Chapter Four

The silence in the car was heavy. It wasn’t the kind of silence that made you feel calm. It was the kind that made it hard to breathe, like something was pressing on my chest. I knew silence. I had lived with it for years. I learned how to keep quiet, how to hide, how to make myself small so no one would notice me. But this silence was different. It felt alive.

Rex Blackfur was sitting right next to me, but it felt like he was far away. He didn’t talk. He didn’t move. He just sat there, and that was enough to make my skin crawl. I felt goosebumps even though my dress was heavy and warm. The seat under me was supposed to be soft, but it felt cold. It was like the car knew who he was.

I held the travelling box in my lap. It should have been in the booth but since no one asked to put it there, I just held it. I kept running my fingers over it, feeling every edge and dent. It was the only thing that felt real. I didn’t look at Rex. I just stared out the window. The trees and sky and ground all blurred together as the car took me away from everything I knew, even if my old life was bad.

My mind wouldn’t stop. I kept asking myself, why me? Why did he pick me? Out of everyone, why the cursed daughter? My father always said I was a mistake, a burden. But Rex Blackfur still came for me. He didn’t ask. He just took me. My heart was beating so loud I thought he could hear it, but he didn’t react. He just stayed silent.

The car hummed and carried us on, the rhythm of the tires against the road only deepening the stillness between us. I forced my eyes to follow the trees outside, their trunks tall and unmoving, as if they were witnesses to my undoing. But the more I tried to ground myself in the blur of the outside world, the more my thoughts kept circling back to him. Rex Blackfur. I had grown up hearing his name whispered like a curse, a warning passed around in hushed tones when adults thought children weren’t listening. They said he destroyed entire packs and left ruins behind him, that his heart was steel and his mercy nonexistent. My father—who feared no one, who even in his cruelty carried an air of untouchable pride—had always stiffened at the mention of him. That was enough to tell me everything. If my father feared him, then Rex Blackfur was someone to dread.

And now, I was sitting beside him, bound to him. My father hadn’t even tried to keep me, hadn’t hesitated. The moment this arrangement was proposed, he saw it as a way to be rid of me once and for all. His cursed daughter, his shameful burden, neatly handed over in exchange for something valuable, Money. He hadn’t looked at me when I was told. He hadn’t asked me. He hadn’t even flinched. It was clear. To him, this was salvation—from me.

I held the box tighter. My hands were shaking. Everything outside was moving fast, but I felt stuck. If I stayed quiet, if I didn’t move, maybe no one would notice me. Maybe I could disappear.

Then his voice cut through it all.

“How old are you?”

His words were sharp. I jumped before I even thought about it. My fingers pressed harder into the box. His voice was flat, but it filled the whole car. There was nowhere to hide.

“Twenty-one,” I said, but my voice was so quiet I almost didn’t hear it. I was scared to talk louder. I waited for him to say something else, maybe something mean. But he didn’t. He just went quiet again. I kept thinking about his question. Why did he ask? Did it matter? I felt sick, but I looked out the window and tried to act normal.

The car began to slow. My heart lurched before I even looked up. The iron gates appeared in front of us, black and massive, flanked by men whose expressions were carved from stone. Guns rested in their hands, not lowered but ready, their eyes sharp and watchful. My stomach clenched. Even if I had wanted to run, to escape, those gates and those men made it clear: there was no way out. I swallowed hard, the sharp taste of fear rising in my throat.

The gates creaked open, and the car glided forward. Gravel crunched beneath the tires, a harsh sound that seemed to echo in the hollow of my chest. The mansion loomed ahead, rising from the ground like a fortress carved from stone itself. It towered over everything, its facade cold and imposing, with windows that gleamed like watchful eyes. Compared to this, my father’s pack house—always oppressive to me—seemed pitifully small now. Here, though, was power. Here was wealth and control made tangible, made unshakable. I felt like a child, an intruder, standing before it.

The car stopped and the doors opened. Servants came right away, heads down. They didn’t look at me. They only looked at Rex. I got out of the car, still holding the box. My arms hurt. My legs felt weak, but I made myself stand. The air was cold and smelled like pine, but there was also a sharp, metal smell. I shivered.

Rex didn’t pause. He moved toward the mansion with long, sure strides, his Beta trailing close, and I followed as if tethered, my heart hammering against my ribs. Behind us, the servants handled the rest—lifting my small bag, arranging it with practiced efficiency. Their movements didn’t feel like service; they felt like survival, like every gesture was driven by fear.

“Show her to her room,” Rex said. He didn’t look at me. He talked about me, not to me. I knew then that I was just something to be moved around.

Two maids came. They looked scared. They told me to follow them, so I did. I walked up the steps. My heart was beating faster. It felt like I was walking into a cage.

The foyer swallowed me whole. The sheer size of it made me dizzy. The ceiling rose impossibly high, glittering chandeliers dripping crystals that fractured the light into scattered stars across the marble floor. Dark wood panels lined the walls, carved with patterns so intricate they seemed alive in the shifting glow. Heavy curtains framed windows that stretched upward, swallowing the height of the room. Every detail spoke of wealth, of power, of a world I didn’t belong in.

The maids led me up the sweeping staircase, our footsteps muffled by thick carpet. The hallways stretched endlessly, lined with old portraits that watched us as we passed. I didn’t look up, kept my eyes on the floor, listening to the rhythm of my shoes as if it might steady me. This place was too big, too vast. My father’s entire house could have been swallowed whole inside one wing of this mansion.

We stopped at a heavy door carved with vines and wolves, and one maid pushed it open. I stepped inside, and my breath caught.

The room was huge. The bed looked like something from a story, with big curtains. The walls were shiny. There was a chandelier and a fire in the fireplace. The rug was soft. There was a wardrobe and a mirror. I saw myself in the mirror, but I looked like a stranger. Everything was rich and soft. This room was not for someone like me. Not for the cursed daughter. My stomach hurt.

I turned to the maids, my voice slipping out before I could stop it. “Is this really my room?” I asked. I half-expected chains, a cell, something small and cold. This was too much, and the excess of it felt wrong, more threatening than comforting.

They exchanged a glance, their eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite place. “Yes, miss,” one said softly, her tone lined with something like pity. Or fear. “This is yours.”

I swallowed, my throat dry. “Will… will his majesty be staying here too?” I asked, though I already knew this room didn’t feel like his. It was too soft, too carefully arranged. Too human for someone like Rex Blackfur.

The second maid shook her head. “No, miss. This is your room alone. Everything you need is here.” She gestured toward the wardrobe, the vanity, the table by the window where food and water waited. “Please, settle in and freshen up for dinner. The day is growing dark.”

I nodded, though my throat felt too tight to speak. They turned to leave, their footsteps soft against the rug. But just before the door closed, their whispers slipped through, thin and sharp.

“Another one?” one murmured, her voice heavy with unease.

“I doubt this one will make it past the night,” the other whispered back, almost too quiet to catch. “I’m honestly scared for her.”

The words slammed into me. Another one. What did that mean? My breath caught, my fingers clutched the box tight, Their words hit me. Another one. What did that mean? I grabbed the box tighter. My heart was racing. The room felt like a trap now. The walls felt close. Their words kept repeating in my head. Maybe I left one bad place just to end up in something worse.