"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."

"Consider it an apology," Lola said, sliding the black leather checkbook across the polished mahogany table. "For stealing your husband."

I stared at the gold-embossed logo of the VIP lounge on the folder.

"I am on my lunch break," I said. The stiff collar of my blue polyester work vest scratched against my neck.

"Then you better pay fast," Lola smiled. She leaned back in her plush velvet chair, crossing her legs. "You would not want your shift manager to write you up for being late. Aaron tells me you cannot afford to lose a single hour of minimum wage."

Dylan sat next to her. My ten-year-old son kept his head buried in his phone, entirely absorbed in a racing game. The digital engine noises blared from his speakers, disrupting the quiet elegance of the private room.

"Mom, just pay it," Dylan muttered. He never lifted his eyes from the glowing screen. "You get an employee discount with your badge, right? Hurry up. Aaron is coming to pick us up in the Porsche."

My knuckles tightened under the table.

Three months ago, I worked ninety consecutive night shifts in a freezing warehouse just to scrape together his twenty-four-thousand-dollar tuition. Six months ago, he texted me that a woman who swept floors was not fit to be called a Luna.

Now, he sat beside the daughter of my exiled enemy, asking me to use a retail discount on a five-hundred-dollar tea tab.

"Put your phone away, Dylan," I said, my voice low and even.

"Do not yell at him," Lola intervened, placing a manicured hand over Dylan's wrist. "He is just excited about the banquet tomorrow night. I bought him a custom tuxedo. Silk lapels. You could work for ten years and never afford the fabric."

Dylan leaned into her touch. "Lola said I get to sit at the head table."

"You will sit where you belong," I told him.

"I belong with them," Dylan shot back, finally glaring at me. He pointed a finger at my chest. "You look like a janitor. Pay the bill so we can leave."

I unzipped my waist pouch. I pulled out my faded debit card and placed it exactly in the center of the leather folder.

"Run it," I told the waiter standing rigidly by the door.

The waiter snatched the folder and rushed out of the room.

Lola laughed, a sharp, grating sound. "You really have zero pride left, Selene. I insult you to your face, your own pup calls you a janitor, and you just sit there taking it."

"I am paying for the tea," I replied. "Nothing more."

"Aaron is filing the divorce papers on Monday," Lola said, leaning forward. She lowered her voice, dropping the sweet facade. "He wants full custody. And with my family's lawyers, you will not even get visitation rights. You will go back to your miserable little apartment, and we will take your son to the eastern sectors."

"No one is going to the eastern sectors," I said.

The waiter scurried back into the room. He handed me the printed receipt and a cheap plastic pen, then quickly retreated to the hallway.

I grabbed the pen and signed my name.

Then, I reached up to my left collarbone. I unclipped the plastic name tag reading Selene, Warehouse Associate.

I dropped it onto the mahogany table.

Face down.

The cheap white plastic backing was gone. In its place, stamped directly into a solid plate of brushed titanium, was a crescent moon encircled by three interlocking stars.

The crest of the reigning Alpha bloodline.

Lola glanced at the heavy metal badge. Her brow furrowed in confusion. "What is that?"

Before I could answer, the heavy oak doors of the lounge swung open so violently they slammed against the wall.

The general manager of the entire VIP establishment sprinted into the room. His face was flushed bright red. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He skidded to a halt directly at the edge of our table, knocking into an empty chair.

He bent at the waist, folding into a sharp, ninety-degree bow.

"Your Excellency, the Heir!" he announced. His voice echoed off the paneled walls, loud and trembling. "Your three-year trial is complete. The Chamber's motorcade is waiting downstairs."

Lola's smile vanished. Her hand froze halfway to her porcelain teacup.

Dylan finally looked up from his phone. His jaw dropped open.

The manager straightened up. He completely ignored the woman and the boy sitting across from me. He glanced at the signed receipt resting on the table, then shifted his gaze toward Lola. His expression hardened into absolute professional disdain.

"Additionally, Your Excellency," the manager said, keeping his focus strictly on me. "This entire building was acquired by the Chamber last week. This woman's VIP membership requires your personal approval."

He pointed a white-gloved finger directly at Lola's face.

She turned the color of chalk.

"Shall we revoke her access?" the manager asked.

Silence crashed over the room. The digital engine noises from Dylan's phone finally stopped as the screen timed out and went black.

Lola opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her red-soled shoes scraped awkwardly against the floorboards as she tried to push her chair back.

"You..." Lola stammered. Her eyes darted wildly from the titanium crest on the table to my blue polyester vest. "This is a trick. You stock shelves. You sweep floors."

I did not raise my voice. I did not break my posture.

"I own the floors," I said.

I reached across the table and picked up the receipt. I read the total printed at the bottom, five hundred and forty dollars, and folded the slip of paper in half.

I shoved it deep into the pocket of my blue vest.

"Keep her membership active for now," I told the manager, letting my voice drop into the natural, commanding cadence of my bloodline. "Consider this receipt a souvenir of my trial's final day."

"Understood, Your Excellency," the manager said, bowing his head again.

"Mom?" Dylan whispered, his voice cracking. He stared at the titanium badge resting on the wood.

I did not look at him.

The heavy oak doors burst open for a third time.

Aaron stormed into the room. He held his phone high in the air, the screen glowing brightly with the family group chat open.

"Selene, you are a complete embarrassment!" Aaron yelled, marching straight toward our table. "Did you see what I just posted? You are the shame of this entire family!"

Aaron stopped dead in his tracks.

His phone camera, still actively recording to send another video to the chat, pointed directly at the general manager bowing deeply toward my titanium heir crest.