Chapter 5

Madison’s POV

My father tries again. His hand hovers above my mark, his jaw set like stone, determination sparking in his eyes. For a fleeting second, I almost pity him. He truly believes he can force something from me that was never his to claim.

The moment his skin brushes the glowing gold, the air snaps. His face twists, and he jerks away with a hiss, clutching his hand as if I’d pressed a hot brand against him.

Zoey gasps, stumbling back. My stepmother narrows her eyes. “It must be some trick,” she whispers, though I hear the tremor beneath her smooth tone.

“Then you try,” my father growls.

For once, Zoey doesn’t hesitate. She reaches forward, but the instant her fingers graze my skin, the same flash sears the air. She cries out, flinching away, shaking her hand furiously.

“You did this on purpose!” she spits at me, her voice shrill.

“Me?” My voice wavers, equal parts fury and despair. “Do you think I could actually defeat a Beta?” I press a hand over the mark, feeling its steady thrum beneath my palm, protective and unyielding. “It’s because of the mark. Can’t you see? It isn’t mine to control.”

"You little slut, who have you been spreading your legs for this time?" My stepmother steps closer, lips curling as her eyes sweep over the golden light. For once, her mask slips. Raw envy flickers there, ugly and green, before she schools her features again.

The room crackles with tension, the weight of their stares pressing down on me. My father’s shoulders sag, then harden once more. “Fine. Then remove it. Remove this… obstacle, and then you will give Zoey your gift.”

Every part of me wants to scream, to fight, to tear free. But I bow my head instead, voice low and broken. “I will. I’ll find a way.”

Inside, though, I whisper the truth to myself: I am only buying time.

Because for the first time in my life, I see them as they are—hungry, grasping, never satisfied. No matter how many times I bent, how many times I tried to prove my worth, it was never enough. It never will be.

I swallow hard, biting back tears. I miss Dylan’s arms more than ever—the way he shields me from storms, the warmth that has always been my anchor. I need to find a way to strip this mark from me, not for them, but for myself. For us.

Charity arrives with news days later, her face flushed from running to my house and digging where she shouldn’t. “I found some records,” she tells me breathlessly. “Names of royal members who might’ve been nearby.”

Hope flares in my chest, only to dim with every detail she lists. Too old. Too young. Nowhere near the pack when it happened.

I sag against the bedpost, clutching my pillow tight. “None of them,” I murmur. “None.”

Charity’s gaze softens, though frustration brims in her eyes. “We’ll keep trying. Royals can’t hide forever. Sooner or later, he’ll slip Mads.”

I fight back my tears and tell Charity the bitter truth. "I'm running out of time. My father and Zoey are threatening me. If I don't get this mark removed and hand over my mother's healing gift soon, they'll tell Dylan everything."

Charity is shocked by my father's audacity. She grabs my hand and swears fiercely, "I will help you find him, and fast."

I suggest weakly. "Maybe... maybe I should just tell Dylan. Maybe he'll understand and find a solution. He has more resources than we do."

But Charity is adamant. "Remember the royal pack visiting in a few days? That might be your turning point."

I nod, though the silence between us grows heavy. The truth is, I’m not sure what scares me more—never finding him, or the day I finally do.

The summons comes swiftly: a banquet, honoring the royal team’s visit.

Of course, I am expected to attend. As the future Luna, my presence is not optional. I smooth my gown with trembling hands, every thread of fabric suffocating, every jewel at my throat a chain.

Zoey flutters beside me, smug in her silken dress, clinging to Father’s arm like the perfect daughter. Her eyes catch mine, and the cold that seeps into my veins from her look is shocking.

Dylan finds me before the event begins. His hand cups my cheek, gentle, familiar. “They’re family, Maddie. My cousin is leading the delegation. Treat him with respect.”

Usually, Dylan's touch steadies me, making me feel secure. This time, I unconsciously flinch away. Even Talia, who always gets excited seeing Dylan, is silent inside me—though she's been like this lately, as if waiting for something.

My lips part, but no words come. Respect. What if… what if it’s him? My heart stumbles, both desperate and terrified.

I force a smile. “Of course.”

But Dylan frowns, studying me. “You seem distracted. This is important to me, to us. You’re not taking it seriously.”

The sting of his doubt pierces deeper than my father’s slap. My chest aches. Dylan has always put his Alpha duties above all else, and I’ve quietly stood by him. But that night, it was that same duty that made him walk away first, leaving me to face this torment alone. I can’t help but feel a flicker of resentment, and without meaning to, I feel it put a distance between us..

“That’s not fair,” I whisper. “I’m just… unsettled.”

“What’s been going on with you lately? You’ve been avoiding me and now this?”

“Sorry I just… I am taking this seriously, okay? Believe me. I know how important today is to you.”

His gaze softens slightly. “Forgive me.” He leans closer, his lips brushing mine.

I freeze. The contact is soft, warm and familiar. But something has shifted inside me. This time, a much sharper sense of betrayal washes over me, so potent I have to force myself to appear normal in front of Dylan.

Yet… betrayal? Everything with that man felt so right, so natural that night. And Dylan… Dylan is supposed to be my fated mate. The fire that once consumed me for him feels dimmed, muted…

Why? Goddess, why?

Before I can untangle my thoughts, the hall doors open. Members of the royal pack enter.

I stand at Dylan’s side, spine rigid, every nerve straining. My palms dampen against my skirts.

The man leading them steps forward. He is tall, broad, his presence impossible to ignore. Midnight hair, sharp features carved in authority. His stride is steady, assured, every inch of him soaked in dominance.

My heart stops.

The world tilts, sound dulling, vision tunneling until there is only him.

Him. The man I've been searching for. The stranger from that night.

Dylan’s voice is reverent beside me. “This is the royal prince. My cousin. He will be your future family.”

I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

The mysterious man—the one I’ve always resented for marking me without consent, the one who brought all this trouble upon me, yet whose kisses still haunt my dreams at midnight—now stands right before me. He wears an unfamiliar smile, but his gaze holds the same deep intensity I remember.

He gently takes my hand, lifting it with the grace of a storybook prince, and brushes his lips against my knuckles.

“Hello,” he says, his voice low and deliberate. “I'll make sure you remember my name this time. It's important to make a proper... introduction.”