"Seven days."

I stared at the encrypted text from Theo. The harsh glare of my cracked phone screen illuminated the cramped interior of my beat-up sedan.

Seven more days of this trial.

My thumb brushed against the cheap plastic name tag pinned to my left chest pocket. The harsh fluorescent lights of the warehouse still seemed to cling to the blue polyester.

I shoved the phone away and killed the engine.

Outside the windshield, the wrought-iron gates of Oakridge Academy stood open.

Dylan waited by the stone courtyard fountain. My ten-year-old son threw his head back, laughing loudly at a joke made by a boy wearing a three-hundred-dollar uniform sweater.

I stepped out of the car. The cold afternoon wind hit my face.

"Dylan," I called out.

His laughter vanished. He snapped his head toward me. His eyes darted from my scuffed work boots to the bright blue vest screaming my retail status to the entire courtyard.

The other boy smirked, nudging Dylan's shoulder. "Is that your maid?"

"No," Dylan muttered, his face flushing dark red. "Just... my ride."

He marched toward me, his jaw set hard. He offered no greeting. Instead, he swung his heavy leather backpack off his shoulder and shoved it directly into my chest.

The metal buckles bit into my collarbone.

"Put it in the trunk," he ordered, keeping his voice low.

"Dylan, look at me," I said. I reached out and caught his wrist.

"Don't touch me!" He yanked his arm free as if my skin burned him. "Get in the car before anyone else sees you."

"I am your mother," I said, my tone firm.

"You are an embarrassment!" he hissed.

He spun around, yanked open the passenger door, and threw himself onto the seat.

My phone vibrated in my jeans pocket. I pulled it out.

A text from Dylan lit up the screen.

Please don't wear this. You look like trash.

I stared at the glowing letters. My hands gripped the heavy straps of his backpack. Just three months ago, I dragged pallets of frozen meat until my spine felt permanently bruised. I worked ninety consecutive night shifts. I skipped lunches to save every spare dollar to pay the $24,000 tuition required to keep him standing in that elite courtyard.

I popped the trunk, tossed the bag inside, and slammed the lid shut.

The drive home passed in suffocating silence.

When I pushed open the apartment door, Aaron was already sitting at the cramped kitchen table. He wore the new charcoal-gray suit Lola had bought him.

Dylan pushed past me, entirely ignoring his father, and locked himself in his bedroom.

"You are late," Aaron said. He kept his eyes locked on his phone screen.

"Traffic," I replied. I unzipped my blue vest and draped it over the back of a chair.

"Pack a bag for him," Aaron commanded. "Just enough for the weekend."

I paused, my hand still resting on the rough polyester. "Why?"

Aaron finally looked up, his expression dripping with open disdain. "Dylan and I are spending the weekend at Lola's estate."

My fingers tightened on the chair. "You are taking my son to your mistress's house?"

"She is not my mistress, Selene. She is my sponsor," Aaron said smoothly. "She has a private pool. A chef. A tennis court. Dylan needs to expand his horizons. He needs to see how successful wolves live."

"He lives here," I said, stepping closer to the table. "With his family."

"He lives in a dump," Aaron shot back. He slammed his hand flat against the laminate wood. "Look around! Peeling wallpaper. Leaking faucets. You work at a wholesale club, Selene. What kind of future can you offer an ambitious pup?"

"I paid his tuition." My voice dropped to a sharp whisper. "I kept him in that school."

"Money you scraped together from sweeping floors," Aaron sneered. "Lola is introducing him to the alpha of the eastern sector tomorrow. Can you do that? Can you get him a seat at a high-council table?"

I stared at the man I chose three years ago. The man I thought would love me for me, completely separated from my pack title.

"You have no idea what I can do," I said.

"I know exactly what you can do," Aaron said, standing up. "You can iron my shirts and stay out of my way."

He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a thick, heavy envelope. He tossed it onto the kitchen table.

It landed with a solid thud, sliding across the cheap laminate until it stopped inches from my hand.

"Make sure my dress shoes are polished by tomorrow night," Aaron said, adjusting his cuffs. "Lola is hosting a banquet. It is strictly high-society."

"A banquet," I repeated.

"Yes. The kind of event they would never let you into, even to serve the drinks." He picked up his car keys. "Do not wait up. I need to take Dylan shopping for a tuxedo."

Aaron turned and walked out the front door, letting it slam shut behind him.

The silence rushed back into the tiny apartment.

I looked down at the table.

The invitation was made of thick, cream-colored cardstock. Gold foil lined the edges, catching the dim overhead light.

I reached out and flipped the heavy card open.

Elegant, sweeping calligraphy spelled out Lola's name as the guest of honor.

But my eyes locked onto the header.

Hosted by the Brandt Family.

My thumb traced the raised gold lettering spelling out Brandt—the exact exiled bloodline that had waged a bloody war against my mother for the alpha throne ten years ago.

My thumb traced the raised gold lettering spelling out Brandt.

The name burned into my vision. I did not throw the heavy cardstock across the room. I did not scream. I just stared at the elegant calligraphy, a cold, sharp focus settling into my bones.

I pulled my cracked phone from my jeans pocket. My fingers were still stiff from the freezer aisle, but I swiped past the family group chat and opened the encrypted dialer. I typed in the twelve-digit sequence I had memorized three years ago.

It rang twice.

"Speak," Theo answered. His voice was a low rasp, carrying the faint echo of the high council chambers.

"Lola's last name," I said, my tone entirely flat. "Is it Brandt?"

A heavy pause stretched across the line. The background noise on his end vanished as a solid oak door clicked shut.

"Where did you see that name, Selene?"

"An invitation. She is hosting a high-society banquet tomorrow night. Aaron just threw it on my kitchen table."

"Listen to me very carefully," Theo said. "Garrett Brandt is her father."

The puzzle pieces snapped together with a violent, satisfying click.

Ten years ago, Garrett Brandt launched a bloody coup against my mother for the alpha throne. He lost, facing permanent exile to the eastern sectors.

"She did not just meet Aaron at a bar," I said. I stepped away from the table, pacing the length of the faded living room rug. "This was not an accident."

"Six months ago," Theo confirmed, his words clipped and fast. "Right when your trial entered its most vulnerable phase. We tracked a large transfer of funds from the eastern sectors into the city. Garrett sent her to infiltrate your life."

"To make me fail," I said.

"To make you expose yourself. If they can push you to snap, to use your alpha command or access pack funds before midnight on the final day, your trial is void. The elders will strip your right of succession."

"And the throne goes to the next in line," I finished. "Garrett's faction."

"Exactly. She is a political operative, Selene. She bought Aaron a Porsche to humiliate you. She pays your son's tuition to break your spirit. She shows up at your workplace to taunt you. It is all calculated. They want you to break character. If you strike back as an alpha, you lose the crown."

I stopped pacing. A laugh scraped its way up my throat.

It was not a sound of despair. It was pure, icy clarity.

Aaron thought he had found a wealthy savior. He strutted around in custom suits, completely oblivious to the war raging around him. He was nothing but a pawn on my chessboard.

"He thinks she loves him," I said. I ran a hand over the back of the lumpy sofa I had bought from a thrift store. "I chose him because he had nothing. I thought a bond built in poverty would be pure. I wanted a mate who loved me, not the reigning heir."

"Aaron is weak," Theo said bluntly. "He was an easy target for Garrett. A low-ranking wolf with high ambitions and no work ethic. Lola just had to dangle a shiny watch and a fancy car, and he rolled over."

"He is a fool."

"Yes. But he is a fool holding your son."

I closed my eyes. The image of Dylan shoving his heavy leather backpack into my chest flashed in my mind. He was ten years old. Old enough to understand cruelty, but too young to see the strings attached to Lola's gifts.

"Dylan called her Mom yesterday," I said. The words tasted metallic, like chewing on foil.

"That is the trap, Selene. They are baiting you. They want you to march into that banquet tomorrow night and demand your mate and your pup back. If you do that, you lose everything."

"They want a reaction," I murmured.

"Lola will escalate," Theo warned. "She will push Aaron to file those divorce papers. She will try to take full custody of Dylan. You have to let her think she is winning."

"She is not taking my son," I said, my grip tightening on the edge of the kitchen counter.

"She does not want your son. She wants the alpha seat. The moment Garrett secures the throne, Aaron and Dylan become liabilities. They will be discarded."

I looked down the narrow hallway at the closed door of Dylan's bedroom. He was in there right now, packing a bag to go stay with the woman who wanted to destroy his true legacy.

"Aaron forged my signature on the preliminary divorce documents," I told Theo.

"Let him. The pack council will not finalize a mate separation without a formal hearing. We can delay the paperwork until your trial ends. But you must play the victim."

"I am not a victim."

"Then prove it. Endure."

I walked over to the cramped kitchen table and picked up the gold-foiled invitation. The thick paper felt heavy in my hand.

"They think I am just a broken retail worker," I said.

"You are playing a dangerous game. Aaron is taking Dylan to her estate."

"I know. He just told me."

"Do not intervene, Selene. Let them go."

I pulled open the top drawer of the counter. The metal track squeaked loudly. I pushed aside a stack of unpaid electric bills, a collection notice for the hospital bill when Dylan broke his arm, and cheap takeout menus. I dropped the heavy cardstock inside.

"I survived three years of stacking boxes and counting pennies," I said. "I can survive Lola playing house for a few more days."

I unpinned the plastic blue name tag from my work vest—Selene, Warehouse Associate—and tossed it right on top of the Brandt crest.

"I will not break," I added, slamming the drawer shut.

"You cannot afford to," Theo said. "Garrett is watching your every move. He has spies in the lower sectors. If you raise your voice too loud, if you flash your eyes, they will report it."

"Let them watch," I said. "They will see a tired mother working minimum wage. Nothing more."

"Tell the elders to prepare the succession ceremony," I ordered, my voice dropping an octave, slipping into the natural command of my bloodline. "I will be there."

"Understood," Theo said.

"And Theo?"

"Yes, Selene?"

"Find out exactly who is attending that banquet tomorrow night. I want a full guest list."

"You are not going."

"I did not say I was going. I just want to know who is betraying me before I take the throne."

Theo sighed, a heavy sound filled with years of political exhaustion. "I will send the list to your secure inbox."

"Thank you."

"Be careful, Selene."

Theo lowered his voice until it was barely a whisper over the encrypted line. "Seven days. In these seven days, if you expose your identity even once, Garrett will claim you faked the entire hardship trial—can you hold out for the final week?"

"Smile for the camera, warehouse girl," Lola said, keeping her phone angled directly at my face. "Aaron wants to see how hard you are working today."

I shoved another thirty-pound box of frozen chicken onto the bottom shelf. The frost bit through my thin cotton gloves, numbing my fingertips.

"Seven days left," I muttered to myself, ignoring the red recording light on her screen.

"What was that?" Lola asked, stepping closer. Her expensive floral perfume smothered the smell of raw cardboard and frozen meat. "Did you say something, Selene? Speak up for your mate."

"Aisle four is being mopped," I said, flattening the empty box with a quick strike of my hand. "Watch your step."

Lola laughed, a sharp, grating sound that echoed down the cavernous aisle. She tapped her screen to stop recording. "You really have zero ambition. It is embarrassing. Aaron deserves a mate who can stand beside him in high society, not someone who smells like industrial bleach."

My phone buzzed in my apron pocket. I pulled the cracked device out.

The screen lit up with a notification from the family group chat. Aaron had just forwarded Lola's video.

Underneath the short clip, he typed a single sentence: My wife, the shame of the whole family.

A second later, a thumbs-up icon appeared beneath his text.

Dylan liked the message.

My thumb hovered over the shattered glass. My ten-year-old son, sitting in the elite academy I paid for with my blood and sweat, agreeing that I was trash. I locked the screen and shoved the phone back into my pocket.

"Did you see it?" Lola asked, tilting her head. A cruel smile stretched across her glossy lips. "Aaron is so tired of defending you to his friends. He told me last night that he wishes he never marked you."

"Are you going to buy anything?" I asked, grabbing my box cutter from my belt. "Or are you just here to block my cart?"

"I am here to check on my investment," she replied smoothly. She swiped on her phone and held it out. "Look at this. I bought Dylan a custom tuxedo for tomorrow night. Silk lapels. Hand-stitched. He told me he has never worn anything so soft. He actually asked me if I could adopt him."

My grip tightened on the plastic handle of the box cutter. The blade stayed retracted, but the plastic groaned under the pressure of my fingers.

"He is allergic to shellfish," I said, slicing open a new crate of merchandise with one swift motion. "You fed him caviar this morning. Watch his throat."

Lola rolled her eyes, clearly bored by my warning. She turned her attention to Greg, the daytime shift manager, who was scurrying down the aisle with a clipboard clutched to his chest.

"Miss Brandt," Greg fawned, stopping a few feet away. He wiped his sweaty palms on his khaki pants. "Is everything alright? Do you need assistance finding anything in the store today?"

"No, Greg," Lola said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "I was just telling Aaron's little dependent here to keep up the good work. By the way, I heard the news."

"News?" Greg asked, blinking rapidly.

"About the property," Lola said, her voice carrying down the aisle to make sure the other employees heard. "My father mentioned that this entire commercial block was acquired last week by a mysterious buyer. A massive cash deal."

My hand stopped mid-air. I kept my grip on the box cutter, but my knuckles turned completely white.

"Yes, ma'am," Greg nodded eagerly, eager to please the wealthy woman standing before him. "Corporate sent a memo yesterday. The new landlord is taking over all leases by the end of the month."

"Fascinating," Lola mused, glancing sideways at me. "I wonder if the new owner will keep the trash on the payroll, or if they will clean house. I know what I would do."

I set the heavy crate down. I aligned the edges perfectly with the shelf grid, making sure the barcode faced outward.

A mysterious buyer.

I knew exactly who signed that paperwork. My asset management team finalized the acquisition of this entire retail plaza six days ago. I owned the concrete Lola was currently standing on.

"Excuse me," I said, pushing my empty flatbed cart past her. "I have to clear the loading dock."

Lola stepped aside, a triumphant smirk plastered on her face. "Keep stacking, Selene. I will see you around."

I pushed the cart through the heavy swinging doors into the back warehouse. The roar of the industrial fans instantly drowned out the chatter of the retail floor.

Seven days. I just had to survive seven more days without ripping her throat out.

I parked the cart against the concrete wall and pulled off my frozen gloves.

Deep inside my jeans pocket, my private encrypted phone began to vibrate.

It was not the cheap, cracked device I used to communicate with Aaron. This was the secure line, the one that linked directly to the high council.

I pulled it out and pressed it to my ear.

"Speak," I said.

"Heir," Mara said. My steward's voice was tight, completely stripped of her usual calm demeanor. "We have a severe problem."

"I told Theo I am not breaking my cover," I said, keeping my voice low as a forklift beeped past me. "I do not care what Garrett is planning."

"Garrett moved early," Mara interrupted. "He is not waiting for the final day of your trial."

I leaned against the cold cinderblock wall. "Explain."

"He knows the succession ceremony is in exactly one week. He wants to force you to embarrass yourself in public before the elders finalize the paperwork."

"How?"

"He is throwing a banquet," Mara said, the words rushing out fast. "A massive high-society event. He invited every major pack leader in the eastern and southern sectors."

"Aaron told me about a banquet yesterday," I said. "He bought a suit for it. Lola is hosting."

"Lola is the face of it," Mara corrected. "But Garrett orchestrated the guest list. He wants Aaron to formally introduce Lola as his new chosen mate in front of the entire high council."

My jaw locked. "Aaron is still legally bound to me."

"That is the point, Selene. They are going to publicly humiliate you. They want you to crash the party. They want you to lose your temper, shift, and attack Lola. If you use your alpha strength before midnight on the final day, the elders will declare your trial void."

"I will not crash their party," I said flatly. "I will stay right here and stock shelves."

"The elders are watching," Mara warned. "Garrett invited three of the oldest council members to this event. If they look out the window and see the true heir pushing shopping carts in the parking lot while her mate parades a mistress around, they will question your strength."

"They will see a wolf completing her trial," I countered.

"You do not understand," Mara said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You do not have to travel to crash it."

"What do you mean?"

"The location," Mara said. "Garrett booked the venue under a shell corporation. I just cracked the ledger."

I stood up straight, my boots planted firmly on the dusty concrete.

"Where is the banquet, Mara?"

"It is in the VIP lounge," she said. "Directly above your store. Tomorrow."