The rental car smelled like stale coffee and someone else's life. I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles white against the black leather, and tried not to think about how much of my secret savings had just evaporated. Three years of selling ceremonial robes online, of staying up late stitching moon-blessed silk by candlelight while Marcelo slept—all of it funneled into this moment.

Jaliyah sat in the passenger seat, her fingers twisted in the fabric of her dress. She'd been quiet since we left Moonstone territory, but I could feel her anxiety building like static electricity before a storm.

"Vienna," she whispered. "Vienna, Vienna, Vienna."

"I'm here." I reached over and took her hand, keeping my eyes on the highway. "We're just going for a drive. Remember how you like drives?"

Her grip tightened. "Wrong. Smells wrong. Not home."

"I know." The trees outside blurred past, pine giving way to the manicured landscapes that marked Silver Lake territory. Everything here looked expensive, deliberate. Even the grass seemed greener. "But I need you to stay calm for me. Can you do that?"

She rocked forward slightly, a motion I'd learned to recognize as the beginning of an episode. I pulled into a rest stop, my heart hammering, and turned to face her.

"Look at me, Jaliyah." I cupped her face in my hands, the way I'd done a hundred times before. "Breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth."

Her eyes—wild and unfocused—gradually found mine. We breathed together, slow and steady, until the tension in her shoulders eased. This was what eight years had taught me. How to read her tells, how to pull her back from the edge, how to be the anchor Marcelo never bothered to be.

"Good," I murmured. "That's good. We're almost there."

She nodded, still gripping my hand like a lifeline.

The diner appeared twenty minutes later, a chrome-and-neon beacon advertising the "Best Coffee in Three Territories." I needed caffeine. Needed a moment to steady myself before walking into whatever waited at the Silver Lake Pack House.

Inside, the place buzzed with conversation. I guided Jaliyah to a corner booth, ordered two coffees and a plate of fries, and tried to ignore the way other patrons stared at us. Jaliyah's condition wasn't obvious until you looked closely, but people always sensed something off.

"—biggest ceremony in years," a woman at the next table said, her voice carrying over the clatter of dishes. "My cousin works at the Pack House. Says they've been preparing for weeks."

My coffee cup froze halfway to my lips.

"Alpha Thompson's daughter is getting a real catch," her companion replied. "Noble bloodline, apparently. One of those old families that fell on hard times but kept their dignity."

Dignity. The word made my stomach turn.

"They're calling it the perfect match," the first woman continued. "He's mysterious, handsome, and she's got the status and money. Like something out of a romance novel."

Jaliyah's hand found mine under the table. She might not understand everything, but she understood enough. She'd lived with Marcelo's lies too, just from a different angle.

I paid the bill and got us back on the road. The fire in my chest had spread, burning away the last traces of doubt. Let them call it a perfect match. Let them celebrate their romance novel fantasy. I was about to rip the pages out and show them what the story really looked like.

The Silver Lake Pack House rose from the landscape like something out of a magazine. White stone, tall windows, grounds that stretched for acres. White roses climbed trellises on either side of the entrance. Silver ribbons fluttered from every surface, catching the late afternoon light.

I parked in the visitor lot and sat for a moment, staring at the mansion. Somewhere inside, Marcelo was probably getting ready, adjusting his tie, practicing his vows. Did he think about me at all? Did he wonder if I'd figured it out?

Jaliyah whimpered.

"I know," I said softly. "But we're going in anyway."

The main entrance was guarded by two warriors in formal dress. They looked us over—me in my plain dress, Jaliyah in her worn cardigan—with barely concealed disdain.

"Ceremony's invitation only," one of them said.

"I'm here to deliver a gift." I kept my voice steady, channeling every ounce of confidence I didn't feel. "From the Moonstone Pack Elders. Elder Marcus Stone specifically requested I bring it personally."

The guards exchanged glances. Pack protocol was sacred, and refusing a gift from another pack's Elders could be seen as an insult.

"Wait here," the first guard finally said, pulling out his phone.

I waited, Jaliyah pressed against my side, and watched the sun sink lower. Inside that mansion, Marcelo's perfect life was about to begin.

Not if I had anything to say about it.

The ceremony hall smelled like money and roses. Crystal chandeliers threw fractured light across marble floors so polished I could see my reflection—pale, determined, out of place. Jaliyah's hand trembled in mine as we slipped through the crowd, finding a spot near the back where shadows pooled between ornate columns.

Guests filled every available space, their designer clothes and expensive perfumes creating a wall of wealth I'd never be part of. They whispered to each other, voices hushed with reverence, like they were witnessing something sacred.

Maybe they thought they were.

At the front of the hall, beneath an arch woven with white roses and silver ribbon, Marcelo stood like he'd been born for this moment. His suit probably cost more than I'd earned in a year. Tailored perfectly, dark fabric that made his shoulders look broader, his stance more commanding. He smiled at something Blair said, and the crowd sighed.

Blair. She looked like a fairy tale come to life. Her gown caught the light with every breath, crystals sewn into the bodice creating constellations across white silk. Her hair fell in perfect waves down her back, held in place by a silver circlet that screamed Alpha bloodline. She touched Marcelo's arm, possessive and confident, and he covered her hand with his.

Eight years. Eight years I'd believed that hand belonged to me.

"Distinguished couple," someone murmured nearby. "Perfect match."

"His bloodline is impeccable," another voice added. "And her father's territory—combined, they'll be unstoppable."

Jaliyah whimpered. I squeezed her hand, pulling her closer.

Alpha Robert Thompson stepped forward, his presence commanding immediate silence. He was everything an Alpha should be—tall, powerful, his aura filling the room like pressure before a storm. When he raised his hands, even the chandeliers seemed to dim in respect.

"We gather under the Moon Goddess's light," he began, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall, "to witness the sacred union of two souls, two bloodlines, two futures made one."

The crowd murmured approval. I felt sick.

Marcelo's smile never wavered. He looked at Blair like she was his entire world, like he'd waited his whole life for this moment. Maybe he had. Maybe I'd just been the stepping stone he'd needed to get here.

Then something shifted.

Marcelo's head turned slightly, his nostrils flaring. His practiced smile flickered—just for a second, barely noticeable unless you'd spent eight years learning to read every micro-expression on his face. His wolf had caught something. A scent that didn't belong.

Mine.

I watched his eyes scan the crowd, searching. His jaw tightened. Blair noticed, leaning in to whisper something, but he shook his head, forcing the smile back into place.

Too late. I'd seen the crack.

"Marcelo King," Alpha Thompson continued, oblivious to the tension radiating from the groom, "do you come before the Moon Goddess with pure intent, offering your heart, your protection, your eternal bond to my daughter, Blair Thompson?"

"I do." Marcelo's voice rang clear, confident. A lie wrapped in silk.

Jaliyah shifted beside me, her breathing getting faster. I felt her wolf stirring, agitated by the crowd, by Marcelo's scent, by everything wrong about this place. She started rocking slightly, a motion I knew too well.

"Shh," I whispered, leaning close to her ear. "I'm right here. You're safe. Just a little longer."

"Vienna," she breathed, her voice cracking. "Vienna, Vienna—"

"I know." I stroked her hand, keeping my movements small, trying not to draw attention. But heads were already turning. Curious glances. Disapproving frowns. Who were these poorly dressed women disrupting such an elegant ceremony?

Jaliyah's whimpers grew louder. Her wolf was pushing at the surface, confused and frightened. I pulled her against my side, murmuring the same words I'd used a thousand times before. Breathe. Focus. Stay with me.

At the altar, Marcelo's composure cracked further. His eyes found us in the crowd—found me—and for one perfect moment, I watched the blood drain from his face.

He knew.

I reached for the mind-link, focusing on the connection Elder Marcus Stone had established before I left Moonstone territory. It took a moment—the distance made it harder—but then his presence filled my consciousness, steady and sure.

*I'm here,* his voice echoed in my mind. *The video testimony is ready. The Council has been notified. When you're ready, Vienna, I'll broadcast it to every wolf in that hall.*

My wolf surged inside me, stronger than she'd been in years. She wanted blood. Justice. Truth.

*I'm ready,* I sent back.

Alpha Thompson raised his hands toward the ceiling, toward the moon hidden somewhere beyond the ornate roof. "Moon Goddess, bless this union. Witness these vows. Bind these souls—"

"Wait."

My voice cut through the ceremony like a blade through silk. Every head turned. The hall fell silent except for Jaliyah's ragged breathing and the pounding of my heart.

Marcelo's face had gone white as his bride's dress.

I stepped forward, pulling Jaliyah with me, and let the fire in my chest finally, finally burn free.