The satisfaction of seeing Althea's face turn purple was sweet, but short-lived. As I turned on my heel to leave, her shock morphed into a screech that clawed at my eardrums.

“Don't you walk away from me!”

Althea lunged forward, though she didn't dare touch me. Her voice echoed off the high, vaulted ceiling of the hallway.

“You think you've won just because you warmed his bed for a night? He will never Mark you! He's going to Reject you the moment he gets the chance, you stray!”

I paused, my hand tightening on the strap of my trunk. My Inner Wolf growled low in my chest, urging me to snap back, to show this pup her place.

But before I could open my mouth, the heavy oak door behind us flew open with a force that shook the floorboards.

A wave of power, cold and suffocating, slammed into the corridor. It was pure Alpha command.

Draven stood in the doorway, a pair of dark sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his chest heaving. The golden light in his eyes hadn't fully faded, swirling with a storm of irritation.

“Is there a reason,” Draven’s voice was dangerously quiet, “that you are screeching like a dying cat outside my door, Althea?”

Althea shrank back, her earlier bravado dissolving instantly. She paled, pressing herself against the wall.

“Draven, I… she was just”

“Leave,” he barked. Althea scrambled away without another word.

Draven’s gaze then snapped to me. It was heavy, physical, like a hand gripping my throat. He was searching for something fear, perhaps, or submission. I gave him neither.

I simply adjusted my bag, met his burning stare with a cool nod, and walked away toward the guest wing.

Behind me, I could feel his gaze following every step I took.

The tension didn't dissipate; it merely changed venues.

The hallway stretched endlessly ahead of me, lined with tall windows that let in the pale light of morning. Servants moved quietly along the edges of the corridor, pretending not to notice the confrontation that had just taken place. Yet their glances flickered toward me every few seconds.

News traveled quickly in pack houses.

By the time I reached the staircase, I had no doubt half the mansion already knew I had walked out of the Alpha’s bedroom.

My wolf huffed in irritation. Let them talk. An hour later, I sat at the massive polished oak table in the pack's dining hall.

The room smelled of old money and judgement.

Cordelia Whitmore, the former Luna, sat at the head of the table, slicing into her grapefruit with surgical precision.

“A proper Luna,” Cordelia began without looking up, “would have been awake at dawn to inspect the warriors' training. Sleeping in is a human habit, not one befitting the Shadowclaw Pack.”

I unfolded my napkin, placing it on my lap. Across the table, Draven was drinking black coffee, his eyes glued to the tablet, ignoring us both.

“I am here per Elder Thalos's Arrangements, Mrs. Whitmore,” I replied, my voice steady. “I wasn't aware I was auditing for the role of pack housekeeper. My duties will be defined by my Alpha, not by the traditions of the past.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut glass. Cordelia’s knife screeched against her plate.

Draven didn't look up, but the corner of his mouth twitched whether in annoyance or amusement, I couldn't tell.

A few pack members seated farther down the table suddenly became very interested in their food.

Cordelia dabbed her mouth with a napkin, her expression tightening.

“You would do well to remember where you are,” she said calmly. “Shadowclaw is not one of those careless packs that tolerates arrogance.”

“And I would do well,” I replied quietly, “to remember I was invited here by your elders.”

Draven finally looked up.

His gray eyes locked onto mine.

For a brief moment, something unreadable flickered across his face. Interest. Curiosity.

Then it vanished.

He returned his attention to the tablet as if the conversation bored him.

Breakfast concluded in suffocating silence.

As I stood to leave, Cordelia intercepted me near the archway, her face a mask of faux benevolence.

“Wait,” she said, sliding a sleek black credit card across the sideboard toward me.

“Take this. Go buy some decent clothes. The Luna of Shadowclaw cannot be seen wearing... whatever this is. You look like a Rogue.”

I looked at the card, then at her.

The insult was wrapped in charity, designed to make me feel small, indebted.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out.

A notification flashed on the screen:

Bank Transfer Received: $50,000,000.00.

Immediately, a familiar, gruff voice echoed in my mind, bypassing the physical distance between us.

Have fun, my little wolf. Don't let them think we Holloway wolves can't afford a skirt.

My grandfather.

Former Alpha Kutcher of the Nightveil Pack.

A smile tugged at my lips.

“Thank you for the offer, Cordelia,” I said softly, sliding my phone back into my pocket.

I didn't touch the card.

“But I think I can manage without the Pack's charity for now.”

I walked past her, leaving her staring at my back, mouth slightly agape.

Behind me, I heard the faint sound of the credit card being snatched off the table.

The drive to the Whitmore Group headquarters was a different kind of torture.

The interior of the Alpha's SUV was a sealed capsule of sensory overload.

The air was thick with Draven's scent cedar, rain, and that underlying spice that made my mouth water despite my hatred for him.

My scent, jasmine and forest pine, mingled with his, creating a heady cocktail that made the air feel electric.

Draven sat in the back seat beside me, his long legs cramping the space.

He hadn't spoken a word since we left the estate, but the aggression rolling off him was palpable.

The driver kept his eyes firmly on the road.

No one wanted to interrupt the Alpha.

Finally, Draven broke the silence.

“You enjoy provoking my family.”

His voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it.

I looked out the window, watching the city blur past.

“I enjoy defending myself.”

He let out a low breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

“You're bold,” he said.

“Or foolish.”

I turned to face him.

“Perhaps both.”

His gaze slid toward me slowly.

For a moment, the tension between us thickened.

“You should be careful,” he murmured. “Shadowclaw is not a place where outsiders thrive.”

“And yet,” I replied, “your elders brought me here.”

His jaw tightened.

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“They did.”

The SUV rolled to a stop in front of a towering glass building.

Whitmore Group headquarters.

As the driver stepped out to open the door, Draven spoke again.

Low enough that only I could hear.

“You may have survived breakfast,” he said, “but don't mistake that for victory.”

I met his gaze calmly.

“I'm not trying to win.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

“That,” he said as he stepped out of the car, “is exactly what makes you dangerous.”

By the time I returned to the mansion, the sky had already darkened into a dull shade of gray. Evening shadows stretched across the large stone walls of the Shadowclaw estate, making the place feel colder than it already was. I paused at the iron gates for a moment, hesitating before stepping inside. This place was supposed to be my home now but every time I walked through those doors, it felt more like a prison.

The guards at the entrance barely spared me a glance, their eyes following me for only a second before returning to their posts. To them, I was nothing more than the unwanted bride the pack had delivered. Not Luna. Not family. Just an obligation they had been forced to accept. I pushed the heavy doors open and stepped into the mansion. A few servants moved quietly through the hallways, finishing the last of their duties. The long corridors were dimly lit by chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, their golden light reflecting against the polished marble floors.

My footsteps echoed softly as I made my way deeper into the mansion. The Shadowclaw estate was beautiful in a cold, intimidating way. Tall stone pillars lined the hallways, and large portraits of former Alphas watched from the walls with stern, judging expressions. Sometimes I wondered if they would have approved of me being here. Probably not.

As I walked past the west corridor, I noticed the faint glow of light spilling from beneath the study door. Voices came from inside. I slowed my steps. One voice sounded sharp and controlled, Draven’s assistant. I had heard him speak several times before during meetings at the office.

The other voices were deeper and older, likely members of the council or the elders of the pack. Their voices rose and fell in serious tones. I stopped a few feet from the door. For a moment, I considered walking away. Whatever discussion they were having was clearly important. But curiosity rooted my feet to the floor. I edged a little closer. The thick oak door stood firmly closed, its surface polished to perfection. I could hear the sound of several men speaking, their voices tense and intense. But the door blocked everything.

Not a single word reached me clearly. The voices blurred together into muffled sounds deep murmurs, occasional sharp tones, and the faint scrape of chairs moving across the floor. I strained to listen. Still nothing. Whatever they were discussing remained completely hidden behind the heavy door. A strange feeling crept over me. It wasn't just a normal meeting. There was urgency in their voices. Frustration. Perhaps even anger.

My heart began to beat a little faster. Whatever was happening inside that room was serious. And somehow, I felt like it had something to do with me. I shifted my weight slightly, leaning closer to the door in a useless attempt to catch even one clear sentence. But the mansion walls were thick, and the door might as well have been made of stone. I couldn't hear a single word. Suddenly the door handle twisted. My breath caught. Before I could move away, the door opened. I stepped back quickly. A tall figure emerged from the study.

My heart skipped. Cordelia Whitmore. The former Luna stood in the doorway, her posture straight and commanding as always. Her sharp eyes scanned the hallway immediately, as if she already knew someone had been standing there. They landed on me. “Aurora.” Her voice was calm but cold. “What are you doing wandering the halls at this hour?” My throat tightened. “I… I just returned from the office, Mrs. Whitmore,” I said quickly. Her gaze narrowed slightly. “Have you been standing here long?” The question made my stomach drop. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I was just passing by.” She stepped fully into the hallway, closing the study room door behind her. The voices inside instantly disappeared. Cordelia studied my face carefully, as if searching for signs of dishonesty. The air between us grew tense. “You should remember something,” she said slowly.

Her voice had softened slightly, but the warning in it was unmistakable. “This house contains many discussions that are not meant for every ear.” I nodded quietly. “I understand.” She tilted her head slightly. “Do you?” Her eyes lingered on me for another moment before she continued. “You are new here, Aurora. You do not yet understand the weight of the matters this pack must deal with.” I lowered my gaze slightly. “And curiosity,” she added coolly, “can be dangerous.” The meaning behind her words was clear. She didn't want me anywhere near that study room. Or whatever secrets were being discussed inside it. “I wasn't trying to listen,” I said softly. Cordelia watched me for another long moment. Then she finally stepped aside and walked down the hallway. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor as she disappeared around the corner. I exhaled slowly.

Only then did I realize how tense my body had been. My shoulders relaxed slightly as I stepped away from the study room door. Whatever conversation had been happening inside that room remained a mystery. I hadn't heard a single word. Still, something about the atmosphere around that meeting left an uneasy feeling in my chest. The elders rarely visited the mansion at night. And when they did, it usually meant something serious was happening within the pack. Something big. I walked slowly toward the staircase and sat down on the bottom step. The mansion had grown quieter now.

Most of the servants had finished their duties and disappeared into the lower quarters of the estate. Only the faint ticking of the large grandfather clock in the hallway filled the silence. I leaned back slightly against the railing. My mind refused to settle. What could the elders be discussing with Draven this late at night? Pack matters? Territory disputes? Or something else entirely? Whatever it was, Cordelia clearly didn't want me anywhere near it. A cool breeze drifted through the tall windows near the staircase, carrying the scent of pine from the forest surrounding the estate. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.

The sound echoed faintly through the night. Shadowclaw territory stretched miles beyond the mansion dense forest, rocky cliffs, and hidden trails that only the pack knew. Those lands belonged to Draven. And everyone within them answered to him. Everyone except me. I still felt like an outsider walking through someone else's world. A bride brought here for reasons no one bothered to explain. I rubbed my temples slowly. Too many questions filled my mind. Not enough answers. Eventually I stood and began walking toward the guest wing where my room was located.

As I passed one of the tall windows overlooking the courtyard, movement outside caught my eye. A figure stood near the training grounds. Even in the dim lighting, I recognized him instantly. Draven. The Alpha stood alone beneath the evening sky. His broad shoulders were tense, his posture rigid as he stared into the distance. The wind moved through his dark hair slightly. For a moment, he didn’t move at all.

Then he turned suddenly. His gaze lifted toward the mansion. Toward the window. Toward me. Even through the glass and distance, the intensity of his eyes made my breath catch. Our gazes locked. Something unreadable passed across his expression. Then his face hardened. Without another glance, he turned and walked away into the darkness of the courtyard. I remained standing by the window long after he disappeared.

The following morning, while I was eating breakfast, the elders of the Shadowclaw Pack arrived. Not long after, I was summoned to Alpha Draven’s study room. When I stepped inside, the room felt heavy with authority.

The elders sat in silence while Alpha Draven stood behind his desk, his expression unreadable. They told me that starting from today, I would work as his personal assistant at Whitmore Group. I nodded and agreed, even though it was the last thing I wanted. The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the nerve center of the Whitmore Group.

The Alpha's executive floor was a fortress of glass and steel, smelling of ozone, expensive cologne, and the underlying, sharp tang of high-stakes anxiety. I stepped out, my heels clicking rhythmically against the polished marble floor. Every head turned. I could feel their gazes curious, judgmental, predatory.

But one scent cut through the sterile air like a knife: a cloying mixture of synthetic roses and bitter jealousy. "I honestly don't know what the Elders were thinking," a voice carried across the open-plan office, loud enough to be intentional. I paused, turning my head toward the source. A woman with platinum blonde hair and a tight pencil skirt was perched on the edge of a desk, holding court with two younger assistants. Ingrid Slater.

The head secretary. "Hiring a wolf from some backwater Pack to be the Alpha's personal assistant?" Ingrid sneered, her eyes raking over me with disdain. "She smells like weeds from the wilderness. I bet she's just some desperate Omega trying to sleep her way into a title". The office went silent. My Inner Wolf bristled, pacing in my mind, but I kept her on a tight leash. I didn't need claws to handle a chihuahua. I walked straight up to Ingrid's desk. She straightened, crossing her arms, expecting me to cower.

"If my scent offends you, Ms. Eliza, I suggest you see a doctor," I said, my voice cool and projecting clearly across the room. "Perhaps your nose is malfunctioning, mistaking the sour stench of your own jealousy for my perfume. Or maybe," I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice to a lethal whisper, "you've spent so much time chasing the Alpha's trail that you've forgotten what a real wolf smells like". Ingrid's face flushed a deep, blotchy crimson. A few stifled giggles erupted from the cubicles behind her.

She opened her mouth to retort, but her eyes darted toward the massive glass walls of Draven's office at the end of the hall. Through the glass, I saw him. Draven sat behind his desk, his dark eyes fixed on us. He didn't look angry. He looked... bored. He saw his head secretary attacking his "Wife," and he did absolutely nothing. So that's how you want to play it, Draven, I thought, turning my back on the glass. Sink or swim. Ingrid, realizing she couldn't cause a scene without drawing Draven's ire, slammed a thick file onto the desk. "Fine," she hissed, her voice trembling with suppressed rage.

"Since you're so confident, you can handle the afternoon shoot. We have a VIP client downstairs. Andrew Cuomo." A ripple of unease went through the onlookers. Even I knew the name. The son of the Moonlight Pack's Beta, and a human world supermodel known for a temper as volatile as a rogue in heat. "He's already fired three assistants this morning," Ingrid said, a malicious smirk returning to her lips. "He hates incompetence. Don't keep him waiting, Luna".

I picked up the file, my expression unreadable. "Consider it done". The studio on the tenth floor was chaos. "No! I said crushed ice, not cubed! Are you deaf or just stupid?" A voice boomed from the center of the set. Andrew Cuomo was pacing in front of a white backdrop, shirtless, his lean muscles glistening under the hot lights. He threw a plastic cup into a trash bin with unnecessary force. The production crew looked terrified. "This place reeks of mediocrity," Andrew grumbled, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Someone get me a shaken lemon tea from the city center. Seven pumps of sugar. Now!"

I stepped into the clearing, the file tucked under my arm. "Mr. Cuomo," I called out, my tone professional. "I am Aurora. I'll be managing your schedule for the rest of the day". Andrew didn't't even look at me. He kept his sunglasses on, waving a dismissive hand. "Great. Another babysitter. Just go get the tea, sweetheart, and maybe I won't walk out of this"

He stopped mid-sentence. The air shifted. The ventilation system cycled, carrying my scent jasmine, forest pine, and the crisp freshness of rain directly to him. Andrew froze. His head snapped toward me, his nostrils flaring. Slowly, his hand reached up and pulled the sunglasses down his nose.

His eyes, a striking amber, widened in absolute disbelief. The silence in the studio was deafening. Ingrid, who had followed me down to watch the fireworks, stood in the shadows with a triumphant grin, waiting for the explosion. Instead, Andrew's arrogance evaporated like mist in the morning sun. "Aurora?" he breathed, his voice cracking. "Moon Goddess above... is it really you?" He scrambled off the platform, ignoring the photographer, and rushed toward me. He stopped a foot away, looking at me as if I were a ghost, or a deity. "I... I thought I'd never see you again," Andrew stammered, his posture shifting from diva to devotee in a heartbeat. "After that night in the woods... the Rogues... you saved my life". I offered him a small, genuine smile.

"It's good to see you in one piece, Andrew. And fully clothed, mostly". "You know him?" Ingrid's shrill voice cut in from the sidelines. She looked like she had swallowed a lemon. "How does a stray like you know the Moonlight heir?" Andrew whipped around, a low growl vibrating in his chest a sound of pure warning that made Ingrid recoil. "Watch your tongue," Andrew snapped, his eyes flashing with Beta authority.

"This 'stray' shifted into a Dire Wolf and took down four Rogues single-handedly to save me when I was a pup. She is a warrior. Show some respect." The studio gasped. I felt the weight of a dozen stares, but this time, the judgment was replaced by awe. I looked at Ingrid, whose face had gone pale. "Shall we get back to work, Ms. Eliza? Or do you have more insults to throw?" Andrew turned back to me, grinning like a loyal puppy who had found his master. "Anything for you, Aurora. Do you want me to pose? I'll pose. I'll do whatever you say." High above in the glass tower, the war had just taken a turn Draven never saw coming.