MATED TO THE RUTHLESS LYCAN KING

The last digit of the quarterly tax audit clicked into place, and I let out a long, shuddering breath. My neck ached, and the blue light of the laptop screen felt like it had been seared into my retinas.

“And that,” I whispered to the empty room, “is how you save a pack from insolvency.”

For the last twelve months, the Luna’s office had been my sanctuary and my prison. While the other girls my age were out at the lake or shopping in the city, I was here. I had overhauled the Sandwell Pack’s trade treaties and restructured the warrior’s pension funds. But my biggest secret lay in the ledger's "Miscellaneous Revenue" column.

It wasn't pack money. It was mine.

My mother had died bringing me into this world, leaving behind a hole in my heart and a massive investment fund in my name. She had been a genius with numbers, setting up a trust that grew aggressively for seventeen years. When I gained access to it on my seventeenth birthday, I didn't buy jewelry or cars. I saw the crumbling infrastructure of Sandwell, saw the stress on Maxwell’s face, and I poured my inheritance into his future.

I did it for the pack. But mostly, I did it for the man I thought was my destiny.

The door to the office burst open, and Pamela, my only real friend in this place, practically vibrated into the room. She was clutching a silver dress bag.

“Aella! Stop! Just stop!” she cried, slamming my laptop shut. “It is six o’clock. You are eighteen. The moon is rising, and you are still staring at spreadsheets!”

I rubbed my eyes, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Maxwell is swamped, Pam. His father handed over the territorial disputes this morning, and I told him I’d handle the logistics so he could—”

“So he could prepare your surprise!” Pamela squealed. “Aella, everyone knows. An arranged mating contract since you were fifteen, three years of dating... and today is the day the Goddess makes it official. You’re going to be his fated mate. He’s probably waiting in the Alpha’s wing right now.”

My heart did a traitorous little flip. Maxwell and I had been a "sure thing" for so long that I’d almost forgotten the magic of it. I’d spent the last year making sure that when he took the crown of Sandwell, he would have a kingdom worth ruling.

“Go,” Pamela urged. “Change. Look like a Luna, not a CPA.”

Twenty minutes later, I emerged feeling like a different person. The silk of the dress hugged my curves, and the glow of my eighteenth year felt like a hum of power beneath my skin. Today, I could finally stop being the shadow and start being the partner.

I bypassed the main hall and took the back stairs to the Alpha’s executive wing. I wanted to see his face when I told him the trade treaty was signed—and that I could finally feel my wolf stirring for him.

As I approached the heavy oak doors of the Alpha’s office, I realized they were slightly ajar.

“She actually did it,” a male voice laughed. It was Caleb, the Beta’s heir. “She spent her entire birthday morning fixing the Gamma’s payroll. I saw her through the window.”

“She’s a machine,” Asher, the Gamma’s son, joined in. “I don’t know how you do it, Max. Does she talk about anything other than interest rates in bed?”

I froze, my hand inches from the handle. My blood turned to ice.

“She’s useful,” Maxwell’s voice rang out. It was cold. “My father was going to run Sandwell into the ground. Aella’s money and her obsession with ‘duty’ bought us another decade of luxury. Why would I stop her? She likes feeling important.”

“But the contract, Max,” a soft, familiar voice cooed. My heart stopped. It was Amelie, my younger cousin. The girl who had cried until my father gave her my bedroom—the one with the south-facing windows—because she claimed she ‘needed the sun to function.’

“The contract is a piece of paper,” Maxwell said. I heard the unmistakable sound of a chair creaking. “The Goddess gave me my real mate two years ago, didn't she, Amelie?”

“Two years of hiding,” Amelie giggled. “I’m tired of her looking at me like I’m a charity case while she pays for our vacations with her ‘investments.’ She’s so smug, Max. She thinks she’s the Queen of Sandwell just because she can do math.”

“She’s the help, baby,” Maxwell muttered. “The best part? She’s so desperate for me to love her that she doesn't even realize she’s funding our honeymoon. Let her keep working. Once the transition is official, I’ll find a loophole. I’ll keep the funds, and I’ll keep you.”

I stood in the hallway, the silk of my dress suddenly feeling like a shroud. Two years. While I was staying up until 3 AM fixing his mistakes, he was in my cousin’s bed. While I was using my mother’s legacy to buy new equipment for the warriors, they were laughing at my "smugness."

The heat that rose in my chest wasn't the warmth of a mating bond; it was the searing, white-hot roar of a wolf that had finally seen the trap.

I didn't knock. I kicked the door.

The heavy oak swung back with a bang. Maxwell sat behind the mahogany desk—the desk I had polished—with Amelie draped across his lap.

“A-Aella,” Maxwell stammered, pushing Amelie off him. “You’re early.”

I looked at him—really looked at him—and wondered how I had ever mistaken his mediocrity for greatness.

“Actually,” I said, my voice steady and terrifyingly calm. “I’m exactly on time.”