Chapter Five: The Gilded Cage

Louisa

I’d only had a few days to digest the fact that my father had traded me off in an arranged mating. The betrayal festered in my mind, raw and bitter. I vacillated between rage and disappointment — between wanting to scream at him and wanting to bury him in a cold, permanent silence.

I declined his offer to escort me on the short drive to my new home. I refused to stand like a helpless girl while he handed me over to a stranger. So, I wheeled my own suitcases, my boots thumping down the front steps of my childhood home while my father stood on the porch like a statue carved from guilt.

I chucked my bags into the back of the SUV and slammed the door with every ounce of strength I possessed. The vehicle creaked in protest; the poor driver behind the wheel winced. I jumped into the passenger seat, buckled in, and immediately toed off my shoes, propping my feet on the dash like a rebel about to face execution.

Every swear word known to man and wolf ran through my head in a steady chant. When I glanced out the window, the only home I’d ever known blurred behind a shimmer of heat and memory. Elara stood in the doorway, small and fragile, her eyes red and swollen from a fresh round of tears. She had clung to my neck all morning, begging me not to go.

I reminded myself for the hundredth time: I’m doing this for her. I was joining Kaelen so she wouldn’t have to. I would do anything for my sister — even mate with a stranger.

Elara gave me a small, tremulous wave as the car pulled away. My father did nothing. He just stood there, stone-faced, as if he weren’t sending his firstborn daughter to the slaughter.

I brooded through the hour-long drive. My father had tried to convince me to “make the best of it,” insisting it was a “good match.” It didn’t matter to him that Alpha Kaelen was a decade younger than me; all that mattered was that I’d be Luna of a “reputable” pack.

Right. Reputable. I was perpetuating generations of patriarchal nonsense. This wasn’t a job I could quit at 5 p.m.; it was a life sentence — and since we were werewolves, that sentence would last a very long time. I pressed my palms to my temples and swore out loud.

The driver gripped the wheel tighter, pretending not to hear my meltdown. I think he was afraid I’d kick the dashboard and deploy the airbags. Honestly, I was thinking of something much more drastic. My hand went to the door handle several times before I reminded myself that if I ran, Elara would take my place.

It was me or her.

By the time we passed through the wrought-iron gates of Night Rising, I was sucking in deep, measured breaths, trying to scrape together a shred of diplomacy. The driver let out a sigh of relief when he shifted into park, clearly desperate to escape my stormy mood.

I’d seen the pack house before, but not in years. Up close, it looked even more imposing — modern, angular, and cold. The tall glass windows reflected the cloudy sky like mirrors, turning the house into something sterile and unwelcoming. It felt less like a home and more like a corporate fortress disguised as a retreat center.

A group of men stood by the front steps. I schooled my face into a neutral mask — a skill I’d perfected under my father’s roof — and squared my shoulders. One was an older man with thinning white hair and a bolo tie. To his right stood a tall, well-built man with warm bronze skin, dark eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard. I assumed that was Kaelen.

Then, a man with a boyish, pink-cheeked face stepped down from the top stair. I realized he’d been using the step like a pedestal; once he reached ground level, the top of his head barely reached my nose. His icy-blue eyes bored into me, trying to assert dominance through sheer stare power. When the bearded man stayed put, an unpleasant weight sank into my stomach.

The bearded man wasn’t the leader. I was looking down at Alpha Kaelen.

I met his gaze, unflinching. You might be an Alpha, but you aren’t mine, wolf-boy.

His scent hit me a second later — a cloying mix of synthetic cologne and something sweet, like overripe fruit. It clung to him, almost suffocating.

His eyes raked over me like I was livestock at an auction. “Well,” he said, his lip curling, “at least you’re not ugly.”

“At least you’re charming.”

The sarcasm slipped out before I could stop it. Kaelen’s eyes flickered with confusion. Behind him, the bearded man — Shawn — made a choked sound, disguising a laugh behind a cough.

Kaelen narrowed his gaze. “I am Alpha Kaelen. This is my Beta, Shawn, and one of our elders, Gerald Halfmoon.”

The old man bowed slightly. “Welcome, Luna.”

“Thank you,” I said, forcing civility. “I am Louisa—”

Kaelen cut me off with a bored wave. “Of course you are.” He turned and marched into the house, expecting us to trail behind him like obedient pups.

The interior was surprisingly cozy — comfortable couches, colorful pillows, soft lamplight. It was a jarring contrast to the stiff, humorless man who owned it. He wore an olive-green T-shirt and camo cargo pants, looking ready for a training drill, not a formal welcome.

He paused in the foyer and snapped his fingers. A young man appeared, eyes glued to the floor. “Get the luggage,” Kaelen barked. “Bring it to the Luna’s suite.”

Beside me, I saw Shawn flinch. Even Gerald shifted uncomfortably. My internal alarms went off. What was wrong with the Luna suite?

“It’s not necessary to put me there,” I said carefully, trying to ease the tension. “Any guest room will do.”

Kaelen spun around, his face inches from mine, teeth bared in restrained fury. “It is necessary because I said it is. Do not ever presume to question me, woman.”

I raised an eyebrow, forcing calm. If he thought he could intimidate me, he was mistaken. I stared him down until he huffed and looked away. His fingers clamped around my elbow in a punishing grip as he dragged me up the stairs.

We passed several doors before he stopped, twisted the handle, and tried to shove me inside. I yanked my arm free and stepped through on my own terms.

Sunlight poured through lacy curtains, painting the room in gold. A large four-poster bed dominated the space, its white linens crisp and untouched. Everything was neat, bland, sterile — like a hotel suite designed for someone else’s life.

Kaelen lingered in the doorway, his hand still on the knob. “This is your room, Louisa. I’ve got work to do. Don’t wander off.”

He closed the door behind him. The soft click of the latch sounded exactly like a prison lock sliding shut.

I stood alone, surrounded by gleaming furniture and suffocating silence. For a moment, I let my fingers trail across the polished dresser — smooth, cold, impersonal wood.

“Welcome to Night Rising, Louisa,” I whispered, and the room swallowed the words whole.