ログインHis hand hung in the empty space between them for a long second before he slowly pulled it back. Penelope stayed curled against the passenger door with her arms shielding her bruised head, waiting for a blow that never came.
Orion cleared his throat and gripped the steering wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white.
"Sit up," he muttered. "We're almost there."
Penelope slowly lowered her arms. She kept her spine pressed hard against the leather seat for the rest of the drive, watching the dark trees blur past the window. She knew he was telling himself she was just being dramatic.
When the SUV finally turned through the tall iron gates of the Visconti estate, the grounds were flooded with people. Delivery trucks blocked the circular driveway, and servants rushed back and forth carrying crates of wine and massive floral arrangements.
Orion parked near the front steps and got out without looking at her.
Penelope opened her own door and stepped onto the gravel. Her bare feet stung against the sharp stones, but she followed him quietly toward the grand entrance.
The inside of the pack house was deafening. Dozens of people hurried across the marble foyer to prepare for the Lycan King's arrival.
Penelope stood near the doorway in her oversized prison uniform. She kept her head lowered, trying to make herself as small as possible so she wouldn't be in the way.
A young maid carrying a stack of silver platters rushed past and bumped hard into Penelope’s shoulder. Penelope stumbled back as her fractured ribs flared with sharp pain.
"Watch where you're going," the maid snapped, barely glancing at her. "Get out of the main hall if you aren't working."
The girl clearly had no idea who Penelope was. The old staff would have bowed and apologized, but this new maid just rolled her eyes and kept walking.
Penelope didn't correct her. She simply took a step back and pressed her back against the wall.
Orion was already talking to the head butler near the stairs and didn't notice the exchange at all. He waved his hand dismissively at the staff and turned around to find Penelope.
"Penelope! Oh my god, you're really home!"
A high, breathless voice cut through the noise of the busy foyer.
Stella stood at the top of the grand staircase. She wore a pale pink silk dress that draped perfectly over her healthy frame, and her hair was styled in soft waves. A delicate silver necklace rested on her collarbone.
She looked radiant. She looked exactly like a beloved pack heiress should.
Stella rushed down the steps with tears already pooling in her eyes.
"I missed you so much," Stella cried, holding both hands over her mouth.
She ran across the marble floor and threw her arms open to pull Penelope into a tight hug.
Penelope saw the sudden movement and panicked. Her body reacted on pure instinct before she could remind herself where she was. She violently jerked backward to avoid the touch.
Her heel caught on the edge of a thick rug, and she crashed hard into a small wooden table. A heavy glass vase of white roses shattered onto the floor, sending water and stems spilling across the marble.
The foyer went dead quiet.
Stella stood frozen with her arms still outstretched. A single tear slipped down her cheek as she looked at the broken glass near her expensive shoes.
"I... I just wanted to welcome you back," Stella whispered, her voice trembling.
Orion stepped forward and grabbed Penelope by the upper arm.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he hissed.
Penelope flinched at his tight grip but didn't fight back. She stared at the puddle of water on the floor.
"She is trying her best to make peace with you," Orion said, his jaw tight with anger. "The least you could do is act like a decent person instead of treating her like a disease. Look at what you did."
Penelope looked at the shattered vase, then at Stella’s tearful face.
"I'm sorry," Penelope said quietly. It was just easier to agree.
"What is all this noise?" another voice asked from the hallway.
Penelope looked up, and the breath caught in her throat.
Madeline walked slowly into the foyer. She looked frailer than Penelope remembered, her skin pale and her shoulders slightly hunched, but she still carried herself with the familiar grace of a Luna.
For the first time since leaving the labor prison, a tiny spark of warmth built in Penelope’s chest.
This was the woman she had taken the blame for. She had accepted two years of hell just to make sure Madeline wouldn't have to watch her true daughter go away.
Penelope took a hesitant step forward. "Mother," she breathed.
Madeline stopped at the bottom of the stairs and let out a soft gasp.
But she didn't look at Penelope. Her eyes darted straight to Stella, who was still holding her hands to her chest and crying silently over the broken vase.
Madeline rushed forward and grabbed Stella's hands.
"Sweetheart, what happened? Did the glass cut you?" Madeline asked, her voice thick with panic.
"I'm okay," Stella sniffled, leaning into Madeline's touch. "I just wanted to hug her, and she fell."
Madeline sighed and gently smoothed Stella's hair back from her face. "You need to be careful. Your dress for the King's banquet is going to get ruined before he even arrives."
Penelope stood ten feet away, watching them.
The tiny spark in her chest went out, leaving nothing but cold ash behind.
It took another full minute before Madeline finally turned her head and looked at Penelope. Madeline’s eyes skimmed over the dirty prison clothes, the dark bruise on her jaw, and her bare feet.
"Welcome home, Penelope," Madeline said stiffly.
There was no hug. There were no tears of relief. There was no desperate question about how she had survived the last two years.
"Thank you, Luna," Penelope replied.
Madeline shifted her weight and wrung her hands together. She glanced nervously toward the massive dining hall where servants were setting the long tables with gold plates.
"Penelope, King Landon and his royal guard will be here in a few hours," Madeline started, her voice dropping to a low murmur. "It is a very important night for the pack. We are hoping they might consider Stella for a match."
Penelope just watched her speak.
"So, I think it would be best if you stayed upstairs in your room tonight," Madeline finished, giving a tight, apologetic smile. "Just until you get settled. We don't want to cause any unnecessary tension during the banquet."
The old Penelope would have demanded to know why she was being hidden away like a dirty secret. She would have cried and begged Madeline to let her sit at the family table.
Penelope looked at the three of them standing together. Orion stood just behind Stella, resting a protective hand on his sister's shoulder, while Madeline continued to fuss with the hem of Stella's pink dress.
They looked like a perfect family.
Penelope lowered her chin.
"Yes, Luna," she said softly. "I will stay out of the way."
Madeline let out a quiet sigh of relief and immediately turned back to Stella to ask about her shoes. Orion started giving orders to the butler again to clean up the broken glass.
Nobody even noticed when Penelope turned away from the crowded foyer.
While everyone downstairs prepared to welcome the Lycan King, Penelope walked up the long, dark staircase alone.
The steady sound of Russell’s boots echoed against the stone floor as he walked down the quiet corridor of the administrative wing. He had spent the entire morning listening to the visiting nobles whisper. Stella's rumors had spread through the estate with calculated precision. Everywhere he went, he heard hushed conversations about Penelope’s supposed madness, her barren womb, and her violent tendencies.He knew exactly where the poison originated. Stella was terrified of losing control of her narrative.Russell stopped near a tall window and looked out over the frost-covered gardens. He should have been preparing for the treaty negotiations. He should have been reviewing the trade agreements Langford wanted him to sign. Instead, his mind kept returning to the library. He kept seeing Penelope’s hollow eyes and the stark white bandages wrapped around her bleeding hands.He turned away from the window and continued down the hall. He needed to find Alpha Langford to finalize the afterno
Orion was incredibly protective, but he was also exhausted. If Penelope pushed hard enough, Orion might actually sign those papers just to make the headache go away. Once the applications reached the regional registry, visiting Alphas would see Penelope's lineage. Despite her criminal record, Visconti blood was highly valuable. Someone would undoubtedly accept the match.Unless nobody wanted her.Stella smoothed the front of her dress and left her bedroom. She navigated the quiet corridors and headed straight for the sunroom on the first floor.The sunroom was warm and bright, filled with plush seating and small tables. A few of the visiting nobles who preferred an early start were already awake. Stella spotted Elder Vance from the northern territories and Alpha Thorne, a young, ambitious leader from a neighboring pack. They were sitting near a large fern, drinking coffee and discussing trade routes.Stella adjusted her expression, letting a soft, troubled look pull at her features. S
Stella sat perfectly still at the vanity, watching her own reflection in the mirror.The morning light spilled through the large windows of her bedroom, catching the pale blonde curls resting over her shoulders. Her personal maid, Clara, stood behind her, running a brush through her hair with slow, careful strokes.The estate was quiet following the massive gathering the night before. Most of the visiting nobles and Alphas were still asleep, recovering from the wine and the rich food. But the servant quarters were already awake, and the servants were always talking."The clerk was very upset about it," Clara murmured, keeping her voice just above a whisper. "He said someone went behind his desk and took the official forms right out of his sorting tray."Stella met the maid’s eyes in the mirror. "And they think Penelope took them?"Clara nodded, her hands pausing on the brush. "Evelyn saw her walking out of the administrative wing late last night. She had a stack of papers tucked under
The music from the ballroom was a distant, muffled hum by the time Penelope reached the administrative wing. The corridors were quiet, stripped of the elaborate decorations and floral arrangements that filled the guest areas. She preferred it this way. The silence was predictable.She walked into her assigned room and turned on the small lamp beside the bed. The harsh light illuminated the sparse space. There was nothing on the walls and nothing on the dresser. She had lived out of a small bag since returning from the labor camp, never unpacking more than she needed for the day. She had always known this was not a home.Penelope pulled a folded stack of papers from the bottom of her bag. She had taken the blank forms from the pack clerk’s sorting tray days ago. She smoothed out the creases on the mattress and looked at the black ink filling the designated boxes.She felt a profound sense of calm settling into her chest.There was no anger left in her. The burning injustice that had co
The ballroom felt suffocating. Russell needed air, or at least a reprieve from the endless parade of smiling faces and practiced laughter. He left Grant to handle the regional elders and slipped out through the side exit, leaving the noise of the gathering behind.He walked down the dim corridors of the Visconti estate. The architecture was grand, full of tall archways and shadowed alcoves, but it felt hollow. He wasn't just walking to stretch his legs. He was looking for the gray uniform.He checked the dining room first. Empty. He bypassed the kitchens, knowing there would be too many servants bustling around to have a quiet conversation.He found her on the second floor, in the library.The door was propped open. Russell paused in the entryway, keeping to the shadows. The library was vast, lined with towering bookshelves that stretched toward the vaulted ceiling. A few lamps cast pools of warm light across the floor, leaving the upper shelves draped in darkness.Penelope stood on a
The music from the ballroom played lightly in the background, a lively tune that felt entirely out of place against the cold reality of the Visconti pack.Russell stood in the corridor, a glass of bourbon resting loosely in his hand. Stella had already hurried back to her guests, her manufactured smile failing to hide the genuine panic he had seen in her eyes. The heiress had expected admiration for her public charity. Instead, she had received silent rejection from the servant she had tried to use as a prop.Footsteps approached from the ballroom entrance. Russell did not turn his head, but he recognized the heavy, aggressive stride.Augustus stepped into the corridor. The guard captain’s jaw was set in a hard line. He glanced toward the kitchen boundary where Penelope had disappeared, then looked directly at the visiting Alpha."She does this all the time," Augustus said, his voice tight with frustration.Russell took a slow sip of his drink. "Does what?""Plays the martyr," Augustu







