Chapter 2: Melody's POV

Melody Madison. That was me. My mother died an hour after giving birth to me, but not before she whispered my name, Melody. It means music or song. I've always thought it was a cruel irony, naming me something so beautiful when my life was anything but cruel.

I'm the only daughter of Alpha Andrew Madison, the man who led the extermination in our kingdom and earned his title as the Zeta Werewolf, the rarest and most powerful class of werewolf. To the world, he was a ruthless leader, but to me, he was barely a shadow. I looked too much like my mother for him to be around me. We lived in the same mansion, yet I could go months without seeing him. His absence carved a hollow ache within my chest, though I learned to live with it.

I grew up alone, sans family, sans friends, locked up in my father's mansion, unable to step outside for fear of kidnapping. The servants' whispers followed me through the halls: tales of my father's battles and of the blood that stained his hands. Nobody was surprised when I grew to hate him. Yes, he was cold to me, but I was colder to him. I would run away if I saw him, a ghost running from a nightmare.

I kept feeling that my father hated me as my mother became weaker and eventually succumbed to death after giving birth to me. Perhaps he did blame me. Perhaps I blamed myself.

My father was… drop-dead gorgeous. In the raven-black hair that framed his face, the deep brown eyes seemed shadowed yet piercing. His body was chiseled, as if taken out from marble. If perfection had a name, it would be Andrew Madison.

Then, when I was ten years old, Dad married again. Agatha Merlot became my new stepmother, and with her came Jay, her twelve-year-old son. Agatha was all smiles and soft touches, but her eyes would cut like a knife. And I could never tell if she just loved us or was acting her part in the immense play called life.

Jay was different. He was sunlight to my darkness, my only friend. As we grew older, that friendship morphed into something more: love. The kind that burned quietly yet fiercely, a candle left too close to the curtain. I would have done anything for him. I did do anything for him.

When I was eighteen, I manipulated my father into helping Jay become the alpha of a pack. That wasn't easy; my father refused at first because Jay didn't have alpha blood. But desperation makes a person cunning. I convinced him I needed Jay on my side; with him gone, I had no one. I threatened to take my life if he refused. The words tasted like poison on my tongue, but I didn't care. "Why don't you love me?" This was the question I asked him most. Sometimes in a whisper, sometimes in a scream. Then followed by, "If you loved me, you would help Jay. That's how much I loved Jay."

Then Father helped Jay become an Alpha in the land next to ours. He has a pack of twenty—including me, our maid, and some of his friends—but he cannot rule us without my father's backing and advice.

My father told me that as the daughter of an alpha, I had to be trained to be a supreme warrior. But Agatha forbade it. According to her, this was all for my protection since it was not a woman's place on the battlefield. Her words sank into their ears and spread throughout the pack like a virus. They grew to believe I was weak, and over time, I did too.

Agatha had spent her years manipulating me, subtly threading her words into my mind until they were mine. She convinced me of my weakness: how slight was the strength that lay within me to take on physical training. Carefully chosen words and a soft yet firm manner convinced me that such pursuits were unbecoming a lady and that my place was elsewhere, far removed from the rigid demands of combat and self-defense.

But whenever I showed interest in training, she shook her head disapprovingly and reminded me that, really, grace and refinement were far more important than brute strength. She spoke of a proper lady—one delicate, poised, and reliant on others for protection. Over time, her words began to take root, and I started to doubt myself, to see my own body as fragile and incapable.

I had wanted to believe her, to trust that she had my best interests at heart. Now, however, I look back and see the truth: Agatha had never wanted me strong but powerless. The words clung to me, shaped my insecurities, and made me dependent on Jay. Without him, I felt powerless. A fact that pack members seemed to notice and hold with great conviction, which cut a little deeper than what I cared to admit.

Now that Jay was an Alpha, he needed a Luna for his pack, and I thought he would want me. I was stupid to do so. To him, I was his best friend, the girl who had grown up with him. But my treacherous heart betrayed me, stuttering at his presence, yearning for something more. Jay's eyes did not hold even a tint of romantic interest. He made it very clear that he would never think of me as anything more than a friend. He tore my heart into shreds by rejecting me, yet I didn't give up.

Desperation drove me to commit one unforgivable act. I went to my father and begged him to give Jay an ultimatum—either Jay accepted me as his mate, or my father would withdraw his support for Jay's small pack. Cornered, Jay had no other choice but to agree to an engagement. The words of my stepmother cut into my brain, sharp and unforgiving: the only thing of value about me was my father's name, and I was vain, hot-tempered, and rude. "I acted like a spoiled child," she said, unworthy to be Luna to her son. No one else actually faced me head-on because my father's influence proved too strong, but I overheard the whispers of cruel things they said behind my back. I had convinced myself that once I became Luna, they would see things differently; power would make them respect me. But deep inside, I knew the truth—I was not doing this for the pack. I was doing this because I am unable to bear losing Jay, even if it would chain him to me with guilt and obligation.