Romane von orhueexcel85

Silas didn't leave the estate immediately. Somehow my father was able to convince him to push the engagement dinner up to tonight, desperate to put on a final show for the families before Silas took me away.Hold still," Beatrice ordered.​ As she yanked the zipper up my spine. The gold and black fabric cut into my ribs and It pushed my breasts up and left my back completely bare.​"You're breathing too hard," Beatrice said, slapping my shoulder.​"It's too tight."​"It's supposed to be tight." Beatrice's blonde hair was sprayed stiff into a tight bun. Her fake smile didn't reach her cold blue eyes as she tugged hard on the hem of the dress. "Your father pushed this dinner up to tonight. You need to look perfect."​"I didn't ask for a dinner."​"You don't ask for anything." Beatrice glared at me in the mirror. "You look like a cheap escort, but maybe that's what Thorne wants. Don't ruin this. Smile, nod, and keep your mouth shut tonight."​"I always do."​"See that you do. If Silas

Two days before the engagement banquet, the estate felt like a tomb. Arthur was out finalizing his escape. My father was a coward, but he was a calculating one. He wouldn't run without bleeding the accounts dry first.My hands shook as I pulled the black, encrypted flash drive from his mahogany desk drawer. Sighting the ledger, Carmen was right, The proof was here. If I possessed the true financial records, maybe I could use them. Not to save myself because I was already condemned, but to at least bargain directly with the Alpha King for Iris and Milo's lives. In our world, blood meant nothing. Leverage meant everything.I slipped the cold plastic drive into my sweating palm and turned toward the door.Beatrice had forced me into five-inch stiletto heels that morning. *Practice for your new life,* my stepmother had sneered, her eyes glittering with malice. My ankles wobbled as I hurried out of the suffocating study and down the shadowed West Wing corridor."Kira!"I heard my Five

PROLOUGE ​In the territory of the Obsidian Pack, survival is a matter of simple mathematics. You either possess the power to hold your ground, or you become the currency used to buy someone else more time.​Before the first blow was struck in the corridors of the Vance estate, two distinct calculations were already being made in the dark.*​The Fractured Alpha*​At the heart of the territory lies the Iron Citadel, a freezing stone fortress ruled by Silas Thorne. At thirty two, he is a man whispered about in prayers for protection, and a ruthless leader who maintains his grip on the pack through absolute, unyielding terror.​But behind the obsidian walls, the foundations are cracking.​Years ago, a rogue ambush left Silas with a permanent, agonizing curse: Silver Rot. The metallic scar marring his leg makes shifting into his wolf form an excruciating torment. In a pack where an Alpha’s fitness to lead is judged by physical dominance, a leader who cannot shift is an invitation for a co