Chapter One

The boot slammed into my ribs, and I tasted blood.

"Look at her," a coarse voice rasped above me. "The fallen princess of the Caspian family. Still keeping her mouth shut?"

I curled tighter against the cold stone floor of the Blackwood labor quarry, barely breathing through the pain.

I could have told them the truth.

I could have told them I never sabotaged the Crestmark border defense array.

But I had learned a long time ago that silence was the only thing keeping my family’s secret buried.

Another kick landed against my side.

Pain exploded through me, sharp and blinding. Instinctively, I clawed inside myself, reaching for the white wolf that used to howl in my blood…the prideful beast that once made me the Caspian family's standard-bearer.

Nothing. Only a vast, terrifying silence.

My wolf had gone dormant eight months ago, broken under the weight of constant silver-lined beatings and solitary confinement. She wouldn't wake up to save me now.

She was as dead as my belief in family.

"Enough!" another inmate hissed, grabbing my hair and yanking my head back. "She’s the one who sabotaged the Crestmark border defense array. Three guards died because of her filthy jealousy. She deserves worse than a beating."

I stared ahead with glazed, hollow eyes, feeling the warm trickle of blood run down my temple. I didn't defend myself. I hadn't defended myself in two years.

“Just tell the Council you tampered with the perimeter array by mistake, Elora,” Dorian’s voice echoed from my memories—the frantic plea of an older brother I used to idolize. “Sienna accidentally disabled the defense grid while sneaking out, but if the pack law catches her, they’ll execute her! She just came back to us. She can’t survive prison. You owe Mom and Dad fifteen years of love as their adopted daughter, Elora. Pay it back. Save my real sister.”

I had paid it back. Fifteen years of warmth for two years in a hellhole.

When the Caspian family found their lost biological daughter, Sienna, fifteen years of being their cherished, adopted child vanished overnight. I was expected to step aside, absorb their guilt, and eventually, take the fall for her crime.

No visits. No letters. Just silence and iron.

A spiked disciplinary rod whistled through the damp air, aimed straight for my collarbone. I didn't fight. I curled my knees up, tucked my chin into my collar, and wrapped my bruised arms over my head—a practiced, instinctual defense mechanism to shield my vitals.

CLANG!

The heavy iron doors of the quarry block crashed open.

"You! Drop the rod and step back!” The head guard’s voice boomed across the yard to the inmate, and then to me: "Prisoner 409! Your release paper just came through."

The boot left my side. I stayed curled on the filthy stone for three long seconds before slowly uncoiling my battered body. 

I didn't feel relieved. I felt nothing.

Standing at the threshold of the iron gates, completely out of place against the mud and grime, was Dorian.

He wore a tailored velvet coat bearing the silver crest of the Caspian family. 

He looked immaculate, noble, and tall, with dark blonde hair—the proud Alpha heir. When his brown eyes locked onto me, his breath caught. 

He took an eager step forward, expecting me to break down, run into his arms, cry, and demand why he had left me here for seven hundred days.

I stood three paces away, keeping my chin dropped, my eyes fixed entirely on the mud near his polished leather shoes.

"Alpha Dorian," I said. My voice came out raspy, dry, and flat from months of disuse.

Dorian flinched as if I’d struck him. "Elora... Alpha? Why are you calling me that? It’s me. It’s Dorian."

When I didn't look up, he swallowed hard, adjusting his cuffs. I could practically hear him rationalizing it in his head: She's just throwing a bitter tantrum. She'll get over it once we're home.

"Let's go," he said, clearing his throat and turning toward the black luxury SUV waiting outside. "The drive is long."

I climbed into the back seat without a word, pulling my blood-stained tunic tightly over my knees.

As the car pulled away from the gates, Dorian glanced at me through the rearview mirror. His tone shifted, taking on the familiar, subtle authority of an Alpha establishing boundaries.

"Elora, listen to me carefully," Dorian said, his eyes hard in the glass. "The estate is in high preparations. Important guests are arriving today—including the Lycan King himself."

I stared out the heavily tinted window at the passing trees.

"Sienna has worked tirelessly for months to prepare for this," Dorian continued, his voice tightening. "She is still fragile and traumatized by what happened two years ago. Do not bring your bitterness into the house, Elora. Do not cause trouble for Sienna."

Do not cause trouble for the sister who sent me to hell.

"I understand, Alpha," I replied softly, my tone completely level. "I will not bother her."

Dorian frowned, clearly unsettled by my absolute lack of resistance. He glanced back again, his eyes catching the torn fabric at my shoulder and the dark, angry violet bruises visible beneath the dried blood on my forearm.

"What is that?" Dorian’s brow furrowed. "Are you hurt? What happened to your arm?"

He reached his right arm into the backseat, leaning over to grab my shoulder to inspect the injury.

The moment his hand cut through the air toward my face, my brain short-circuited.

Danger.

A violent shockwave of panic tore through my chest. I threw my body backward into the corner of the passenger door, slammed my knees to my chest, threw both arms over my face, and squeezed my eyes shut. 

My entire frame began to shake uncontrollably as I held my breath, waiting for the heavy blow to crack against my skull.

The car went dead silent.

Dorian’s hand froze mid-air, inches from my shielding arms. He stared at me…at the way I had reflexively curled into a tight, pathetic ball, terrified of his simple touch as if expecting immediate, brutal violence from him.

His face drained of all color. 

For the first time in two years, the confident Alpha heir froze, realizing something was horrifyingly wrong.