Chapter 4

The sunlight poured through the sheer curtains of Alpha Dalton’s room, bathing the space in a golden glow. It was annoyingly picturesque, a sharp contrast to the cold sterility of the decor—gray walls, minimalist furniture, and not a single speck of warmth anywhere. The faint scent of cedar and leather lingered in the air, a quiet reminder of who owned this room. The events of last night clawed at my thoughts, especially his parting words.

“This is my room, Tila,” Dalton had said, his voice calm but unyielding. “Besides, I never have the habit of forcing women, so rest assured. My Beta will send you the contract.” Then he’d left, like dropping that bombshell was no big deal.

I’d tossed and turned all night, unable to drown out his deep, resolute tone. Sleep eventually came, but not without its cost.

***

Morning crept in, the first rays of light nudging me awake. The sheets clung to me like a cocoon, their warmth a deceptive comfort. My body felt heavy, unwilling to face whatever madness today held. The bed smelled faintly of lavender—probably the sheets, though I doubted Dalton himself cared for such soft touches.

A soft knock rattled me from my half-asleep state. “Luna, are you awake?” Serena’s voice floated through the door, light and teasing.

I groaned, pressing a pillow over my face. “Good evening to you too, Serena,” I called back, my voice muffled.

She entered without waiting for an invitation, balancing a tray laden with oatmeal and what looked suspiciously like vitamins. “Still getting used to this?” she asked with a knowing grin, setting everything on the nightstand.

I sat up reluctantly, pushing my hair out of my face. The room was far too quiet, and I felt like a prisoner in its sterile elegance. “I’m tired of staring at the same damn walls,” I muttered, picking up the spoon and poking at the oatmeal. Its lumpy texture didn’t inspire confidence.

Serena laughed as she unfolded a small table to set across my lap. “Well, at least you’re not alone. The Alpha is here. That’s rare, you know—he’s always traveling or working. But now, he’s staying put. For you.”

I nearly choked on my oatmeal. “Don’t start with that nonsense,” I snapped, my cheeks flushing despite myself. She had no idea about the so-called “arrangement” between us. No one did—and I planned to keep it that way.

Dalton wanted power. I wanted revenge. It was a transactional marriage, nothing more.

But Serena, with her usual nosy charm, wasn’t done. “So,” she began, lowering her voice like she was sharing some grand secret. “Are Alphas as... gifted in bed as they say?”

My spoon clattered against the bowl as I gawked at her. Before I could stammer out a reply, a low, familiar throat-clearing sound sent a chill down my spine.

Dalton leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest. His dark eyes flicked from Serena to me, amusement glinting in their depths. “I see breakfast conversations have taken an interesting turn.”

Serena bolted upright, nearly tripping over herself as she scrambled to bow and leave the room.

“Smooth,” I muttered, crossing my arms as Dalton stepped further in.

He held a file in one hand, flipping it open with an air of casual authority. “Your reports are good. Zech says you’re fine to walk on your own now.”

I snorted. “The doctor said that two days ago. You’re the one keeping me locked up like I’m some fragile flower.”

His lips curved into a smirk, one that made me bristle. “You should thank me for saving you from Serena’s question.”

I raised an eyebrow, matching his energy. “I was about to tell her that not all rumors are true.”

The smirk deepened. “You shouldn’t speak without firsthand experience. One night with me, and you’d be begging for more.”

“Not interested,” I shot back, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “And don’t forget the deal—you can’t touch me.”

His laugh was low and deliberate, the kind that seemed to vibrate in the air. “Mark my words, Tila. One day, you’ll beg me to break that rule.”

Before I could retort, a knock interrupted us. Dalton’s demeanor shifted instantly, his posture stiffening. “Come in.”

The woman who entered was a study in poise and elegance. Her icy blue eyes swept the room before settling on me. “Luna,” she said, her voice as polished as her appearance.

I offered a tight smile, masking the instinctive unease that prickled at my wolf. Something about her felt... off.

Dalton didn’t seem to notice—or care. “She’ll help you prepare for tonight’s ceremony,” he said curtly, retreating to the adjoining room without another word.

Phoebe Morgan, as she introduced herself, seemed polite enough. But there was a stiffness to her smile, a formality that felt more rehearsed than genuine. She pulled out a black dress and draped it over the bed.

“This will do,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “Take a quick shower. I’ll call for a beautician.”

I eyed the dress skeptically, its somber elegance feeling more like a funeral shroud than anything else. Before I could voice my objection, Dalton re-entered, holding a vibrant red dress.

“She’ll wear the red dress,” he said sharply, his eyes narrowing at Phoebe.

Phoebe flinched, mumbling an apology before scurrying out. Dalton handed me the dress, his expression softening just slightly. “It suits you better.”

I bit back a sarcastic comment, but my wolf stirred, unsettled by his proximity. When the moment came to zip it up, I called out for Phoebe—only to feel Dalton’s hand on my back instead.

“She’s busy,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against my skin as he zipped the dress. The air between us felt heavy, charged with something I couldn’t quite name.

When he stepped back, his expression was unreadable. “You look fitting for a Luna,” he said simply, leaving before I could respond.

***

The ceremony was a blur of formality and tension. Dalton leaned in, his lips brushing my cheek as he whispered, “Take my hand.”

I glanced up at him, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Ask nicely, and I might.”

His jaw tightened, but his voice lowered to a growl. “Take my hand, sweetheart.”

I could feel Dalton’s jaw tighten next to me, his frustration practically vibrating in the air. “Such a brat,” he muttered under his breath, his silver-grey eyes flashing with both irritation and something else—amusement, maybe? “Take my hand, sweetheart,” he added, his voice thick with sarcasm.

I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of meeting his gaze. Instead, I stared straight ahead, arms crossed tight as a wall around me. But after a moment, I sighed, giving in just a little. Slowly, I placed my hand on his arm, and—damn it—it felt like the air crackled between us. Electric, even though I was just barely touching him. He smirked, of course, but it didn’t last. I turned my head away sharply, pretending I didn’t care, pretending I wasn’t dying inside at the thought of being in front of all these people.

Dalton led me forward toward a grand dais, two huge chairs carved out of wood that looked more like thrones than anything else, and the whole scene screamed pack leader. The lanterns hung overhead, casting everything in silver light. The faint hum of voices filled the air, a distant rustling of trees whispering secrets. The scent of wildflowers mixed with pine, but I didn’t care. Not with my stomach tight and my heart beating so fast it was like it wanted to run away.

I scanned the faces of strangers, all of them watching me, waiting. And they were waiting for me to be their Luna. Me. Aria. The girl who had no idea what she was doing here.

“You’re looking lovely, Princess,” came a voice that was as deep and rich as the earth. I turned toward the sound, and there he was—a man in his mid-forties, his presence so commanding it nearly knocked the air out of me. His grey eyes mirrored Dalton’s, his features sharp but softened by a salt-and-pepper beard. He was the Alpha’s father, no mistaking that.

He took my hand with the sort of practiced elegance that came from years of being in charge, and kissed it lightly. His smile was polite, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Not the way Dalton’s did, anyway.

“Thank you,” I muttered, feeling the warmth flood my cheeks despite myself. There was something about his gentlemanly manner that threw me off, even though I knew it hid the same cold, calculating edge as Dalton.

Standing beside me, Dalton couldn’t hide his impatience. He broke the moment with a clipped tone. “Let’s begin the ceremony, Father,” he said, his posture stiff as if he was ready for the world to fall apart.

His father, however, didn’t even blink. “No,” he said, his voice firm and unwavering. The kind of tone that made it clear there was no room for argument. “Not tonight.”