Chapter Four

The drive to my parents' house the next evening was a blur.

My body felt entirely hollow, like an empty shell. I was still wearing the same blue dress, now stained with the dried, dark remnants of the worst night of my life. I hadn't slept. I hadn't eaten. The silence inside the car was deafening, but it was nothing compared to the screaming void in my chest.

I turned the sedan down the familiar road leading to my childhood home. I had come here looking for a place to hide, a temporary sanctuary where I could mourn my baby in peace.

But as the house came into view, my foot instinctively slammed on the brake.

The driveway wasn't empty. Three massive, gleaming black luxury SUVs were parked in a perfect line. Men in identical black suits stood around the perimeter of the property, their postures tense and imposing.

These weren't Crimson Vale wolves. They didn't carry the familiar, aggressive scent of Dorian’s pack. These men carried a heavy, terrifying aura that made the air itself feel thick. It was the undeniable pressure of a royal guard.

My heart spiked, a sudden instinct warning me to put the car in reverse and tear away. But I had nowhere else to go. I had no pack, no money, and no strength left to run.

I turned off the engine, stepped out of the car, and walked up the creaking porch steps. The front door was already unlatched so I pushed it open.

The house smelled exactly how I remembered, stale cigarettes, cheap liquor, and old dust. I walked down the short hallway into the dining room, and the sight inside made me freeze.

My father was sitting at the wooden table, his head bowed so low his forehead practically touched the surface. His hands were shaking violently, his fingers clawing at his thinning hair. Across from him sat a cold-faced man in a sharp black suit, holding a tablet.

On the screen, numbers with a great many zeros were flashing in a harsh, bright red.

“Selene!” my father gasped, his head snapping up as the front door clicked shut behind me. His face was entirely bloodless, his eyes wide and bloodshot like an animal caught in a trap. “You’re…you’re back.”

“What is this, Father?” I asked. My voice was entirely flat. I didn't have the energy to be angry.

The man in the suit stood up smoothly, adjusting his cuffs. “Ms. Marlow. Your father has spent the last forty-eight hours in the Blackthorn Syndicate's underground halls. His outstanding gambling debt has reached a total that your family cannot pay in three lifetimes.”

I looked at my father. The man who had already ruined my youth once by handing me over to Dorian to settle a debt. “How much, Father?”

He couldn't answer. He just let out a weak, pathetic sob, burying his face in his hands.

“The Syndicate demands settlement by dawn,” the royal guard continued, his tone entirely professional, as if he were reading a grocery list. “Since your father has no assets left, he has offered the only collateral he possesses.”

The man turned the tablet toward me.

It was a contract. At the bottom was my father’s shaky, uneven signature. And right above it, the terms were spelled out in clear, brutal text:

Collateral: Selene Marlow.

Buyer: The Obsidian Throne.

The Obsidian Throne was the seat of the Alpha King. Kael Vale.

He was the most feared, lethal wolf on the continent. A man who ruled the entire werewolf kingdom through blood. He was ruthless, cold, and unyielding.

He was also Dorian's father. My ex-father-in-law.

“He…the King bought me?” I whispered, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. I hadn't even been divorced for less than 24 hours? How did he know I wouldn't be with his son?

“The Alpha King cleared the debt in full ten minutes ago,” the man said, shutting the tablet with a sharp snap. “The contract is legally binding under royal law. You belong to the Obsidian Throne now. The transport is waiting outside.”

My father suddenly threw himself out of his chair, dropping straight to his knees on the floor. He crawled toward me, his hands grabbing frantically at the hem of my dress.

“Selene, please! You have to understand!” he begged, tears streaming down his wrinkled face. “They were going to kill me! They were going to chop me to pieces! The King…he’s powerful. He’ll keep you safe. You’ve lived in his pack house for six years, you know him, he won't...”

I looked down at him. I felt absolutely nothing. No anger, pity, or even pain of betrayal. The capacity to feel had died on a motel bathroom floor last night.

Dorian had thrown me away like trash. My father had sold me like property. My baby was a ghost.

I had nothing left for them to take.

Slowly, I stepped backward, pulling the fabric of my dress out of my father’s trembling, desperate grasp.

I turned to the suited man. “Let’s go.”

Then I turned on my heel and walked out of the house.