The room was quiet. Too quiet.The kind of silence that stretched, soft and heavy, like it was trying to smother the sound of my own breathing.I stood in front of the mirror, unmoving.The gown shimmered like starlight against my skin, soft and dark and dangerous. A custom piece. Marcus had said he didn’t want to “half-ass” it. That if I was going to walk into that ballroom with him, I’d do it looking like the kind of woman men kneel for.He’d said it like a joke.But the way he’d looked at me when he handed the box over…It wasn’t.I ran a hand slowly down the fabric at my side, fingers brushing the elegant drape. Every inch of it fit perfectly, hugged like it remembered me. But I didn’t remember me. Not like this.Not in silk and shimmer.Not in something meant to be admired.Déjà vu struck like a lightning bolt to the chest. Sudden. Sharp. Unwanted.I’d worn something like this before—years ago. Another dark gown. Another soft room. Another mirror.Another life.I blinked hard, on
The cafeteria buzzed with mid-morning noise—clinking plates, scraped chairs, and overlapping conversations. I was seated with the maids, half-listening as I chewed through a piece of bland toast that had definitely seen better days. One of them was talking about what dress she might wishfully wear if servants were ever allowed to attend pack events. Another was fussing over which warrior she’d choose as a date if she had the chance.All harmless chatter.Until I heard that table.The warriors’ table—loud, always laughing too much, as if they were the only ones in the room who mattered. They’d been yapping between bites, but now one of them—the cocky one with a voice like gravel and a face too confident for how average it actually was—leaned forward and dropped the bait.“Ever heard the story of that rogue wolf?” he said, low and conspiratorial, like he was spinning some forbidden legend. “The one that wiped out an entire pack just because her mate betrayed her?”The other warriors lea
It was late.Too late, honestly. The kind of hour where only ghosts and guilt still wandered the halls.I was on my way back to my room, finally done giving the tailor my entire vision board slash obsessive rant about necktie coordination and Raine's proportions—when I saw him.Sebastian.Moving down the hallway like a shadow dressed in responsibility. Back straight. Shoulders stiff. Expression unreadable.And heading toward our father’s office.That was weird.Dad never allowed anyone in there this late. And Sebastian? He wasn’t the kind to disobey rules unless he had a damn good reason—or unless he was the rule.I almost shrugged and kept walking. Almost.But then her voice echoed in my head.“Be observant. The answers aren’t always handed to you. Sometimes, you have to look where no one else is watching.”Raine’s words.And for some reason, they stuck. Burned a little, even.I paused. Waited until he slipped inside. The door didn’t click shut.Interesting.I moved closer, light on
They keep saying it like it’s a declaration. Like it holds power.“Mine.”As if I’m a piece of territory to be claimed. As if I’m some prize they found in the ruins of a battlefield. First Marcus, then Sebastian—both so different, and yet… echoing the same possessive word.Mine.But here’s the truth neither of them understands yet.It’s not them who owns me.It’s me… who owns them.Marcus, with all his messy, explosive emotions—storming into rooms, demanding answers, wearing his heart like armor and thinking no one can see how much it bleeds. And Sebastian, all calm and clever, trying to outmaneuver people like it’s a game of chess, while thinking he’s five moves ahead.But they’re both wrong.They think they’ve marked me. Tethered me. Called dibs.But I’ve already wrapped them around my fingers—strings they don’t see, but they follow anyway.Marcus with his tantrums and teasing, throwing his pride at my feet like it’s some weapon he barely knows how to use.Sebastian with his slow st
Penelope’s room smelled like expensive perfume and sour tension.The door hadn’t even closed behind me when she looked up, lounging at the edge of her bed like a queen in exile—dressed in tight combat gear that looked like it had never seen an actual fight. Her eyes scanned me like I’d just tracked dirt onto her favorite rug.“Ah. Finally.” she drawled, twirling a short stick in her manicured fingers. “You took your time.”I didn’t reply.No need to rise to the bait.The maids—three of them—were just finishing laying down padded mats in the middle of the floor. They moved quietly, eyes downcast, too used to Penelope’s moods to engage. When they were done, one gave me a brief, apologetic glance before backing out the door with the rest.Silence fell.Penelope smirked, standing up with deliberate flair. She tossed something at me.I caught it instinctively.Two arnis sticks. Smooth. Solid.My eyes narrowed slightly. “You called me here… for a spar?”She tilted her head innocently. “Don’
We walked side by side down the hallway.Like nothing happened.Like he hadn’t just kissed me like he was trying to carve his name into my bones.His hands were in his pockets, whistling like he didn’t just detonate a bomb between us. Meanwhile, I was forcing myself to breathe evenly and not glance at him every two seconds like a hormonal teenager.The hallway felt longer than usual. Or maybe it was just the silence stretching tight between us.“So,” he said finally, glancing sideways at me. “That kiss was… efficient.”I gave him a bland look. “Efficient?”“You know. Practical. Straight to the point.” He nodded sagely. “Very professional of us.”“Right. Super professional,” I echoed dryly.He grinned. “Should we file a report about it? Log it in the ‘maid and master’ handbook? Page forty-two: in case of emotional emergency, lock lips.”“Don’t make me hit you.”“You’re blushing.”“I’m not.”“Your ears are red.”I stopped walking.He took two steps before noticing, then turned to face m