I didn't respond.

She leaned in even closer to him, her arm grazing his as if it was completely natural, then glanced sideways at me with a subtle, almost playful look.

"Salvar," she said lightly, "aren't you going to introduce her? She's…"

Salvar's expression stiffened instantly.

It was clear he hadn't expected this.

His eyes flickered toward me, a brief flash of unease, almost panic, before he forced himself to stay composed. Beneath the table his hand went still on the silver lighter he'd been turning. Something in his scent shifted too, the cold iron threading through the black cedar going sharp for half a breath.

For a second, I almost laughed.

"Selene Ashford," I said before he could speak, my tone calm and even. "I serve as a den liaison at Alpha Nightbane's front den. The hall was full, so we're just sharing a table."

His head snapped toward me.

That flicker of panic disappeared just as quickly as it came, replaced by visible relief. He let out a breath, then nodded quickly. The lighter resumed its slow rotation.

"Yeah, that's right," he said. "This is Selene. One of my pack."

Adressa smiled slowly.

The kind of smile a wolf gives when it already has its prey pinned beneath its paw.

"Miss Ashford must be very capable, then," she said, tilting her head slightly. "I've never seen Salvar sit at the same table with any she-wolf besides me."

Her tone was light, but every word carried weight. Under the white jasmine of her scent ran something faintly too-sweet, like petals already beginning to turn, and my wolf stirred low in my chest, uneasy, a growl I swallowed before it could surface.

Then she placed her crystal communicator casually beside her wine glass, nudging it forward just enough to be seen. It looked accidental.

But it wasn't.

I caught a glimpse of the screen.

Her image.

It matched Salvar's.

A bonded pair.

Even their colors today were coordinated. Same tones, same palette, down to the smallest details like the moonstone cuffs at their wrists. Everything was deliberate, curated, costly. The kind of matched presentation that in this world meant more than romance. It meant claim. It meant territory.

Under the warm lamplight of the den hall, they looked perfect.

Like a portrait of an Alpha and his Luna.

I lowered my gaze, set my chopsticks down carefully, and stood up.

I didn't want to stay.

Before I could take a step, Adressa reached out and grabbed my wrist.

Her fingers were slender, her nails long and perfectly manicured.

They dug into my skin just enough to hurt, just enough to leave a mark, but hidden from Salvar's line of sight.

"Miss Ashford," she said softly, her voice laced with feigned concern, "you're leaving already? Did I say something wrong?"

Her eyes shimmered, almost as if she were genuinely apologetic.

"Let me apologize, okay?"

I didn't have the patience for this.

Didn't have the energy to play along with someone pretending to be all sweetness and innocence.

I pulled my hand back sharply, breaking free from her grip.

Just as I lowered my eyes to check my wrist, I saw it: thin red marks where her nails had dug in, one of them already starting to bead with blood.

Before I could even process it, everything happened in an instant.

Adressa suddenly lifted her own hand and swung it outward.

A loud smack echoed through the den hall.

A little pup standing nearby was struck across the face.

His cry broke out immediately, sharp and piercing as he clutched his cheek, tears spilling down as he began sobbing uncontrollably. Two fingers hooked into the hem of his sweater, twisting the fabric tight, and he couldn't look up.

The entire room went quiet for a split second. The low music between songs. The clink of silverware stopping at three separate tables. A stillness that in any pack-favored hall meant someone of rank was watching.

Adressa's expression changed just as quickly.

Her face turned pale, her eyes widening in exaggerated shock.

"Oh no!" she gasped, covering her mouth. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! Sweetheart, are you okay?"

Salvar was already on his feet.

He rushed over, apologizing repeatedly to the pup's parents, his tone urgent and sincere. Without hesitation he pulled out his communicator and transferred moon-credits, trying to smooth things over as quickly as possible. The Alpha handling lesser wolves. Keeping the peace in a public hall where the Nightbane name floated above every exchange like woodsmoke.

But then the little pup suddenly pointed straight at me.

"It was her!" he cried between sobs. "She grabbed that lady's hand and made her hit me! She should say sorry!"

Every gaze in the den hall shifted.

All at once.

Adressa turned to me slowly, her eyes filling with hurt, her expression trembling just enough to look real. Her fingers drifted to the pearl at her throat again, holding it like a she-wolf afraid of being struck next.

"Miss Ashford…" she said softly, her voice fragile, "I don't know what I did to upset you."

She lowered her gaze slightly, like she was holding back tears.

"If you have a problem with me, please… just take it out on me. Don't drag innocent ones into this…"

Whispers began to spread.

Low voices. Judging. Speculating.

I could feel it.

The weight of every stare pressing against my back. In a place like this, where half the room owed something to the Nightbane name, the murmur of the pack wasn't just opinion. It was verdict.

Salvar turned toward me, his expression darkening instantly. The air around him thickened, his Alpha aura pressing down over the table like a sudden drop in temperature, and somewhere beneath my skin my wolf flattened low without my willing it.

"What are you standing there for?" he snapped, his voice sharp and cold. "Apologize. Now."

His tone left no room for argument.

"Stop making a scene."

Like I was the problem.

Like I was the one who had embarrassed him.

Like I was the one who didn't belong.

Backed by the murmured encouragement of the wolves crowded around him, the little pup broke free from his parents' hold and rushed toward me. Before I could react, he grabbed my hand and sank his teeth into it. Hard. The pain shot through me instantly, sharp and raw, and he didn't let go. My own wolf flinched beneath my skin, startled, but I held her still.

"Hey—" someone gasped, but no one stepped in.

The more gently Adressa crouched beside him, coaxing him in a soft, soothing voice, the deeper his teeth seemed to press into my skin, as if her words only fueled his stubbornness. Her tone was all concern, all patience, the picture of kindness. Beneath it, white jasmine and copper drifted toward me, that faint too-sweet edge like petals already beginning to turn.

"Sweetheart, let go… okay? You're scaring me," she murmured, reaching out but never quite pulling him away.

I stood there, frozen.

I couldn't exactly throw a pup off me. Couldn't raise my voice. Couldn't bare my teeth without looking like the rabid one they already believed I was.

So I swallowed everything.

Swallowed the pain. Swallowed the humiliation.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, forcing the words out as evenly as I could. "I'm sorry, okay?"

The pup finally loosened his grip, stepping back, still sniffling. My hand throbbed where his teeth had broken the skin, a dull, pulsing ache that quickly turned wet.

But Salvar wasn't satisfied.

He didn't notice the blood slowly seeping from the bite mark. Didn't notice the way my fingers trembled slightly from the pain. Didn't even glance at me properly. The scent of my own blood hung in the air between us, and he didn't so much as lift his head to it.

All he cared about was salvaging someone else's dignity.

He reached out and seized my arm just as I turned to leave.

"Selene," he said sharply, his grip tightening. "Apologize. To Adressa."

Adressa immediately put on that same gentle, self-effacing expression, tugging lightly at his sleeve as if trying to stop him. One finger drifted to the moonstone at her throat and touched it, barely, the way a wolf checks the wind before stepping into a clearing full of watching eyes.

"Salvar, it's fine," she said softly. "Really, it's not a big deal. I'm okay." She paused, lowering her gaze with perfect timing, the practiced submission of a she-wolf who knew exactly who was watching. "It's just the little one… he got hurt, and he's probably scared."

Her words were modest.

Her tone was forgiving.

And yet, they only made everything worse.

Salvar's attention shifted instantly.

His eyes dropped to the back of her hand, where a faint red mark had formed, barely noticeable, nothing compared to the blood on mine.

But to him, it was everything.

Something in his expression softened, almost pained.

Then, just as quickly, it hardened again as he turned back to me. Black cedar and cold iron rolled off him, that ash and bitter clove undertone sharpening as his alpha aura pressed down over the table, and every lower wolf in the den dropped their gaze on instinct. Every wolf but me.

Before I could react, he grabbed my injured hand and shoved it straight into the bowl of hot broth that had just been set on the table.

The heat hit me instantly.

The broth wasn't boiling, but it was scalding enough. The liquid soaked into the fresh bite wound, salt and heat combining into a sharp, searing pain that shot up my arm like silver under the skin.

My entire body jerked.

A gasp tore out of me before I could stop it.

The pain was unbearable.

It spread, burned, throbbed, every nerve screaming at once. My wolf threw herself against my ribs with a sound I'd never heard her make, low and broken. My fingers curled involuntarily, trembling as I tried to pull back, but his grip held me in place for a second longer. An Alpha's grip. The kind that didn't negotiate.

"Selene, what is wrong with you?" Salvar hissed, his voice low but cutting. "You need to be taught a lesson."

My vision blurred slightly from the pain.

Still, I looked up at him.

"Is that who I am to you?" I asked quietly, my teeth clenched so tightly they ached.

I already knew the answer.

But I still asked.

Maybe some part of me hadn't fully given up yet.

Around us, the whispers grew louder. The other wolves in the family-run den weren't even pretending to look away anymore.

"Wait… so which one is his actual mate?"

"Are you blind? Obviously the one he's protecting."

"Yeah, look at them. Scents all tangled up together, matching everything… it's obvious."

Their voices weren't even hushed anymore.

Their gazes shifted toward me, heavy with something worse than judgment.

Pity.

"Hey, enough is enough," a wolf at a nearby table muttered. "Another few seconds and you're going to scald her hand to the bone."

Only then did Salvar hesitate.

I stood there, my lips pale, my body still trembling slightly from the pain, and yet, somehow, I was smiling.

A faint, fragile smile.

I looked straight at him.

And for the first time, something flickered in his eyes.

Unease.

Just for a moment.

Then he let go.

He released my hand as if nothing had happened, reached for Adressa instead, and took her by the arm.

"Let's go," he said quietly.

And just like that, he walked away with her.

Didn't look back.

Didn't say another word.

His scent thinned and faded toward the door, black cedar and cold iron pulling away from me until the place where he'd stood held nothing at all.

When I got home, the den felt colder than usual. The hall was dark, the inner bolt still drawn the way he always left it, as though guarding the threshold mattered more than the wolf locked inside it.

A notification flickered across my crystal communicator.

He had sent a healer's salve for the burn, ordered through some courier, dispatched to my door like a parcel left for a stranger.

I stared at it for a long moment before opening the message that came with it.

[Selene, please stop being so sensitive and antagonizing Adressa. You two are going to be seeing a lot of each other. I hope you'll get along from now on.]

I let out a quiet breath.

So that was it.

That was his solution.

A jar of burn salve in exchange for silence.

For obedience.

For pretending nothing had happened.

For accepting that he would keep both of us in his life, as if we were things he could arrange however he pleased.

I didn't reply.

I worked the salve into the wound silently, the coolness stinging against the scalded skin while my wolf paced low and restless beneath it, then lay down on the bed. Through the wall I could hear the faint tick of the den's ward-panel cycling through its nightly check, the low hum that kept the Alpha's territory sealed. The den was built for his convenience, warded for his safety. Not for mine.

He didn't come home that night.

The next morning, the moment I stepped into the front den of the Nightbane Pack, I could feel it.

The change.

Eyes followed me everywhere I went. Conversations cut off the second I got close, only to resume in hushed whispers the moment I passed. The hostesses. The floor runners. Even the barkeep who usually dipped his head good morning wouldn't look at me. Their scents had soured with something I knew too well, the thin nervous tang of a pack that smelled blood in the water.

It felt like walking into a hive that had been violently shaken.

As I sat down at my desk, Gianessa leaned over almost immediately, the corner of her order slate curling between her fingers as she twisted it tight. Her scent, fresh clover and warm bread, came tight with worry.

"Selene… people are saying you tried to get with the Alpha," she whispered. "And his she-wolf caught you in the act. It's all over the spirit network."

She slid her crystal communicator toward me.

A recording was playing.

The scene from the gathering hall last night.

Someone had caught all of it on a crystal orb.

At some point during the chaos, a new thread had been opened on the network just to spread it. Message after message scrolled past, speculation, accusations, mockery. Whispers on the floor made permanent.

They painted me as some unmarked Omega who'd tried to claw her way into the Pack's good graces and got caught.

I stared at the screen, my expression calm, even as something inside me went completely still. Somewhere deep down, my wolf had gone silent too, the way she did when a wound went bone-deep.

Before I could take it in further, the front doors opened.

Salvar walked in.

With Adressa right beside him.

The Alpha's lion-crest ring of succession turned slow and idle across his knuckles, catching the overhead light once, twice. His scent reached me before his voice did, black cedar and cold iron, ash and bitter clove, the way it always had.

"Everyone," he said, his voice clear and carrying the weight of an Alpha used to obedience, "let me introduce our new front-den overseer. Adressa."

So that was what he meant.

When he said we would be seeing a lot of each other.

He hadn't been exaggerating.

He had brought her directly into the Pack's front den.

As my superior.

The room fell silent. Heads lowered, shoulders dropped, the floor going quiet under the press of his aura.

Every pair of eyes turned toward me.

For the past few weeks, ever since the last overseer severed ties and vanished beyond the border grounds, I had been the one carrying most of the responsibilities. Everyone assumed I would move up in the ranks.

It seemed obvious.

Until now.

Salvar added Adressa to the den's internal thread right there in front of everyone. Almost at once, both of them sent messages.

Their portraits appeared side by side.

Matching.

A mated pair.

Smiling.

Perfect.

The implication couldn't have been clearer.

The rest of the morning passed in a haze of whispers and sidelong glances. No one was really working. Everyone was watching.

Talking.

Judging.

But I didn't care anymore.

I was leaving.

Before midday, I drafted my letter severing ties from the pack and sent it through the proper channels.

With nothing left binding me here, I stood and walked to the back room.

I needed something warm. Something simple.

I brewed myself a cup of honeyed grapefruit tea, watching the steam rise slowly, the scent soft and calming. Sweet. Light. Nothing like the bitterness I had just left behind.

I had barely taken two sips when the door opened again.

Adressa walked in like she owned the den.

Confident. Unhurried.

She poured herself a coffee, then crossed to me and sat down right beside me, folding one leg over the other as if settling onto a throne that had always been hers. White jasmine drifted off her, copper beneath it, and something faintly too-sweet, like petals beginning to turn.

Her presence filled the room.

Her voice, when she spoke, was smooth and sweet, but underneath it, there was something sharp.

"Selene," she said, her lips curving slightly, "I know you've been Salvar's little secret for five years."

She tilted her head, studying me.

"But I'm his she-wolf now. Out in the open, where the whole pack can see."

There was a pause.

"I'm back," she continued softly, "and it's time for the mistress to know when to leave."

Her smile didn't waver.

"As long as you keep your mouth shut like you always have," she added lightly, "I won't make things harder for you."

The threat was gentle.

Polite.

But unmistakable.

As she spoke, Adressa casually unlocked her communicator and tapped a voice message, holding it just close enough for me to hear.

The recording played.

It was the little boy from yesterday.

His voice was bright, sweet in that practiced, childish way, but there was something smug underneath it, something that didn't belong to innocence at all.

"Auntie Adressa, wasn't I awesome? Don't forget the toy you promised me!"

The message ended with a soft click.

And just like that, everything fell into place.

Every detail. Every movement. Every perfectly timed reaction from last night.

It hadn't been an accident.

None of it had.