this moon, I’m losing track. Is Jason actually staying for the next cycle, or should I expect a new introduction by Sunday?"

Jason’s face went bone-white. Madison’s smug expression twisted into a mask of pure hate.

"You bitch," she hissed, before forcing a fake, high-pitched laugh for the benefit of the guests. "Anyway, Logan... if you’re tired of scavenging, I can talk to the Miller Alphas. They always need someone to scrub the grease off the war-vans or hose down the kennels. It’s better than being an idle stray, don't you think?"

I glanced at Logan, my heart hammering. Any Alpha would have ripped her throat out for an insult like that. But Logan just broke into a lazy, devastatingly handsome grin. He waved a hand as if dismissing a fly.

"No, thanks," he said, his voice smooth and untroubled. "I’ve always preferred the freedom of the wilderness to the smell of bleach."

Madison’s jaw dropped. She hadn't gotten the rise she wanted. Sulking, she dragged Jason back to the pews.

The ceremony was a blur—a rushed, cold ritual performed by a weary Elder who clearly wanted to be anywhere else. No flowers, no music. Just the bite of a ritual dagger, the smear of blood on a contract, and I was no longer a Lawson. I was a Pierce.

Logan took me to a secluded edge of the Harbor View district.

The "apartment" was a crumbling stone flat overlooking the misty ruins of the old city. It was small, cold, and smelled of woodsmoke. The furniture was sparse—just the essentials, all of it looking like it had been salvaged from the wreckage of the Citadel borders. Logan was a massive man; his presence made the low ceilings and narrow walls feel like a cage.

It was obvious he was living hand-to-mouth.

"This is the den," Logan said, tossing his keys onto a scarred wooden table. He didn't look ashamed. He looked like he was daring me to complain. "Make do with it."

"It’s small," I said, running a hand over a clean but worn tabletop. "But it’s quiet. It’ll hold the two of us."

I meant it. Compared to the suffocating cruelty of the Lawson Estate, this felt like a sanctuary. He’d kept it tidy, the floor swept and the hearth cleared. It didn't feel like a home, though—it felt like a campsite, a place where a predator rested before moving on.

I watched him move. He stripped off his suit jacket, draping it over a rickety chair, and began unbuttoning his white shirt. My breath hitched. Beneath the fabric, his back was a map of hard, corded muscle and faint silver scars. He didn't have the soft body of an "idler." He had the body of a warrior who had survived hell.

Logan turned, catching me staring. His eyes darkened, a flash of something raw and hungry flickering in the depths. He stepped toward me, his shadow swallowing mine against the stone wall.

"You’ve been through the ringer today, Brooke," he said, his voice dropping into a low, intimate growl. "You want to wash the scent of that chapel off first?"

"Go scrub the scent of the Lawson pack off your skin. I can wait."

I flinched, my heels catching on the uneven stone floor of the Harbor View Apartment. My heart was a rabbit drumming against my ribs. I wasn't just a bride; I was a peace offering in a slip dress, and the predator in front of me was finally closing the cage door.

I felt like a stray cornered by a High Alpha. Panic was a metallic taste in my mouth, and I was doing a damn poor job of masking it. I didn't know how to exist in the same air as this man—my "husband," a stranger who smelled like the coming of a winter storm.

Logan leaned against the scarred wooden table, his dark eyes tracking my every twitch. To him, I was probably just a shivering, scentless omegas.

He let out a low, rough chuckle that vibrated in the small room. "Relax, Brooke. I’m not going to tear into you. Not yet. We need to talk."

I crossed my arms over my chest, my fingers digging into my own skin as I drifted toward him. Every instinct told me to run, but I had nowhere to go. I’d traded my life for Ruth’s. I was bound to this man by blood and law now.

"Talk about what?" I asked, my voice coming out thinner than I wanted.

Logan hooked a heavy wooden chair with one hand and slid it toward me with effortless strength. "Sit."

He dragged another chair so close our knees almost brushed. He sat, his massive frame dwarfing the furniture. "I don’t like pretty words or pack politics. I know you didn’t choose this. I know being sold to an outcast like me wasn't your 'happily ever after.'"

"Is it that obvious?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.

"Relationships don't happen because of a signature on a scroll," I added, trying to find some shred of Lawson pride. "We’re strangers. We need... time. Space."

I felt like an idiot the moment the words left my lips. Logan knew exactly who he was in the eyes of the Citadel. He knew Madison had spent the morning laughing at his 'failure.' He knew I was the consolation prize.

Logan narrowed his eyes, studying me. He watched the way I bit my lip, the way my gaze darted to the door and back. He looked like he was reading a map written in my fear.

"Don't worry," he said, his voice dropping into a cold, flat tone. "I’m not interested in playing house. We’re a mated pair to the Citadel and the Lawson borders—nothing more. You stay out of my business, and I stay out of yours. We live in the same den, we keep the peace, and that’s the end of it. I spend most of my nights in the wild or at the fighting pits. I want my freedom. You can have yours. I won't track your scent, and I won't ask who you're with."

He stood abruptly, grabbing his jacket. Then, as if he couldn't help himself, he leaned down, slamming his hands onto the armrests of my chair. He pinned me there, his chest inches from mine.

"Watching a man strip is a dangerous hobby, Brooke," he growled, his breath hot against my neck. It smelled like cedar and something raw, something ancient. "But if you're looking for me to satisfy the 'needs' of a Lawson girl, I’m a husband who knows how to follow a contract."

The scent of him—pure, unadulterated Alpha—made my scalp prickle and my stomach flip.

"I’m fine," I hissed through clenched teeth, refusing to look down.

Logan’s expression shifted, turning dark and sharp. His gaze dropped to my stomach for a fraction of a second, a warning flashing in his eyes. "Since we're being honest: there's one rule. Just one." He took a breath, his voice turning into a lethal whisper. "I won't have my name dragged through the mud of the Shifter Citadel. I don't ever want to find out my wife is carrying another wolf’s pup."

Loyalty. It was the only currency a rogue had left. He’d clearly heard the stories about Madison—how she treated mates like fashion accessories.

"I know my duty," I answered firmly, finally meeting his gaze. "As long as this bond holds, I am yours alone. Just keep your word. Stay out of my life."

The playful, predatory smirk faded. He straightened up, stepping out of my personal space as if the air between us had suddenly turned to ice.

He arched an eyebrow, looking at me like I was a puzzle he’d just realized was missing pieces.

"You're not Madison Lawson, are you?"