C2

"That pathetic excuse for an Alpha mate can rot in the human gutters for all I care," I grow accurately toward Piper Ashford, letting my words bite into the air of the grand foyer before the echo of her triumph can even settle.

Piper’s sharp, delicate features contort in an instant. Her claws twitch beneath her perfectly manicured nails, her scent souring into a foul, agitated pine. The arrogant heiress act crumbles, leaving behind pure, unadulterated fury. She had expected me to weep, to beg, to collapse under the weight of losing Callum Prescott and my place in the Ashford Pack.

Instead, I treat the whole thing like trash I am happy to toss into the incinerator.

"And that goes for the rank of Ashford Pack Princess too," I add, my voice smooth, quiet, and completely devoid of fear as my dark eyes sweep over the polished marble walls of Ashford Manor. I pull my canvas bag higher onto my shoulder, letting out a soft, mocking laugh. "Including Callum... the desperate male you worked so hard to lure into your bed."

My lips curve into a sharp, lethal smile. "Hold onto him tight, Piper. A weak wolf who strays once will stray again."

Color drains from Piper’s face until she is ash-white. Her jaw clenches, teeth grinding so hard I can hear the enamel creak. The humiliation of my indifference hits her harder than any physical blow ever could.

"You arrogant human parasite!" Piper screeches. Her arm swings back, her hand moving in a swift, sharp arc meant to slap the smile right off my face.

She does not hit me.

Before her palm can make contact, her eyes catch a shadow at the top of the grand staircase. In a fraction of a second, her posture changes. Her killer instinct vanishes, replaced by a pathetic, fragile weakness. She stumbles backward on purpose, tripping over her own boots, and hits the marble floor with a dramatic thud. She clutches her knees, her eyes brimming with forced, glistening tears.

"Darcy, please! I only came out here to say goodbye!" Piper wails, her voice trembling like a wounded pup's. "I asked Alpha Father to let you stay in the Blackveil District territory! Why must you be so cruel to me? Why did you push me?!"

"Darcy Ellington!"

Celeste Ashford storms down the marble steps like a rabid beast, her Alpha female aura flaring red around her shoulders. She pushes past the standing guards, rushing to the floor to pull her biological daughter into a protective embrace. "You ungrateful, scentless human leech! After twenty years of feeding you our pack meat and sheltering you from the wild rogues, you dare strike my blood!"

I stand there, watching Celeste smother Piper with frantic, desperate affection. A dark, bitter irony flickers in my chest.

If this had happened a year ago, my heart would have shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. I would have dropped to my knees, stammering explanations, desperately trying to prove that I was innocent, begging for a single drop of the maternal love she had withheld from me my entire life. I would have spent weeks tearing myself apart, wondering why I was never good enough to be loved by the pack.

Now? I feel completely dead inside. The emotional link is severed. They are nothing to me.

"Good timing, Luna Celeste," I say coldly.

I reach into my canvas bag, my fingers wrapping around a heavy, velvet-lined box I had packed away hours ago.

With a sharp flick of my wrist, I toss it.

The box lands at Celeste's knees with a heavy smack. The silver latch breaks open, spilling a string of dull, low-grade white pearls onto the cold stone floor.

"Take it back," I say, my voice flat. "I have no use for your garbage."

It was the necklace she tossed at me on my eighteenth birthday—not a heirloom, not a bonding gift, just a cheap human trinket her assistant bought from a pawn shop in the Eastmoor Quarter because she couldn't be bothered to attend my ceremony. Back then, I had worn it until the metal rusted against my collarbone, treating it like a sacred treasure.

Now, it looks as worthless as the people who gave it to me.

Celeste stares down at the scattered pearls, her brow furrowing as if she cannot even place where the necklace came from. But the insult hits her loud and clear. Her face contorts into a ugly, vicious scowl.

"What kind of pathetic game are you playing, Darcy?!" Celeste screams, her voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings of the hall. "You stole Piper's life! You lived in luxury inside Silveroak Keep while my true daughter suffered in the rogue slums! You have no right to stand there looking down your nose at us!"

"I was an infant when your Alpha husband picked me up from the dirt, Mrs. Ashford," I snap back, stepping forward until the ambient wolf pressure in the room hits my chest like a wall. I don't break. I don't bow. "If you couldn't tell the difference between a human child and your own bloodline for twenty years, you should have your senses checked by Dr. Marcus Holden. Blindness must be a common defect in your lineage."

Celeste gasps, her chest heaving as she turns a shade of deep, mottled purple. "You insolent, treacherous bitch! You were putting on a fake, submissive act this whole time! Now that you know you're exiled, the mask comes off, doesn't it?!"

She points a clawed finger straight at my face, her voice rising to a shrill shriek. "You belong in the human gutters! You will die in the Blackveil District within a week! Don't you dare come crawling back to the Ashford Manor gates begging for pack protection when the rogues hunt you down!"

I look down at her, my lips curving into a slow, terrifyingly calm smirk. The air around my skin suddenly drops several degrees, a strange, suffocating heavy silence wrapping around my body like a cloak. Celeste’s shrill voice dies in her throat. Her eyes widen, an instinctual, animalistic warning ringing in the back of her wolf's mind. She flinches, taking two steps back on her knees.

"As if I would ever look back," I whisper.

"What is that supposed to mean?!" Celeste screeches, trying to hide the sudden tremble in her jaw.

"It means this grand pack of yours, your sacred wolf bloodline, and your pathetic mafia territory are worth less than the dirt on the bottom of my boots." I tilt my head, my eyes dark as obsidian. "To put it simply, Luna... you are an absolute fool."

Celeste chokes on her own rage, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. She scrambles to her feet, raising her hand, claws fully extending, ready to tear my throat out right there in the foyer.

Before her claws can move, Piper grabs her mother’s wrist, whimpering loudly to draw all the attention back to herself. "Mom, please! Don't ruin your hands on a human! It's my fault! Darcy, you can hit me, you can curse me, I don't care! Just don't talk to Mother like that... I finally have a family again. Please don't take them away from me..."

Piper sniffs, squeezing her eyes shut as fake tears stream down her flushed cheeks.

It is a masterclass in manipulation. Celeste’s heart instantly melts. She pulls Piper close, glaring at me with raw, lethal hatred. "Look at her! Pure, selfless Ashford blood! She has more grace in her little finger than you ever had in your entire wretched body!"

I don't waste another second listening to the drama.

I step forward. My movement is so fast, so smooth, that neither of them sees it coming. My right hand sweeps through the air, carrying the full weight of my body behind it.

CRACK!

The sound of the open-handed slap echoes through the stone hall like a gunshot.

Piper’s head snaps to the side. The impact knocks her sideways, sending her sprawling across the marble floor once again. This time, the red, swollen imprint of my hand is instantly visible across her pale cheek, and real shock fills her eyes.

She stares up at me, holding her burning face, completely paralyzed.

I actually hit her. The quiet, obedient human girl who used to clean the pack hall without a word of complaint just laid a hand on the Alpha’s true daughter.

"Darcy!" Celeste screams, completely losing her mind. She lunges at me, her fingers curled into lethal talons aimed directly for my eyes.

I don't dodge. I reach out, my hand shooting forward like a striking viper, wrapping tightly around Celeste’s wrist mid-air.

My grip locks around her bone like cold steel. Celeste’s eyes flash with sudden, terrifying shock—a human should not be able to stop an Alpha female's strike with raw physical strength.

Before she can process the impossible pressure crushing her wrist, I twist my forearm and shove her back with everything I have.

Celeste stumbles backward like a heavy sack of flour, slamming hard into Piper. Both of them lose their footing, crashing onto the marble floor in an embarrassing, tangled heap of limbs, fine velvet, and ruined dignity.

I stand over them, looking down at the pair of moaning wolves with absolute coldness.

"You told me I could hit you," I say, my voice dripping with wicked amusement as a slow smirk spreads across my lips. "Since you were so eager to play the helpless victim, Piper, I thought I would give you a real reason to cry."

For four years, I tolerated her subtle sabotages. I let her turn Malcolm against me. I let her steal my clothes, my title, and my betrothed, choosing silence because I didn't want to fracture the family I thought I loved.

When I cared about the Ashfords, their opinion of me was everything.

Now? They are nothing more than bugs beneath my shoe.

"Since you declared that I could slap you whenever I wanted, you had better learn to digest it," I say, stepping closer until my shadow completely covers both of them on the floor. "Stop performing for me. A room full of brainless wolves might fall for your pitiful little act, but it doesn't work on me anymore."

I lean down slightly, locking eyes with Piper’s terrified, trembling gaze.

"From this day on, whenever you see my face in Ravenshire City, you drop your eyes and walk the other way," I whisper, my tone dark, precise, and lethal. "If you ever cross my path again... I won't stop at a slap. Got it?"

Piper shrinks back into her mother's chest, her lips trembling, unable to utter a single word of defiance. Celeste tries to summon her Alpha voice to order the guards to execute me, but the sheer, icy authority radiating from my gaze locks the words straight inside her throat.

Without waiting for an answer, I turn around.

My black coat snaps around my ankles as I stride toward the heavy oak doors of the courtyard. The pack guards standing along the perimeter hesitate, their eyes darting between their fallen Luna and me, but none of them step forward to block my path. There is something dangerous stirring in the air around me—something that makes their inner wolves whimper in silent, instinctual restraint.

I push open the massive iron doors and step out into the rain-slicked courtyard of Ashford Manor.

The heavy rain instantly hits my face, washing away the lingering scent of incense and pack dominance. I take a deep, clear breath of the night air, feeling the cold water soak into my clothes.

Just beyond the outer boundary wall, parked under the looming shadow of the iron archway, sits a dark, heavily armored vehicle—a pristine Blackwood Range Rover with dark tinted windows.

The driver's side door opens.

A tall figure steps out into the pouring rain, holding a massive black umbrella. He wears a tailored charcoal suit, his broad shoulders and commanding presence instantly marking him as high-ranking mafia blood. His dark hair is slicked back by the rain, and his eyes—a striking, sharp amber—are locked directly onto me.

It is not an Ashford enforcer.

It is Rowan Mercer, the ruthless Beta enforcer of the Ravenscroft Citadel.

Rowan steps forward, his polished leather boots splashing through the water on the cobblestone path. He stops five feet away from me, lifting the umbrella to shield my head from the downpour. The scent of rain, crushed pine needles, and heavy, predatory steel rolls off his skin, completely cutting off the lingering atmosphere of the compound behind me.

"Miss Ellington," Rowan says, his voice deep, smooth, and carrying a quiet, dangerous weight. "Alpha Kieran Ravenscroft sent me to collect you."

I hold my canvas bag tighter against my side, looking up at the high-ranking wolf without a single hint of hesitation. "The Ravenscroft Pack has no business with a discarded human girl from the Eastmoor Quarter."

Rowan’s lips twitch into a dark, subtle smirk. He reaches into his inner suit pocket, pulling out a sealed parchment envelope stamped with a blood-red wax crest—the terrifying mark of the Blackveil District's most feared mafia wolf family.

He holds the envelope out to me in the rain.

"The Alpha does not care about your discarded status with the Ashfords," Rowan says, his amber eyes gleaming with a strange, predatory intense light. "He cares about the pure bloodline hidden in your veins. Open it. Your real life starts tonight."