#Chapter 1: The Night of the Promise

Madison’s POV

"What does it matter? It's just a wedding dress and a ring. Give them to your sister Zoey, you can use other things. Don't forget that everything you have was always meant to be hers, including your mate. This is what you owe her."

That’s what my father said to me just before my wedding.

I have no doubt that if Dylan weren’t my mate, my father would’ve made me hand him over to Zoey too—all because they believe I’m the reason Zoey lost her wolf. And in their eyes, every good thing in my life should rightfully be hers.

Despite all the terrible things she's done to me, I've never done any of that to her. No one believes me but Dylan.

My father, the pack Beta, always favors Zoey, and the pack follow his lead, viewing me as the black sheep. There was a time when he was a good father to me. But that was before he returned with his new mate and their two-year-old daughter just days after my mother's death.

At first, he tried to include me, but under the constant influence of my stepmother and Zoey, we slowly drifted apart. As our bond frayed, so did my standing within the pack.

Dylan is my only constant. He is the Alpha's son and the future Alpha. He has been kind to me since we were children, and we recognized our mate bond the moment he came of age. Besides the precious talent my mother left me, I believe Dylan was the one thing Zoey could never take from me.

"Anything else, I might have given in. But not today. This is my wedding, and I won't hand these over," I state firmly to my father.

He rolls his eyes, a dismissive gesture I know all too well. "For werewolves, a wedding is just a formality. Don't forget, the real event is the mating ceremony a month from now. The whole pack will be watching when you present your mark with Dylan. Don't you dare screw this up again."

He finally relents, perhaps reminded that my union with Dylan will position me as the future Luna of the pack—a significant advantage he can't easily dismiss. But what matters to me is Dylan himself, not the title.

After he leaves, I'm alone in the bridal suite. I lean back and let out a long, slow breath, the silence finally settling around me. The only thing left to do is wait for Dylan, the only person I can count on.

However, the appointed time passes, and Dylan is nowhere to be found.

"Where's Dylan?" my stepmother Regina scoffs. “Not even he wanted to be here for this.”

“Mother,” Zoey says sweetly, though her gaze cuts sharp as glass. “Alpha Dylan must have more important things. Isn’t that right, Maddie?”

Regina sighs. “You’re right, darling. May the Goddess forgive me.”

Just as I'm about to snap from Zoey's hypocrisy, a familiar pair of hands settles on my shoulders, steadying me.

Dylan.

“Apologies for the delay,” he murmurs low. “I was held up with some... special guests.”

He steps into the light, broad-shouldered and poised. Every head in the room turns his way, but his eyes—those stormy-blue eyes—find mine at once.

The words make me curious and unsettled, but it doesn’t matter. The bond thrums in my veins. He is mine.

I catch a glimpse of Zoey's smile fading as jealousy flashes in her eyes. It's no secret that she's always had a crush on Dylan.

My chest tightens at the thought. Because of course she wants him. Everyone does. But somehow, some way, he's been destined for me.

“I’m glad you wore the dress I picked.”

“It’s beautiful,” I say, even though it doesn't fit quite right.

The shrill scream of Regina shatters the moment. “Zoey! She’s collapsed!”

No matter what happened before, Zoey is still my sister. I jolt forward, but Dylan stops me.

“It looks like an emergency. You should head upstairs.” His voice is gentle. “I've got a surprise for you in our suite. I was really hoping we could enjoy it together. But…” His gaze flicks toward Zoey, where pack members are already gathering. His expression hardens with duty. “The safety of the pack comes first. I'll get her to a healer.”

“I can heal her,” I protest, though my healing gift usually shows me when someone is injured or ill, and I'm sensing neither from Zoey.

“You know that’s not wise, Madison.” Because people will talk, is what he doesn't say. I'm a Beta's daughter. A future Luna. I'm not supposed to have these gifts. Gifts usually only given from the moon goddess to an Alpha.

Dylan's words are practical, reasonable—expected from the heir to the Alpha seat—but they sting nonetheless. I force a smile and nod, even as a familiar ache takes root in my chest.

My best friend Charity slides to my side, looping an arm through mine. “Don’t take it personally. His duty will always come first. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.”

Her words soothe, but unease lingers as I watch Dylan lift Zoey in his arms and carry her away.

Charity, sensing it, flashes me a grin and digs out her flask. “Shot?”

“Yes, please.”

Hours of hurt blur into laughter and liquor. By the time she guides me upstairs, I’m buzzing, but that's unusual because werewolves have a high tolerance for alcohol.

“Charity… I’m fine,” I insist, leaning against the wall. “I just need to rest.”

She hesitates, but finally leaves me in elevator. The moment I’m alone, the skin over my mating mark tingles strangely.

Disturbed, I mindlink Dylan but get no response. My head spins as I struggle back to our suite.

That's odd, why is the door standing open a crack?

The hotel room is dim, shadows stretching long. A figure sits at the edge of my bed—broad-shouldered, his presence filling the space.

Relief rushes through me as the bond tugs tight. Dylan. He must have come straight back.

I stagger toward him, my knees threatening to give. He catches me before I fall, strong arms anchoring my trembling body against his. His skin radiates heat, chasing away the burn in my veins, and without thinking, I melt into him.

“You’re here,” I whisper, burying my face against his neck. His scent is different tonight, it's richer. The deep cedar and dizzying patchouli pull me in. Instantly, I want him.

The prickling on my mating mark flares into a searing heat. Before I can think, my lips find his throat, nipping lightly. It's the boldest move I've ever made.

For a moment, his arms hesitate, then tighten. The pain dims under his touch in a way Dylan has never soothed before.

“Dylan…” My voice cracks. “Touch me...”

He stills. Then, with a flick, the bedside lamp flares to life.

Breathtaking, ruthless angles softened by piercing, storm-dark eyes pin me in place.

He catches my chin between his fingers, forcing my gaze to hold his.

“Take another look,” he says, his voice low, commanding, edged with cold amusement. “And see who I really am.”

The air leaves my lungs in a rush. The man facing me is shirtless and impossibly handsome. But he is definitely not my mate.

Which means that on the night of my wedding, I have thrown myself at a total stranger.