CHAPTER 2: THE SMILE THAT CUTS

Bianca's laughter followed me all the way back to the servants' corridor.

I told myself not to react. Not to give her the satisfaction. Omegas survived by enduring—by swallowing pain until it burned holes through the chest and learning to breathe anyway.

Still, my hands shook as I scrubbed the counter, my wolf restless beneath my skin.

The kitchen was empty now. Adrian and Bianca had disappeared into the packhouse, their voices fading into the halls where I wasn't allowed unless I was cleaning. I focused on the rhythmic motion of the cloth against marble, tried to lose myself in the simple, mindless work.

But my mind wouldn't quiet.

After tonight, no one will ever believe you were his.

What did that mean? What could it possibly mean except—

No.

I reached for the bond, that golden thread that had connected us for three years. The one that pulsed with warmth whenever Adrian was near, that whispered mine in the quiet moments when his hand found mine in the dark.

Adrian.

I sent the thought down the bond, gentle and questioning.

Nothing answered.

Not warmth. Not acknowledgment. Not even the faint buzz of awareness that told me he felt me reaching.

Just silence.

Cold, empty silence.

Panic curled in my stomach like smoke. He had never ignored me before. Not once in three years. Even when we couldn't be together, even when pack business kept him away for days, I could always feel him. A constant presence humming beneath my ribs, proof that I wasn't alone.

But now...

"You really are slow."

I spun around.

Bianca stood in the doorway, changed into a different dress now. This one was ice blue, cut to show off her figure, her throat, her perfect Beta bearing. She looked like something out of a magazine. Untouchable. Flawless.

Everything I wasn't.

"I thought you left," I said quietly.

"I came back." She stepped into the kitchen, her heels clicking against the tile. "I wanted to give you some sisterly advice."

I turned back to the counter, scrubbing harder. "I do not need advice."

"You should be getting dressed," she continued, ignoring me. "For tonight."

My hands stilled. "For what?"

"For the ceremony." Her voice was sugar-sweet, the kind of tone she used when Father was watching, when she wanted to seem kind and generous instead of cruel. "You are still part of the pack, Elena. You still have to attend."

"I know that."

"Do you?" She moved closer, and I could smell her perfume again. Expensive. Cloying. "Because you have been walking around looking like someone died. It is pathetic."

I gripped the edge of the counter. "I am fine."

"You are not fine." Bianca laughed, light and airy. "You are terrified. I can smell it on you."

She was right. Fear had a scent—sharp and acrid, impossible to hide from stronger wolves. My omega status made it worse. Made everything I felt broadcast to anyone paying attention.

"I have work to do," I said.

"Work." She said it like the word tasted funny. "Is that what you are calling it? Scrubbing counters while the real members of this pack prepare for something important?"

I wanted to snap at her. Wanted to turn around and tell her that I was just as much a part of this pack as she was, that our mother's blood ran through both our veins, that being an omega didn't make me less.

But I had learned a long time ago that words like that only made things worse.

So I stayed silent.

Bianca sighed, dramatic and theatrical. "You know what tonight is, don't you? What it really means?"

"The announcement ceremony," I said carefully. "Adrian will claim his mate."

"Finally." She moved to stand beside me, hip resting against the counter like we were friends sharing secrets. "After all this time, everyone will know. No more speculation. No more rumors. Just the truth, laid bare for the whole pack to see."

Something in her tone made my stomach twist.

"Bianca—"

"You should be happy for me," she said suddenly, turning to face me fully. "For us. For the family."

The world tilted.

I forced myself to look at her. Really look at her. At the way her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. At the satisfaction radiating from her like heat.

"What are you talking about?" I whispered.

"For tonight." Her smile widened. "For watching me take what you thought was yours."

The words hit like a physical blow.

"You are lying," I said, but my voice came out weak, broken.

Bianca's eyes glittered. "Am I?"

She reached up and brushed her hair back from her shoulder, the movement casual and deliberate. And there, at the curve of her throat, just below her jaw—

A mark.

Faint. Fresh. The kind of mark that came from teeth breaking skin, from a wolf claiming what belonged to them.

A mating mark.

I dropped the cloth.

My legs went weak. The kitchen spun. Somewhere distant, I heard a sound like breaking glass, sharp and final.

It might have been my heart.

"No," I breathed.

"Yes." Bianca's voice was soft now, almost gentle. The way you might speak to a child who didn't understand. "Adrian marked me last night. We wanted to keep it quiet until the ceremony, but I thought you should know. Before you embarrass yourself."

"That is not possible."

"It is possible." She tilted her head, letting me see the mark more clearly. "It is done. He chose me, Elena. Not you. Never you."

"But the bond—"

"What bond?" Bianca laughed, and the sound was knives. "You mean that pathetic fantasy you have been clinging to? The one where the Alpha heir falls in love with his omega servant?"

"It is real," I said desperately. "I felt it. He felt it. On my eighteenth birthday—"

"Three years ago." Bianca's smile turned pitying. "And in three years, did he ever tell anyone? Did he ever claim you publicly? Did he ever do anything except keep you hidden like a dirty secret?"

Each question was a nail in a coffin I hadn't realized I was building.

"He said we had to be careful," I whispered.

"Careful." Bianca moved closer, her voice dropping. "Or ashamed?"

"Stop."

"Face it, Elena. Whatever you think you felt, whatever you think happened between you two—it was never real. Adrian was just being kind. Letting you down easy. And you, stupid little omega that you are, mistook pity for love."

"That is not true."

"Isn't it?" She leaned in, close enough that I could count her eyelashes. "Then why hasn't he spoken to you in weeks? Why does he flinch when you are in the same room? Why did he mark me instead of you?"

I couldn't breathe.

The bond in my chest felt wrong. Sick. Like something rotting from the inside out.

"You are lying," I said again, but the words had no strength.

Bianca straightened, smoothing down her dress. "Believe what you want. But tonight, when Adrian stands before the pack and announces that I am his mate, his Luna, his future—you will know the truth."

She turned toward the door, then paused.

"Oh, and Elena?" She glanced back over her shoulder. "You might want to clean yourself up. You look awful. Father will be furious if you embarrass him at the ceremony."

"I am not going."

"You are." Her voice hardened. "Father already said. Every pack member attends. Even the omegas. Even you."

She swept out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with the wreckage of my world.

I stood there, staring at nothing, trying to make sense of what just happened.

The mark on her throat. The coldness in Adrian's eyes this morning. The weeks of distance, of unanswered touches, of a bond that felt more like a ghost than a promise.

No.

I reached for the bond again, desperate now, clawing at it like a lifeline.

Adrian, please. Tell me she is lying. Tell me this isn't real.

For a long moment, nothing.

Then, so faint I almost missed it—

A flicker of something. Not warmth. Not comfort.

Guilt.

Raw, sharp guilt that tasted like ash.

And then the bond snapped closed, locked tight, shutting me out completely.

My knees buckled.

I caught myself on the counter, gasping, my wolf howling inside my chest. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. Mates didn't work this way. The bond didn't lie. Fate didn't make mistakes.

But Bianca's words echoed in my head.

Whatever you think you felt—it was never real.

The kitchen door opened again.

I looked up, hoping against hope that it was Adrian. That he would explain. That he would tell me Bianca was playing a cruel joke, that the mark on her throat was fake, that tonight would still be what I thought it would be.

But it wasn't Adrian.

It was Father.

Marcus Reeves stood in the doorway, his expression carved from stone. He looked at me the way he always did—with disappointment so thick it was almost tangible.

"Get up," he said flatly.

I pushed myself upright, my legs trembling.

"You will attend the ceremony tonight," he continued. "You will stand with the pack. You will smile and show proper respect when Adrian makes his announcement. And you will not cause a scene. Do you understand?"

"Father—"

"Do. You. Understand?"

The command in his voice pressed down on me, heavy and absolute. My omega instincts screamed at me to submit, to bow, to accept.

"Yes, sir," I whispered.

He nodded once. "Good. Bianca has worked too hard for this. I will not have you ruin it with your theatrics."

He turned to leave, then stopped.

"And Elena?" He didn't look back. "Whatever foolish ideas you have been entertaining about you and Adrian—let them go. He is far too important to waste on something like you."

The door closed behind him.

I stood alone in the kitchen, surrounded by the smell of cleaning solution and broken dreams.

My wolf whimpered, small and hurt.

And in my chest, where the bond used to sing, there was only silence.

Thick. Cold. Suffocating.

I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to remember how to breathe.

Tonight.

I would go tonight. I would stand in the crowd and watch Adrian claim Bianca. I would see the truth laid bare in front of the entire pack.

And then I would know.

One way or another, I would finally know.

The servants' corridor was empty when I walked through it, heading toward my room. Small. Barely bigger than a closet. But it was mine, the only space in this entire packhouse where I could close the door and pretend the world didn't exist.

I was halfway there when I heard footsteps behind me.

Quick. Purposeful.

I turned.

Bianca stood at the end of the hallway, backlit by the afternoon sun streaming through the windows. She looked like an angel. Beautiful and terrible and glowing with victory.

She smiled at me, slow and deliberate.

Then she whispered, just loud enough for me to hear:

"Ask him yourself—if he hasn't already decided you are not worth answering."