Chapter 2: The Inheritance of Thorns

The echoes of the Great Purge followed Chloe the moment she stepped through the heavy oak doors of the Vance Manor.

In the grand foyer, her relatives were lounged across designer sofas, sipping cocktails and reminiscing about the "Good Old Days" of the hunt.

"Best decision we ever made," an uncle laughed. "The Vances saved this city."

"Those wolves were too stubborn for their own good," an aunt added. "They should have learned to tuck their tails between their legs."

Chloe couldn't help herself. "But our family... we have Lycan blood, too—"

"Shut up!" Her father's voice cracked like a whip. "Speak another word of that filth and I'll have your tongue."

Chloe went silent. She stood in the corner, covered in the dust of her journey and the bruises from the train fight, but no one looked her way. They were too busy doting on her half-sister, Tiffany, who sat in the center of the room like a crown jewel.

"I don't know why we even have to deal with them," Tiffany pouted, leaning against her aunt's shoulder. "The Sterlings are just... animals."

"Don't worry, sweetie," her aunt cooed. "We aren't sending you into that den. We found a replacement."

Chloe's gaze darkened. The Vance Dynasty had spent fifteen years scrubbing their history clean, pretending their Lycan heritage never existed. When the marriage pact with the Sterlings came due, Tiffany had thrown a week-long tantrum, refusing to marry a "crippled beast" like Silas Sterling.

Only then did they remember the daughter they'd thrown away in the Appalachian Wilds.

"I'm just glad it's not our Tiffany," the aunt continued, glancing toward Chloe with a look of pure disdain. "I can't imagine what those beasts will do to a bride."

"She should be grateful," Tiffany sneered. "Marrying into the Sterlings is the only way a stray like her gets the Vance name back."

The room erupted in sharp, ugly laughter. Chloe felt nothing. She didn't belong to this world of silk and silver-plated lies.

She had lost everything during the Purge when she was five—her status, her home, and her mother. After her mother died, her father had replaced them both with a new wife and a new daughter. He had only agreed to let Chloe live because of a bargain.

Years ago, Chloe had saved a young Lycan boy from one of her father's lethal traps. To spare the boy's life, she had agreed to sign away her inheritance and vanish into the mountains, never to show her face again.

She was a woman of her word. She didn't care about the Vance fortune. But there was one thing she wouldn't leave behind.

"My mother's journals and her ring," Chloe thought, her hand tightening into a fist. "I'm not leaving without what belongs to her."

***********

The crowd of relatives eventually trickled out, their laughter echoing in the hollow halls of the Vance Manor until only four remained. Chloe stood until her legs were numb before Tiffany finally "noticed" her presence with a dramatic gasp.

"Oh! When did this... thing get here?" Tiffany tilted her chin up, eyeing Chloe's travel-worn clothes with pure disdain. "Goodness, sister. You look so ragged I thought you were one of the new scullery maids."

Chloe tightened her fists, her gaze sharp. The look only spurred Tiffany further. "Go ahead, glare. That miserable face is a perfect match for that dying beast you're marrying. Silas Sterling—I heard he's so riddled with rot and sores he doesn't even show his face in public."

Rumors about the Sterling heir had been Holloway City's favorite gossip for years. Though he had taken over the Sterling empire on his eighteenth birthday, he remained a ghost, never granting interviews or appearing at galas. The public assumed his "terminal illness" had left him deformed.

"I wonder," Tiffany laughed, "once he dies, will the Pack eat you according to their savage customs, or just bury you alive with him?"

"Tiffany, mind your tongue," her mother—Chloe's stepmother—interrupted.

Chloe froze, surprised by the sudden intervention. For a fleeting moment, the stepmother's warm, composed smile reminded Chloe of her own mother—the legendary hunter who had taught her how to survive the Wilds. But the illusion shattered instantly.

"Do you really think a Vance maid would ever be caught dead in such filthy rags?" the stepmother sneered, her voice turning razor-sharp. Tiffany burst into delighted applause as Chloe's face went pale with a wave of nausea.

"Where am I supposed to go?" Chloe asked her father, her voice flat.

He didn't look at her, instead instructing the butler to lock her in a windowless guest room in the far corner of the estate—under the guise of "security".

"Oh, it's perfect for her," Tiffany giggled. "It'll help her adjust to the dark, miserable life she's about to have as a Sterling widow."

Chloe didn't give them the satisfaction of a reaction, which only irritated Tiffany further. "What's with that attitude?"

"No attitude," Chloe replied calmly. "It's actually nicer than where I lived in the mountains."

"You... you ignorant peasant!" Tiffany fumed, turning to her father. "Daddy! She's bullying me!"

Chloe's father glared at her, warning her to stay in the room until the wedding. As he moved to lock the door, Chloe stopped him. "And my mother's things?"

He paused, not turning around. "Why bring up that woman?"

Chloe knew he was holding her mother's relics—stored in a locked vault she couldn't access—as the ultimate blackmail to ensure she walked down that aisle. He wouldn't release them until the "task" was complete.

The church was a storm of camera flashes and whispered insults, yet not a single lens was focused on the bride.

Chloe stood before a full-length mirror in the side hall, her fingers white as she gripped the silk of a wedding dress that wasn't hers. It had been tailored for Tiffany's curves; on Chloe's leaner frame, it hung loose, held together by a dozen hidden safety pins at the waist.

"A corporate merger," she whispered to her reflection. She was a "disposable asset" being traded to the Sterlings in exchange for the Vance family's continued status. To her father, she wasn't a daughter; she was a tragedy waiting to happen—a "good deal" for the family name.

"It's time, Miss," the butler called through the door, his voice dripping with impatience.

Chloe picked up her bouquet—red roses, Tiffany's favorite, not hers. She walked the long aisle alone, without a father's arm or a bridesmaid's train. The lace of the ill-fitting gown scratched at her ankles like thorns as the guests' predatory gazes tore at her.

"So this is the 'secret' daughter?" one guest whispered.

"Probably dug her out of a gutter," another replied. "The Sterlings are getting a bargain-bin bride."

When Chloe reached the altar, she was met with a chilling sight: the right side of the church, reserved for the groom's family, was empty. Silas Sterling had not arrived.

"What should we do?" the priest hissed.

"Keep going," Chloe commanded, her voice cold.

The crowd's mockery grew louder. "Did he stand her up?" "Is even a dying beast too good for a Vance reject?"

A drunken man from the front row—a guest Chloe recognized from the manor the night before—stood up and blocked the priest. "Let's have a toast for the bride!" he shouted, mocking her for "performing" a wedding with a ghost. "To the cheap replacement!"

Chloe didn't flinch. She took the glass from his hand and, in one fluid motion, splashed the red wine directly into his face.

As the man sputtered in shock, the heavy oak doors of the cathedral swung open.

A tall, commanding figure stepped through the light, silencing the room instantly. Silas Sterling didn't look like a dying man. He wore a bespoke black suit, his features as sharp and flawless as a marble statue. Tiffany, watching from the pews, gripped her seat in a sudden, sharp pang of regret.

Chloe's breath hitched as he approached the altar.

"You?" she whispered, recognizing the man from the train.

"You're late," she added, her eyes meeting his.