The Wrong Woman

Damien's Pov

The celebration is still going strong behind me.

I can hear it from the pack house corridor, the music, the cheering, three hundred wolves toasting their future Luna out on the ceremony ground. Victoria is probably still out there somewhere, glowing in the lantern light, accepting congratulations from people who have waited years for this night.

I left twenty minutes ago.

Klein followed me as far as the door. One look from me and he stopped.

I need the quiet.

My footsteps echo in the empty corridor. I loosen my collar and keep moving but she follows me anyway.

Not physically. She's nowhere near this corridor.

But I keep seeing her face.

Those eyes that didn't flinch when they should have. That stubborn set of her jaw when I said what I said. She was standing in a dress that had no business making anyone look the way she looked, hair escaping whatever she'd pinned it into and still something about her stopped me cold in a way that Victoria in her finest gown never has.

And then I opened my mouth and called her dirty.

My wolf has not forgiven me for that.

He's been a low, simmering fury under my skin all evening, not loud, not reckless, just a constant burning pressure.

I roll my collar loose and keep walking.

Victoria is already in my quarters when I push the door open.

Of course she is.

She stands at the window in her ivory gown, champagne glass in hand, the ceremony ground lights glowing far below. She turns when she hears me and smiles.

That smile.

I have seen that smile at every pack function since we were teenagers. Warm. Measured.

That is the thing about Victoria. Everything lands exactly where it is supposed to. Never more. Never less.

We have known each other our entire lives. Groomed into proximity by fathers who decided our future before either of us could form an opinion about it.

I remember a night two years ago, after a formal dinner. She had set her glass down and looked at me, really looked.

"Do you actually want this, Damien?" she asked quietly. "Not the alliance. Not what our fathers built. Us."

The truth sat between us like something neither of us wanted to pick up.

"I want what I'm supposed to want."

"It's what's right for the pack," I said instead.

She nodded once. Calm. Composed. Like she had already known and just needed confirmation.

We haven't tried since. Not really. We play our roles at the right moments, say the right things to the right people. But behind closed doors there is nothing. Just two people too invested in what their fathers built to be honest about what they don't feel.

"There you are," she says now.

She sets her champagne glass down and crosses toward me. She reaches up and straightens my collar, that small practiced gesture that is supposed to feel intimate.

It doesn't. It never does.

Then her hands slide slowly down my chest. She steps closer. Her eyes find mine, deliberate and certain.

"We should celebrate properly," she says softly. "Just us."

I look at her.

At the pearl clips. At the carefully arranged expression. At the future Luna of Blackridge Pack making all the right moves at all the right times.

I take her hands gently from my chest and step back.

"Not tonight," I say.

She doesn't look surprised. She never looks surprised. She simply takes her hands back and smooths her gown.

"Tonight went perfectly," she says, like nothing happened. "Your father is pleased. Mine is already talking about moving the wedding date forward." A pause. Then quieter — "I saw you tonight, Damien. During the ceremony. The way you looked at that kitchen girl."

My jaw tightens before I can stop it.

Victoria notices. She always notices.

"I know what that look means," she says quietly. "I'm not a fool. I know what the bond feels like when it hits, i smelled it on you tonight."

She holds my gaze, steady and unblinking. "She's a rogue. A kitchen worker.

Victoria doesn't raise her voice. She never raises her voice. That somehow makes it worse.

"I understand what the bond is. I understand what it does to an Alpha, what it makes him feel like he needs." She holds my gaze, steady and unblinking. "But I also understand what our families built. What this pack needs. And I think you understand it too. She cannot stay here, Damien, she shouldn't be in the kitchens, she shouldn't be anywhere near this pack house. You know that."

She is right.

She is almost always right.

Brilliant. Calculated. She has always known exactly what this arrangement is — no illusions, no false warmth. Just two people fulfilling something bigger than either of them.

On paper she is flawless. Exactly the kind of woman an Alpha is supposed to stand beside.

I just don't want to stand beside her.

"Get some rest," I say. "Elder Hale wants an early meeting."

She nods once without turning around.

I walk out.

The corridor is empty.

I stop and press my back against the wall and close my eyes.

My wolf doesn't speak. He doesn't need to.

He surges a hard furious shove against the inside of my chest, like an animal throwing itself against the bars of a cage. The force of it steals my breath. He has been restless all evening but this is different.

This is rage.