"Camille, sweetie, move down a chair. You're sitting next to Scotty."

My mother’s voice rang across the crystal-laden table, cutting through the low murmur of the arriving guests.

I gripped the back of the mahogany chair. "There’s plenty of room next to Uncle Arthur."

"Arthur needs his space for his elbows," my father chimed in, not looking up from his phone screen. "Sit by Scotty. It’s tradition."

"Tradition is just peer pressure from dead people," I fired back.

My father lowered his phone. "Sit. Now."

I dropped into the seat. Scotty Montgomery slid into the empty chair beside me seconds later. He smelled like expensive cologne and unearned arrogance.

"Don't look so thrilled, Millie," Scotty muttered, adjusting his platinum cufflinks.

"Don't call me that," I snapped, keeping my eyes fixed on the empty china plate.

"Fine. Camille." He dragged out the syllables. "Did you dress in the dark, or is beige just your power color now?"

"It's champagne," I corrected. "And unlike you, I don't need a neon sign to get attention."

"No, you just radiate misery. It draws a crowd."

Scotty turned his back to me immediately. He leaned toward his cousin, Elena, who sat on his other side.

"So, Elena, tell me about the trip to Milan," he said, his voice carrying over the clatter of silverware. "Did you manage to snag that reservation at the place I told you about?"

Elena giggled, twirling a piece of pasta. "We did! The chef actually came out to our table, Scotty. It was amazing."

"I knew he would. I sent him a bottle of the '09 vintage last month. You have to know how to play the game, El."

I picked up my fork and stabbed a cherry tomato. The pop of the skin was louder than I intended.

Scotty didn't even glance my way. He laughed at something Elena said, a loud, booming sound that scraped against my eardrums.

"And the skiing?" he asked her. "Don't tell me you chickened out on the black diamond slopes again."

"I did not! I tackled the northern ridge."

I sliced my steak. The knife screeched against the porcelain.

My mother shot me a warning glare from across the table. I gave her a flat, humorless smile and chewed my food.

"Scotty," my mother called out, interrupting his monologue about the Italian Alps. "How are the preparations for the firm's merger going?"

Scotty shifted in his seat, finally facing forward. "Perfectly, Mrs. Gallagher. My father and I are finalizing the contracts this week."

"Wonderful," she beamed. "Camille was just saying how interested she is in the corporate restructuring."

I nearly choked on my water. "I said no such thing."

Scotty leaned close. His knee brushed mine under the table. I yanked my leg away.

"She prefers to stay out of the real work, don't you, Camille?" he whispered, just low enough for only me to hear.

"I prefer to stay out of your work," I shot back. "There's a difference."

He smirked, picking up his wine glass. "Sure there is. Running a charity gala is so much harder than managing a billion-dollar acquisition."

"I raised two million dollars last quarter. What did you do? Fire fifty people to pad your bonus?"

His jaw tightened. "I streamlined redundancies."

"You're a parasite in a tailored suit."

"And you're a spoiled brat playing house."

Mr. Montgomery tapped his spoon against his crystal goblet. The ringing silenced the chatter instantly.

"If I could have everyone's attention," he announced, rising to his feet. He raised his glass high. "Twenty-five years ago, the Gallaghers and the Montgomerys broke bread at this very table. We built an empire together."

My father stood up, mirroring the gesture. "Through thick and thin. To family, and to the future."

"To the future!" the table echoed.

"Scotty, Camille," Mr. Montgomery prompted, gesturing toward us. "Stand up. A special toast to the two of you. The next generation."

Scotty pushed his chair back and stood. He turned to me, the fake charm melting off his face in an instant.

I grabbed my champagne flute and got to my feet.

We leaned in. The gap between us closed, leaving nowhere to hide from the sheer hostility radiating from his dark eyes.

"Cheers, partner," he murmured, his tone laced with venom.

"Drink up, Montgomery," I whispered back.

Our glasses met. *Clink.*

His gaze held mine. No warmth. No forced politeness. Just raw, unfiltered loathing. I held his stare until he finally broke it to take a sip. Instead of looking away, I gave a short, unexpected laugh.

He frowned, lowering his glass. "What?"

"Nothing," I said, sitting back down. "Just picturing you choking on an olive."

He didn't speak to me for the rest of the meal.

The evening dragged to a close. Goodbyes were exchanged in the grand foyer.

"We'll see you Sunday for brunch, Scotty," my mother said, kissing his cheek.

"Looking forward to it," he lied smoothly, offering her a pristine smile.

I walked out the front doors without a backward glance. The night air was freezing, biting through my thin dress. I practically sprinted to our waiting town car and threw myself into the backseat.

My parents climbed in a minute later. The driver pulled away from the Montgomery estate, the heavy iron gates closing behind us.

"Well, that was a lovely evening," my mother sighed, slipping off her pumps.

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Why do I have to sit next to him? Every single time."

"Because you two are the future of the partnership," my father stated, loosening his tie.

"He's an arrogant jerk. He spent the entire dinner bragging to Elena about Milan, and then insulted my charity work."

"He was making conversation, Camille," my mother corrected. "Something you failed to do. You sat there with a scowl for two hours."

"I wasn't scowling. I was surviving."

"You need to get along with him," my father said, his voice dropping an octave. "It's not just about dinners anymore."

I uncrossed my arms. The leather seat suddenly felt too small. "What does that mean?"

My parents exchanged a look. The kind of look that always preceded a disaster.

"We didn't want to tell you in front of the others," my mother started, her tone far too gentle.

"Tell me what?" I demanded.

My father turned to face me. "The merger requires a show of absolute unity. To the board, and to the shareholders."

"I still don't understand."

"Scotty's father and I agreed," he said flatly. "You and Scotty are getting married."

I stared at him, waiting for the punchline. "Excuse me?"

"The announcement goes out on Monday. You'll move into his penthouse by the end of the week."

"Move in with him? Are you out of your minds?"

"Keep your voice down," my father warned, glancing at the privacy partition separating us from the driver. "It's a strategic alliance."

"I am not a corporate asset! I'm your daughter."

"Which is exactly why you will do this for the family," my mother added softly. "It's just a piece of paper, Camille. Play the part."

"I won't do it."

"You will," my father said, his tone leaving no room for debate. "Or I'll cut funding to every single one of your charity foundations tomorrow morning."

The threat hung in the stale air of the car. I looked out the window, watching the streetlights blur into streaks of yellow. My foundations were everything to me. He knew exactly where to strike.

"You're selling me to the Montgomerys," I whispered.

"We are securing your future," my father replied.

I pressed my forehead against the cold glass. Monday. I had until Monday before my entire life belonged to Scotty Montgomery.

"Get out of the car, Camille," my father ordered as the town car rolled to a stop in our driveway.

I didn't move. The leather seat felt like a trap, and the cold reality of his words still rang in my ears. Marriage. To Scotty.

"I'm not doing it," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

"You are, and you will smile for the cameras on Monday," he replied, opening his door.

I scrambled out after him, the chilly night air biting at my bare arms. "You can't force me into a mate bond! We aren't even wolves anymore, Dad. We live in the city. We wear suits. We don't do arranged matings."

"It's a marriage of convenience," my mother corrected, stepping out beside me. "A corporate merger. The pack traditions are symbolic now."

"Symbolic?" I barked a laugh, following them up the front steps. "Tell that to the Montgomerys. They still run this pack like it's the dark ages."

"Enough," my father snapped, unlocking the front door. "You will pack your things this weekend. Scotty expects you by Sunday evening."

"He expects me?" I shoved past him into the foyer. "Did he even know about this?"

"Of course he knew. It was his father's idea."

My stomach plummeted. Scotty knew. He sat next to me all night, trading insults, fully aware that in a matter of days, he would own my life.

I turned on my heel and marched up the grand staircase.

"Camille! Where are you going?" my mother called out.

"To pack!" I yelled back, slamming my bedroom door shut.

I leaned against the heavy wood, my chest heaving. My eyes burned, but I refused to cry. Crying was for the weak, and I had learned long ago that weakness in this pack was a death sentence.

My mind dragged me back. Years back. To the night everything changed.

I was thirteen. The annual moonlight trials. The most important night in a young wolf's life.

The entire pack gathered in the clearing behind the Montgomery estate. Torches flickered against the dark tree line. The elders sat on wooden thrones, their faces painted with ash.

Every thirteen-year-old stood in a line, waiting for the moon to reach its peak. Waiting for the shift.

I stood between a boy named Liam and Scotty.

Scotty was already taller than most of us, his shoulders broad, his chin jutting out with that same arrogant confidence he wore today.

"Nervous, Millie?" he had whispered, nudging my arm.

"No," I lied, my palms sweating.

"Good. Don't embarrass yourself."

The head elder stood, raising his staff. Silence fell over the clearing.

"Tonight, we welcome the new blood!" his voice boomed. "Step forward and let the moon guide your true form!"

Scotty went first. He didn't even hesitate. He walked to the center of the clearing, stripped off his shirt, and dropped to his knees.

The transformation was brutal, but Scotty didn't scream. Bones cracked. Muscles tore and reformed. Within seconds, a massive, silver-grey wolf stood in his place.

The crowd erupted.

The wolf threw its head back and howled, a sound that shook the leaves on the trees.

"A true Alpha!" the head elder shouted, pointing his staff at Scotty. "The future of the Montgomery line!"

The pack cheered louder. Scotty trotted around the circle, soaking in the adoration. Even in wolf form, he was a show-off.

"Next!" the elder called.

It was my turn.

I walked to the center, my legs feeling like lead. The moonlight hit my skin, cold and sharp. I closed my eyes and waited for the pain. For the pull of the moon.

Nothing happened.

My skin grew hot. My heart hammered against my ribs. But the bones didn't break. The fur didn't sprout.

"Focus, Camille," my father hissed from the front row.

I squeezed my eyes tighter. I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms. I tried to force it, trying to pull the wolf out of me.

Ten minutes passed.

The silence in the clearing grew heavy. The cheers died down.

I opened my eyes. The elders were whispering to each other. My mother had her face buried in her hands. My father stared at me, his expression unreadable, but his disappointment rolled off him in waves.

"She has no wolf," a voice muttered from the crowd.

"A dud," another whispered.

Someone laughed. A high, mocking sound from one of the other kids.

I couldn't breathe. The heat in my skin vanished, replaced by a freezing numbness. I turned and ran.

I didn't stop until I reached the edge of the woods. I looked back, just once.

Scotty stood in the center of the crowd, back in his human form, a blanket wrapped around his waist. People were patting his back, congratulating him.

He looked over the heads of the crowd and met my eyes. He didn't smile. He didn't laugh. He just stared at me, the silver Alpha, looking at the broken, wolfless girl.

That was the night the divide between us became a canyon.

I pushed off my bedroom door, the memory leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. I walked over to my closet and pulled out a suitcase, throwing it onto the bed.

I opened it, staring at the empty silk lining.

I had spent the last ten years proving I didn't need a wolf to be strong. I built my charities. I made a name for myself outside the pack's archaic rules.

And now, my father was handing me over to the very boy who had watched me fail.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I picked it up.

An unknown number.

*Pack lightly. I don't have room for your junk.*

I glared at the screen. Scotty.

I typed back furiously. *I'll bring whatever I want. And I'm taking the master bedroom.*

*Keep dreaming, Camille. You get the guest room down the hall. Try not to get lost.*

*I'd rather sleep in the hallway than share a room with you.*

*Good. We agree on something. See you Sunday, future wife.*

I threw the phone across the room. It bounced off the rug and hit the wall with a satisfying thud.

Sunday. Two days.

I walked to the window and looked out at the dark street. The Montgomery estate was miles away, but I could feel the weight of it pressing down on me.

I wasn't just marrying a man I hated. I was marrying the future Alpha. A man who had everything I didn't.

And he was going to make my life a living hell.

A knock on my door startled me.

"Camille?" my mother's voice was soft, hesitant.

I didn't answer.

The door creaked open. She stood in the doorway, holding a small velvet box.

"What is that?" I asked, my voice flat.

"A gift. From Scotty's mother." She walked over and set it on the dresser. "She wanted you to have it before the announcement."

I stared at the box. "I don't want it."

"Open it, Camille."

I crossed the room and popped the lid. Inside sat a heavy, silver necklace. A wolf pendant, its eyes made of small rubies.

"It's the Luna's crest," my mother whispered.

I slammed the box shut. "I'm not a Luna. I'm not even a wolf."

"You are his mate now. That's all that matters to them."

"It matters to me!" I shouted, the anger finally boiling over. "I have to wear this? I have to parade around pretending to be his perfect little mate when we both know I'm nothing to this pack?"

"You are a Gallagher," she said firmly. "You will wear it, and you will hold your head high."

She turned and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

I looked at the velvet box. The Luna's crest. A symbol of power I could never truly possess.

I picked up the box and threw it into the trash can.

Let Scotty explain that to his mother.

I walked back to the bed and started throwing clothes into the suitcase. Sweaters, jeans, dresses. I didn't care what I packed. None of it mattered.

My phone buzzed again from the floor.

I ignored it, grabbing a handful of shoes from the closet.

It buzzed again. And again.

I dropped the shoes and stomped over to the phone, snatching it up.

It wasn't Scotty.

It was Elena.

*Camille, did you see the news? Check the pack forum. Now.*

My stomach tightened. The announcement wasn't supposed to go out until Monday.

I opened the forum app. The top post was pinned, glowing in bright red letters.

*Alpha Heir Scotty Montgomery Announces Engagement.*

I clicked on it.

There was a picture of Scotty, looking sharp in his suit from dinner. But the caption underneath made my blood run cold.

*Scotty Montgomery to wed Camille Gallagher. A union of power. But sources say the Alpha heir has already chosen a second mate to bear his pups.*

I stared at the screen, the words blurring together.

A second mate.

Before we were even married, he was already replacing me.

The glowing red letters on my phone screen blurred. *A second mate.*

I hurled the device onto the mattress. It bounced against the pillows, but the headline remained burned into my retinas.

This was just like every other time. The pack, my parents, the universe—they always strapped me to Scotty Montgomery and expected me to just take it.

It started early. Every group project. Every seating chart. From elementary to high school, if a teacher said the word "partners," I already knew my fate.

"Are you going to open the book, or just inspect the ceiling tiles?" I asked. I slammed the massive history encyclopedia onto the library table. Dust plumed into the fluorescent light.

Scotty didn't flinch. He kicked his feet up onto the mahogany surface, crossing his ankles. "I'm supervising."

"The assignment is on the Industrial Revolution. We both need to write a thesis."

"You write it. I'll present it to the class tomorrow."

I shoved his boots off the table. They hit the floor with a heavy thud. "I'm not doing your work, Scotty. The rubric says we both have to contribute to the research."

"I am contributing," he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. "I'm providing moral support."

"You're providing a headache."

"Just read the book, Camille. We both know you love playing the good student."

"And you love playing the lazy Alpha."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Yes, I do. Because if we fail, your parents will cut your allowance. My dad will just buy the school a new library wing. So, start reading, Millie."

"Stop calling me that."

"Stop whining and grab a pen."

I gripped the edge of the table. "You're completely useless."

"I'm efficient," he countered. He tapped his screen, loading up a mobile game. "Wake me up when you have an outline."

I hated him then, but I hated him more during physical education.

While the other wolves relied on their enhanced agility, I tripped over my own feet.

"Pick up the pace!" Scotty shouted.

We were tethered together by a thick nylon rope for the obstacle course. The mud sucked at my sneakers. My lungs burned with every inhale.

"I'm trying!" I yelled. I swiped a mixture of sweat and dirt from my forehead.

He yanked the rope. The force jerked me forward, sending me stumbling to my knees. "Try harder. You're dragging my time down."

I scrambled back to my feet, my palms scraped and stinging. "Then unclip the carabiner and run by yourself!"

"If I cross the finish line without you, Coach fails us both." Scotty halted. He turned around, his chest barely rising. "Why are you so slow? Even the omegas are lapping us."

"I don't have a wolf to give me stamina!" I snapped. My voice cracked, echoing off the gymnasium walls.

His jaw hardened. The mockery faded from his eyes, replaced by a flat, unyielding glare. "Then use your human legs and move. I don't lose, Camille."

"I can't run any faster."

"Then I'll drag you." He turned his back to me, clamped his hand over the rope, and sprinted.

"Scotty, stop!" I shrieked.

He ignored me. The rope went taut. I spent the next half mile fighting to stay upright, choking on the dust he kicked up, my knees banging against the wooden hurdles. When we crossed the finish line, I collapsed onto the grass, gasping for air.

He stood over me, not even out of breath. "Next time, don't eat breakfast."

I threw a clump of mud at his leg. He sidestepped it easily.

By high school, the pattern was set in stone. Computer science, junior year.

I sat next to him, a blank notebook open on my desk. "Okay, the prompt says we need to build a basic encryption loop. I read the chapter last night. I think we should start with—"

*Click. Clack. Click.*

Scotty's fingers flew across the mechanical keyboard. He didn't even glance at me.

"Scotty, wait. What are you typing?"

"The code," he muttered. His eyes remained locked on the glowing monitor.

I reached out, trying to pull the keyboard toward the center of the desk. "I need to see it. We're supposed to pair-program."

He swatted my hand away. "Don't touch the hardware."

"Let me type the next sequence. The compiler is going to reject that syntax."

"The syntax is fine."

"You missed a semicolon on line forty-two."

He ignored me. He hit the enter key with a loud smack. The screen flashed bright green. *Assignment Submitted.*

I gaped at the monitor. "What did you just do?"

"I finished it."

"Class started ten minutes ago! I didn't write a single line."

"Did you want to type? Here." He shoved the keyboard toward me. "Type a poem."

"This isn't a joke, Scotty."

He slammed his laptop shut and shoved it into his leather bag. "I put your name on the header. You get an A. Say thank you."

"I don't want a free grade. I want to learn the material. How am I supposed to pass the final exam?"

"Cheat," he suggested flatly.

He stood up, slinging his backpack over his broad shoulder. "Go home and code it yourself. I have pack training in twenty minutes, and I'm not wasting my time pretending you can keep up with me."

"You arrogant jerk," I hissed.

"See you tomorrow, partner." He walked out of the lab.

I didn't take it sitting down. I marched straight to the teacher's desk.

Mr. Harrison didn't look up from his grading. "Yes, Camille?"

"I need a new partner for the semester project."

"No."

"Mr. Harrison, he refuses to work with me. He just does it all himself and leaves."

The teacher set his red pen down. "You and Scotty Montgomery are my highest-scoring pair."

"Because he cheats the system! He won't let me touch the assignments."

"He writes flawless code. And in history, you write flawless essays. The two of you balance each other out."

"We don't balance each other out. We hate each other."

"Put me with Liam. Put me with anyone else. Even Elena."

"Elena is failing math. You are excelling."

"I am excelling because I do the work of two people in half my classes, and Scotty does the work of two people in the other half. We aren't collaborating!"

Mr. Harrison sighed, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. "In the real world, Camille, you don't always get to choose your partners. The pack elders specifically requested you two be grouped together. It builds unity."

"It builds resentment!" I slammed my palm on his desk. "He treats me like a burden."

"Then prove him wrong." Mr. Harrison pointed the red pen at me. "You two work perfectly together, Camille. End of discussion. Go back to your seat."

The memories swirled in my head, fueling the fire in my chest.

*You two work perfectly together.*

A lie. A decade-long lie orchestrated by our parents to force this exact moment. A corporate merger masked as a mating.

And now, this second mate nonsense.

I stopped pacing my bedroom. The velvet box holding the Luna's crest sat at the bottom of my trash can. I grabbed my phone off the wrinkled bedsheets.

I didn't care what time it was. I pulled up his contact and hit dial.

It rang twice.

"Miss me already?" Scotty's voice slithered through the speaker, thick with amusement.

"Who is she?" I demanded.

Silence stretched over the line.

"Who is the second mate, Scotty?"

He chuckled, a low, scraping sound. "Pack your bags, Camille. You're going to find out very soon."

The line went dead.