CHAPTER 3

(Cullen’s POV)

Morning light cut through the curtains of my office, but it didn’t feel like morning. It felt heavy — the kind of quiet that crawls into your bones after a night of too many thoughts. I hadn’t slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her.

Séraphine.

Her name had stuck to my mind like smoke after fire. I’d tried to shake it off, but it only burned deeper. She shouldn’t matter — not to me, not after what her pack did to my family. Yet something about her wouldn’t let go.

I stood by the window, looking out at the forest that stretched beyond Phoenix territory. It was peaceful now, calm, obedient — everything I’d built it to be. My pack lived by discipline, strength, and silence. I ruled it that way.

But peace had never felt so damn loud.

A soft knock came at the door.

“Come in,” I said.

Darius stepped in, his expression sharp as always. “She’s awake.”

I didn’t have to ask who. “And?”

“She refuses to eat. Tried to fight the guards again this morning.” He crossed his arms. “You sure you want to keep her here, Alpha? She’s a problem waiting to happen.”

“I’ll handle it.”

Darius hesitated, then sighed. “Whatever you say. But don’t let that woman mess with your head. We both know what happened last time you let emotion in.”

I gave him a look that made him stop talking. “Bring her to me.”

He nodded and left.

The moment the door closed, I ran a hand over my face and exhaled. Emotion. That word still felt foreign. I’d spent years locking it away, burying it under rules, under blood, under control. But Séraphine—she wasn’t just another prisoner. She had defiance in her eyes and a fire that refused to die. I hated how it intrigued me.

The door opened again, and my guards walked in with her between them.

She wasn’t in chains this time, just a plain black dress we’d given her. Her hair was loose, messy but still somehow elegant, falling past her shoulders. Her face was half-hidden behind that net mask, yet even covered, she was striking. Too striking.

Her gaze met mine immediately — not a hint of fear, only anger.

“You wanted to see me,” she said.

I gestured for the guards to leave. They did, reluctantly.

When the door shut, it was just the two of us.

She stayed standing, arms crossed, her chin slightly lifted like she owned the place. I leaned back against the desk, watching her.

“You don’t eat,” I said. “You don’t rest. You fight my men. You really think you can survive that long here?”

“I’m not here to survive,” she said coldly. “I’m here because you didn’t have the guts to kill me.”

I smiled faintly. “You really like testing me.”

“I like reminding you you’re not God.”

That earned a low chuckle from me. “No, but I decide who lives or dies here. That’s close enough.”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a second, I almost expected her to lunge at me. Instead, she straightened. “So what do you want, Alpha?”

I let the silence drag for a moment. The fire crackled in the fireplace, soft and sharp. “I have an offer for you,” I said finally.

She frowned. “An offer?”

“Yes. You’ll stay here, under my protection. You’ll have food, shelter, safety. In exchange, you’ll serve as my mistress.”

Her expression froze, then twisted into shock and disgust. “Your what?”

“You heard me.” I met her gaze steadily. “I could have killed you, but I didn’t. I’m offering you something better than death.”

She took a step back. “You think being your plaything is better than dying?”

I pushed off the desk and moved closer, my tone calm but cold. “You wouldn’t be a slave. You’d have your freedom after two years. You’d live, Séraphine. That’s more than I gave your pack.”

She slapped me before I could blink. The sound echoed through the office.

I didn’t stop her. I just stood there, looking at her. Her hand trembled, but her voice was steady. “I’m not your toy. And I don’t need your pity.”

I could’ve gotten angry. No one touched me and got away with it. But instead, I felt something strange — something that made my chest tighten.

“You’ve got guts,” I said quietly. “But you should be careful what kind of fire you play with.”

“Then burn me,” she said.

Her words hit like a strike of lightning.

For a moment, neither of us moved. The tension hung thick between us. I could hear her breathing — fast, shallow — and mine wasn’t much steadier.

I turned away before I did something I’d regret. “Fine. Then you’ll live here under my rules.”

She scoffed. “What rules?”

I walked to my desk, picked up a folder, and dropped it in front of her. “Read them.”

She hesitated before opening it. Her eyes scanned the pages, her face darkening with every line.

“Only I’m allowed to see your face,” I said evenly. “When you go outside, you wear your mask. Always. Three guards will follow you — whether you see them or not. You won’t try to run, and you won’t play games with me.”

She glared at me. “You think you can control me with a piece of paper?”

“I can control you with one command,” I replied. “The paper is mercy.”

Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to argue again, but no words came.

“Sign it,” I said.

“No.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

She met my eyes. “There’s always a choice.”

The defiance in her voice almost made me smile again. Almost.

I stepped closer until I could see the faint shimmer of fear in her eyes — the kind she tried to hide. “You’ll learn to survive here, Séraphine. The easy way or the hard one. I don’t care which.”

I reached out, brushed a strand of hair off her face — slow, deliberate. She flinched but didn’t step back.

“You think I’ll break?” she whispered.

I leaned in, my voice low. “No. I think you’ll bend.”

Then I walked away, leaving her with the contract and the silence.

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(Séraphine’s POV)

The door closed behind him, and I was left alone with that stupid contract staring back at me.

For a long time, I just stood there — still, silent, trying to understand what the hell had just happened. My hand still tingled from when I slapped him. I didn’t even plan to do it. It just happened, like my body moved before my brain caught up.

And now here I was, shaking. Not from fear — I’d faced worse — but from anger.

The folder sat on the desk like a threat. I picked it up, flipped through the pages again, and the words blurred in front of me.

Rules. Restrictions. Control.

Every line screamed one thing — belong to me.

Only he’s allowed to see my face.

Three guards following me everywhere.

No leaving without permission.

No freedom.

It was prison, dressed up as “protection.”

I slammed it shut and threw it across the table. “Screw you,” I muttered under my breath.

The room felt smaller by the second. The air was thick, heavy with his scent — cedar, smoke, something dark that got under my skin. I hated that I could still smell him. I hated that I noticed it at all.

I walked to the window, needing space, air, something that didn’t remind me of him. The view was beautiful, which almost made it worse. Forest stretching forever, sunlight pouring through the trees, birds flying free — all the things I didn’t have.

Two years.

He said he’d give me freedom after two years if I agreed to be his mistress.

I let out a bitter laugh. “What a generous offer, Alpha.”

A part of me wondered what kind of person even makes an offer like that. But another part already knew — someone who’s used to getting everything he wants. Someone who’s never heard the word no and meant it.

I turned away from the window and paced the room. My heartbeat still hadn’t slowed down since he touched me. It wasn’t even a full touch — just that one moment when his fingers brushed my hair aside. But it felt… too close. Too deliberate.

He wanted me to feel small. Controlled. Like he could bend me whenever he wanted.

But he was wrong.

I sat on the edge of the desk, crossing my arms, forcing myself to breathe. I’d survived worse than this — cages, wars, loss. I could survive him too.

The door creaked open and one of his guards stepped in. “Alpha said you should be taken to your room,” he said flatly.

Room. Not cell. That’s what they called it to make it sound nicer.

I nodded stiffly and followed. The walk through the hallways felt endless. Every wall, every door whispered Cullen. His name was everywhere — in the silence, the authority, the way everyone lowered their gaze when they passed him.

When we reached the room, the guard pushed the door open. “If you need anything—”

“I won’t.”

He gave a short nod and left.

The moment the door closed, I locked it and leaned against it, finally letting the weight of everything sink in.

The room was bigger than I expected — soft bed, fireplace, books on the shelves. Too comfortable for a prisoner. Too fake. Like a golden cage.

I sat on the bed, staring at my hands. My fingers were trembling, and I clenched them into fists.

I hated him.

I hated the way his voice sounded — calm, smooth, like he was in control of everything. I hated how he looked at me, like he saw straight through me. But most of all, I hated that a part of me wasn’t sure if I hated him as much as I wanted to.

There was something dangerous about Cullen. Not just his power, not just the Alpha in him — it was the way he carried his pain like armor. The way he looked at me like I was both a reminder and a temptation.

And I couldn’t afford to be either.

I stood up and went to the mirror. My reflection stared back — tired eyes, messy hair, mask still covering half my face. He said no one else was allowed to see me without it.

I tugged it off anyway.

The air hit my skin, cool and sharp. I took a deep breath. “He doesn’t own me,” I whispered.

For the first time in days, I smiled — small, weak, but real.

I didn’t know what his game was, but I wasn’t about to lose it.

If he wanted obedience, he’d get resistance.

If he wanted a mistress, he’d get a storm.

If he wanted control, I’d make him question who really had it.

And if I had to stay here for two years, then fine — I’d survive. But I’d do it my way.

Even if it meant breaking every one of his rules.