ADALINE POV:

Blain's presence lingered in the doorway, a silent, chilling authority that had successfully caged Brennen's physical rage. For now. His gaze swept over me, a quick, dismissive inventory. His eyes had flickered to Bristol first, a silent check. The way a farmer might assess livestock. I was a commodity, and he was checking for damage.

"Father is not a patient man," he said, his voice flat. "Don't waste his time."

Brennen, halfway down the hall, yelled back, his voice muffled, "I was just teaching the worthless bitch a lesson!"

Blain didn't even turn. "If she shows up at the Caldwell's doorstep covered in bruises, it's the Mathews family name that looks weak. Do you want Father to deal with the consequences of your stupidity?"

That hit its mark. Brennen's defining traits were his temper and his fear of our father. He muttered a curse, and his footsteps receded down the hall, Bristol's lighter steps pattering after him.

Finally, Blain's cold eyes met mine one last time. It wasn't a look of concern. It was a warning. "His study. Thirty minutes. Make yourself presentable."

Then he was gone, leaving me in the wreckage of my room.

My body protested as I pushed myself to my feet. Each breath was a sharp stab in my side. I shuffled to the small, cracked mirror above my dresser.

The girl staring back was a stranger. Her lip was split, a dark bruise already purpling on her cheekbone. But it was her eyes that held me. They were dark, hollowed out by fear, but deep inside, a new, hard light was kindling.

I thought I was alone. I was wrong.

"Adaline, are you alright? Brennen can be so... impulsive."

I didn't have to turn. I could see Bristol's reflection in the mirror, her face once again a mask of worried innocence. She had circled back.

I said nothing, just held her gaze in the glass.

For a second, she seemed unsettled by the coldness she saw there. A flicker of uncertainty crossed her features.

But she recovered quickly. She moved closer, holding out a small ceramic pot. "I brought you some healing salve. For your face. Father will be angry if he sees."

Her concern wasn't for me. It was for the trouble my appearance might cause.

My voice came out as a dry rasp. "I don't need your help."

Her hand froze mid-air. The sweet smile on her face tightened.

"Don't be a fool, Adaline," she hissed, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Do you really think you're in any position to have an attitude with me?"

She moved to stand in front of me, blocking my reflection. Her eyes were hard, glittering with malice. "You're the one being shipped off to marry that crippled monster, not me. You should be thanking me. I'm giving you the chance to be a Luna."

Every word was a carefully aimed dart, designed to inflict maximum pain. A week ago, it would have shattered me.

Now, it fueled the cold fire inside.

I felt a ghost of a smile touch my own bruised lips. It was a bitter, unfamiliar feeling.

Her face twisted in fury. "What are you smiling at? You wolfless freak! You will never be better than me!"

"I'm smiling at how naive you are," I said, my voice quiet but steady. "You think you've escaped Kaleb Caldwell and won the grand prize?"

A new vision, hazy and indistinct, flickered at the edge of my mind. Bristol, older, in a lavish room, her face bruised far worse than mine, cowering before a handsome, smiling Alpha.

The words came to me, a prophecy I didn't know I had. "You've just traded one cage for a prettier one. You'll run from the monster you know, right into the arms of a monster you don't."

The color drained from her face. My words had struck a nerve, a hidden fear she must have harbored. Then, her shock morphed into pure rage.

She raised her hand to slap me.

This time, I was ready. My hand shot out, my grip clumsy and weak, but I caught her wrist.

It wasn't my strength that stopped her. It was my eyes. The look in them. The absolute absence of fear. Instead, there was terrifying calm and cold.

"From this moment on," I said, "we are done. You and I. The bond of sisters is broken. You can walk your own path to hell."

I released her wrist, shoving her hand away.

I turned my back on her, a final act of dismissal. I walked to my small wardrobe and began pulling out the plainest, most severe dress I owned. I would face my father, but I would do it on my own terms.

Behind me, Bristol stood frozen, her face a mask of confusion and fury.

ADALINE POV:

I chose a high-necked, long-sleeved gray dress. It was the color of ash and endings. It hid the worst of the bruises on my arms and chest, but there was no hiding the swelling on my cheek. It was a banner of my family's cruelty, and I would wear it into my father's den.

My ribs ached with every step down the long, silent hallway. The walls were lined with portraits of the Mathews lineage. Alphas and Lunas, smiling with cold, predatory confidence. My face was not among them. I was a ghost in my own home.

Brennen stood outside the heavy oak door of our father's study, blocking my path. His arms were crossed, his weight shifted in a brawler's stance.

"Bristol came to me crying," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "What did you do to her?"

I didn't have the energy for this. The pain in my side was a sharp, insistent blade. I tried to sidestep him.

His hand shot out, grabbing my arm in a bruising grip. "A wolfless stray doesn't get to walk away from me." He shoved me, hard.

My back slammed against the wall. The impact knocked the air from my lungs in a pained gasp. The world tilted, a dizzying swirl of polished wood and muted light.

He didn’t stop there, his face a mask of contempt. His fist drove into my stomach.

I doubled over, a strangled cry caught in my throat. Blackness encroached on the edges of my vision. I bit down on my lip, tasting the coppery tang of blood, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a scream.

His failure to break me only fueled his rage. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back until my neck strained. "Beg," he hissed, his face close to mine. "Beg me to stop, just like you always do."

I looked into his eyes, those cold, empty blue eyes, and a raw, defiant energy surged through me. A bloody, broken smile stretched my lips.

"Is this... all you have?" I choked out.

That was the spark that lit the fuse.

His face contorted, all reason gone, replaced by pure, animalistic fury. He brought his knee up, a brutal, driving impact into my side.

A sickening crack echoed in the silent hallway.

The world dissolved into a universe of agony. It consumed me, stole my breath, my sight, my sanity. But through the blinding pain, I kept my eyes locked on his. I would not look away. I would make him see what he had done. And in that searing torment, a strange, defiant strength solidified within me. This pain was no longer just punishment; it was fuel, hardening the resolve that had begun to burn in my soul.

The study door swung open.

Our father, Alpha Coleman Mathews, stood on the threshold. He took in the scene—me crumpled against the wall, Brennen standing over me, breathing heavily—and his only reaction was a slight narrowing of his eyes.

"That's enough," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "Don't kill her. She's still useful."

His gaze shifted to me. "Inside. Now."

Pain was a fire licking every nerve, but I clung to the wall, using it to haul myself upright. Each movement was a fresh wave of torture. I shuffled past my father, into the suffocating, leather—scented air of his study.

This was it. The last time I would enter this room as his daughter. From now on, I was just a commodity. A thing to be sold.

KALEB POV :

The air in my study was cold and still. Moonlight, sharp and sterile, sliced through the towering arched window, but it brought no warmth. It only illuminated the dust motes dancing in the oppressive silence.

I sat with my back to the door, facing the endless, moon—drenched forest that was my domain. My kingdom. My prison.

The polished metal of my wheelchair's armrest was cold beneath my fingertips.

My Beta, Silas Knight, knelt on one knee in the center of the room. His loyalty was as solid and unshakable as the ancient oaks outside.

"Alpha," his voice was a low, steady rumble, "a final message from Oakhaven. The bride they are sending is Adaline Mcleod. Not Bristol Mathews."

I didn't turn. My fingers began to tap a slow, deliberate rhythm on the armrest. The sound was unnervingly loud in the quiet room.

They were swapping out the goods. A last-minute insult. A test of my tolerance.

After a long moment, I spoke. My voice was a gravelly rasp, a sound that had lost its warmth long ago. "One daughter for another. What is the difference?"

Silas hesitated. "None, Alpha. It is only... the rumors about Adaline Mcleod. They say she is a wolfless. Frail."

A dry, bone-rattling, humorless laugh escaped my lips. "A wolfless outcast," I mused, the words tasting like ash. "Paired with a crippled Alpha." I could feel the bitter twist of my own mouth beneath the impassive silver of my mask. "How fitting."

The irony wasn't lost on me. Oakhaven was sending their weakest, most worthless daughter to marry a dying Alpha. They thought I was too broken to care, too desperate to object. They were half right. The woman's status meant nothing to me. But the insult—that I might notice—that stung more than I wanted to admit.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop another ten degrees.

I wheeled myself closer to the massive window, the glass cool against my knuckles. My gaze pierced the darkness, aimed eastward, toward the lands of Oakhaven. I felt no anger. No anticipation. Nothing.

Only a vast, frozen emptiness.

"Tell them I accept," I commanded, my voice flat. "Tell her to prepare herself for her new life." I paused, the reflection of my masked face a ghostly specter in the dark glass. "Or her death."