Erin Flynn POV:

I locked the door behind me and slid to the floor, my back pressed against the wood. The trembling started then, a deep, shuddering quake that came from my bones.

I stumbled into the bathroom and turned the shower on, twisting the knob until the water was scalding. It poured over me, but I felt nothing but a profound, soul-deep cold.

I scrubbed at my skin, desperate to wash his scent away. But it was no use. It felt like it was branded into me, a permanent mark on my soul.

The mirror reflected a ghost. Pale face, bloodless lips, and a constellation of purple bruises blooming across my neck and collarbone.

They were marks of shame. Reminders of my reckless abandon.

My eyes stared back at me, but my mind was three days in the past, at the pack gathering that had sent me spiraling into this hell.

I had been wearing my mother's moon-white dress. I stood beside Kieran Stephenson, the Alpha of the Stephenson Pack, my intended mate since childhood. Everyone expected him to formally announce our bonding.

Instead, he took another woman's hand. Jetta's.

He looked at me, his eyes cold and clinical. "Erin," he said, his voice ringing out for all to hear. "I, Kieran Stephenson, hereby reject you, Erin Flynn, as my mate."

According to the ancient laws of our kind, a public rejection inflicts a tearing pain on both souls. But the one who is rejected bears the double share of the agony. It felt like my very essence was being ripped in two.

The pack didn't offer sympathy. They offered whispers and mocking laughter. I was a cast-off, a worthless Omega.

My own father, Patrick Flynn, didn't even look at me. He was too busy schmoozing with the Stephenson elders, as if it wasn't his daughter who had just been publicly humiliated.

The memory faded. My nails dug into my palms, the sharp pain a welcome distraction.

That was why I'd gone to the bar. That was why I'd thrown myself at the first powerful man who wasn't part of that world. I thought a Rogue would be simple. A transaction. No strings, no attachments.

Instead, I'd found the Alpha at the very top of the food chain. An Alpha a thousand times more powerful, a million times more dangerous, than Kieran.

A rumor I'd once heard surfaced in my mind. Barron Winters had also been betrayed. An arranged mate, a woman from the Baird pack named Devorah, had broken their pact.

He knew my pain.

The thought didn't bring comfort. It brought terror.

A Lycan King, ancient and betrayed, would have a possessiveness that bordered on psychosis.

I could not let him claim me. I would not be a prize won, a bird locked in a golden cage.

I shut off the water and moved to the living room, grabbing my phone. I couldn't tell Harley the truth, but I could ask for advice.

I typed a message: Harley, what if... just what if, a really powerful, really stubborn man won't leave you alone?

Her video call came through instantly.

I hesitated, then answered. Her face, covered in a green clay mask, filled the screen.

"Oh my Goddess, babe, you don't mean the stripper, do you? Is he stalking you?" she asked, her voice tight with alarm.

I seized the lie. "Um... he seems to think it was more than just a paid gig."

Her expression hardened. "I knew it! Men who sell their bodies are the worst! Don't you worry, you tell me who he is and I'll have some of our warriors 'educate' him!"

"No! Don't!" I said, panicked. "I don't want to make a scene. I just want him to go away."

Harley considered this. "Okay. With a powerful Alpha, you can't fight force with force. You have to make him think you're worthless. Make him lose interest."

Worthless. The word stung, a fresh jab at an open wound.

"You need to give him money," she continued, warming to her idea. "An insulting amount of money. Like you're paying off a beggar. A proud Alpha can't stand that kind of humiliation."

Her words were a beacon in my fog of despair.

Yes. Insult him with money. Barron Winters, the Alpha King, could surely not tolerate being treated like a common Rogue, a man whose time could be bought and dismissed.

It was a brilliant, terrible idea.

I was going to do it.