Chapter 3

A sharp, relentless pounding on the bedroom door sliced through the fog of Lydia’s hangover.

She groaned, burying her face into a couch cushion, every nerve in her skull throbbing in unison with her heart. Next to her, Tarryn flinched, letting out a muffled whimper as sunlight streamed aggressively through the window.

The door swung open with a bang. Mike stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his jaw set in a tight, furious line. He looked between the two hungover women, his eyes falling on the three empty wine bottles cluttering the floor.

“Are you two serious?” Mike’s voice was dangerously low, his Alpha authority radiating through the room. “The Frostwell pack is at the border right now. Dad is furious. You were both supposed to be dressed and ready an hour ago.”

“Mike, please don’t yell,” Tarryn groaned, holding her head as she sat up. “My brain is vibrating.”

“You’re my mate, Tarryn, but helping her raid the Alpha cellar the night before her transfer?” Mike shot her a stern look before turning his glare to Lydia. “And you—get up. Now. The kitchen sent Sarah up with your clothes.”

Before Lydia could even protest, Sarah, a young omega maid, hurried into the room holding a garment bag, looking thoroughly panicked. “Lady Lydia, please! Your father is threatening to strip the guards on duty if you aren’t down in fifteen minutes.”

“Fine,” Lydia grumbled, pushing herself off the floor, every muscle aching. She shot Mike a weak glare, but he just shook his head, though the anger in his eyes gave way to a brief flicker of pity before he turned and left to stall their father.

As Sarah helped Lydia slip into a fitted hunter-green dress, brushing out her tangled brown hair, Lydia tried to steel herself. She braced for the moment she would have to step into the courtyard and look into the eyes of Alpha Asher Frost for the first time.

When she finally walked down the main staircase and out onto the packhouse steps alongside her parents, her breath caught in her throat.

Standing beside two official Frostwell SUV caravans were several towering, muscular warriors—but no Alpha.

At the front of the contingent stood a handsome, slicked-back man with a arrogant smirk on his face—Beta Cassius Anderson. Next to him was a tall, sharp-eyed man built like a fortress, carrying a heavy, composed presence—Gamma Liam Black.

Asher hadn’t even bothered to come get her himself. He had sent his men to collect her like a piece of cargo.

Lydia stopped dead at the top of the stone steps, her green eyes narrowing as she swept her gaze over the Frostwell entourage. The sharp ache in her temples flared with fresh anger.

“Is this a joke?” Lydia said, her voice dripping with venom as she looked directly at the Beta and Gamma. “Alpha Asher couldn’t even be bothered to fetch his own bride? I suppose he was far too busy entertaining another woman to handle something as tedious as his own marriage arrangements.”

Cynthia gasped quietly, placing a warning hand on Lydia’s arm, while Mason’s jaw clenched tight. “Lydia, control yourself,” her father warned under his breath.

Beta Cassius’s smirk only widened, a flash of irritation hiding just beneath his slick, arrogant demeanour. “Alpha Asher is attending to urgent pack matters, Lady Lydia,” Cassius replied, his tone smooth but empty. “He sent us to ensure your safe transition to the Frostwell territory.”

Beside him, Gamma Liam remained unreadable. His dark eyes scanned Lydia with a cool, sharp intensity, assessing her outburst with a quiet, analytical focus before he offered a brief, respectful incline of his head. He said nothing, maintaining the firm discipline of a commander while Cassius did the talking.

At a subtle gesture from Liam, four muscular Frostwell guards bypassed the tense family group and moved into the foyer, efficiently lifting Lydia’s heavy trunks and carrying them out to load into the rear SUV.

“Alpha Mason,” Cassius said, turning his attention to Lydia’s father and gesturing toward the heavy oak doors of the packhouse. “We need to finalize the border passage documents and sign the formal transfer agreements before we depart.”

“Of course,” Mason replied, his tone formal despite the dark glance he threw toward his daughter. “Follow me to my study.”

As her father, Cassius, and Liam disappeared inside the packhouse to seal her fate, Lydia stood on the porch in the cool morning air, watching the guards slam the trunk of the car shut on her whole life.