Chapter Two

Liliene stood by the stove, the heat doing little to warm the cold dread that had settled in her chest over the past few weeks. It was barely five in the afternoon, but the heavy front door clicked open. She turned the burner down to a low simmer, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her worn apron.

"Liliene? Dear?"

Her stepmother’s voice echoed through the hallway. Liliene hurried into the living room, finding Mrs. Denver perched on the edge of the velvet sofa, looking unusually anxious.

"Yes, Mother?" Liliene kept her distance. "Is something wrong? Did the bank call about the company again?"

Mrs. Denver offered a strained, almost pitying smile. "Stop worrying about the company, Liliene. It’s saved. Everything is going to be fine."

Liliene blinked, a flicker of genuine relief washing over her. "But... you look so upset. And you and Ayesha never come home this early. I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry—" she quickly added, ducking her head instinctively, bracing for a harsh reprimand.

"Calm down," her stepmother said gently. The rare softness in her tone made the hairs on the back of Liliene's neck stand up. "I came home early to help you pack. You need to get ready. I am taking you to your fiancé's estate tonight."

Liliene froze. The word echoed in her mind, hollow and terrifying. "Fiancé?" Her jaw dropped, her voice cracking as it rose an octave. "You... you arranged for me to marry someone? Someone I don't even know?!"

It was the first time she had ever raised her voice, but the betrayal was too massive to swallow.

"I know this is a shock," Mrs. Denver sighed, waving a dismissive hand. "But this man saved our company. If it weren't for his intervention, the only legacy your father left behind would be turned to dust. You have to make this sacrifice, Liliene. For your father."

The fight drained out of Liliene as quickly as it had ignited. ‘Her father's legacy.’ They had cornered her using the one thing she couldn't bear to let die. She was being traded like a piece of antique furniture to settle a debt.

"I understand," Liliene whispered, her voice muffled with resignation. "I will clean the kitchen and pack my things."

Her packing took less than ten minutes. She owned almost nothing. A few faded dresses, two pairs of worn-out slippers, and a silver, tarnished hair comb that had belonged to her birth mother. She slipped her feet into her scuffed doll shoes and grabbed her small duffel bag.

"I am ready, Mother," she said, finding Mrs. Denver waiting by the door, incessantly checking her designer watch.

Just then, Ayesha breezed through the front door, dropping her shopping bags. She took one look at Liliene's meager luggage and smirked. "Well, look at this. Mother, are you dropping the trash off early?"

"Ayesha, enough. Watch the house. I am taking Liliene to Mr. Walton's," Mrs. Denver commanded, though her voice trembled slightly.

Ayesha let out a high-pitched, mocking laugh. "Good luck surviving Dylan Walton, loser. I hear he's an absolute monster. Makes us look like fairy godmothers."

Liliene kept her eyes glued to the floor, silently following her stepmother to the garage. The car ride was a blur of neon city lights and suffocating silence. Mrs. Denver drove recklessly fast, her knuckles white on the steering wheel, terrified of being even a minute late for this 'Mr. Walton.'

Dylan Walton sat in his dimly lit study, his jaw clenched, staring at the grandfather clock. The heavy rhythmic ticking was maddening. His inner wolf was restless, pacing just beneath his skin, sensing that their mate was drawing near.

Three sharp knocks broke the silence. Dylan immediately dropped his legs from the desk and straightened his posture, clasping his hands together. "Come in."

Beta Harris strolled into the room, a deeply infuriating, playful smirk plastered across his face. He sank into one of the leather visitor chairs, crossing his arms.

"Wipe that look off your face, Harris," Dylan growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

Harris chuckled, standing up and leaning over the desk. "I’m just here to deliver the news, Alpha. Your purchased Luna is waiting for you in the living room."

Before his rational mind could catch up, Dylan was on his feet. The sheer force of his movement knocked his heavy mahogany chair back. Catching himself, he cleared his throat and adjusted his suit jacket, trying to mask the overwhelming surge of adrenaline.

"That eager, huh?" Harris raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this. "I've never seen you move that fast for anything that didn't involve a fight."

"Shut up," Dylan snapped, though a faint flush of embarrassment hit his neck. "And correct yourself. I didn't purchase her. She is mine by right. I am simply bringing her home."

Leaving Harris chuckling in the study, Dylan strode down the massive, sweeping staircase of his mansion. He forced himself to slow his pace. He was the Alpha. He was feared, ruthless, and untouchable. He needed to project absolute control.

But the moment he stepped into the living room, all of that control shattered into million pieces.

She was sitting on the edge of the leather couch, looking small, terrified, and utterly breathtaking.

Liliene looked up as he entered, and the moment their eyes met, the air in the room vanished.

Dylan stopped dead in his tracks. His chest heaved. She was entirely unadorned, wearing a faded dress and scuffed shoes, yet she was the most naturally stunning creature he had ever laid eyes on. Her doe-like eyes were wide, framed by thick lashes, and her delicate features radiated a pure, ethereal elegance. A violent, possessive roar echoed in Dylan's mind. ‘Mate.’

For Liliene, the fear that had gripped her entire body suddenly evaporated, replaced by a dizzying, intoxicating heat. The man walking toward her was a god carved from marble and shadow. He was absolutely gorgeous—tall, broad-shouldered, with piercing, intense eyes that seemed to look right through to her soul. He exuded an aura of raw, terrifying power, yet looking at him made her heart race in a way that had nothing to do with fear, and everything to do with a sudden, overwhelming desire.

Dylan ignored Mrs. Denver completely. He walked straight to Liliene, his intimidating presence softening into something deeply reverent as he stood before her.

"Good evening," his voice was a deep, velvety baritone that sent a visible shiver down Liliene's spine. He extended a large, strong hand toward her. "I am Dylan Wayne Walton. Your mate. Your Alpha. And your soon-to-be husband."

Liliene stared at his hand, her breath catching. "M-Mate? Alpha?" The words tumbled from her lips, laced with confusion. The hypnotic spell broke slightly as the reality of her situation crashed back into her. She pulled her hands into her lap, her body trembling again.

She turned her desperate gaze to her stepmother. "Mother... what did you get me into? Who is he? What is he talking about? How could you just hand me over to a stranger like I'm nothing?!" The pain of years of neglect finally boiled over, her voice breaking on a sob.

Dylan’s jaw locked. The intoxicating haze of finding his mate was instantly pierced by her tears. A dark, murderous anger flared in his chest, aimed entirely at the older woman sitting nearby. He had thought Mrs. Denver had explained the arrangement. Instead, she had thrown Liliene into the dark, letting her believe she had been sold to a monster.

"Forgive me, Liliene," Mrs. Denver stammered, shrinking back into the couch as Dylan’s terrifying gaze shifted to her. "You had to sacrifice! For your father’s mall. Please, just give Mr. Walton a chance."

Liliene shook her head, tears spilling over her beautiful cheeks. "Just... go. Go home. I'm so tired." She buried her face in her hands, shutting them both out.

Dylan’s fists clenched at his sides. He wanted to pull her into his arms and rip apart anyone who had ever made her cry.

"Why is she entirely uninformed about the nature of her presence here, Mrs. Denver?" Dylan’s voice was lethally quiet, vibrating with restrained fury. "You have taken what should have been a beautiful moment and turned it into a nightmare for my Luna."

Mrs. Denver gulped, grabbing her purse. "I-I fulfilled my end of the contract, Mr. Walton! I brought her here on time. I have no more business here."

She practically ran out of the front door, leaving her stepdaughter behind without a single backward glance.

Dylan watched the door click shut, his eyes narrowing. He would deal with Mrs. Denver's disrespect later. Right now, he turned back to the beautiful, weeping girl on his couch. He dropped to one knee before her, completely ignoring his own status, driven only by the primal need to comfort the woman who owned his soul.