2.

Even though we were twins, Daria and I had always been complete opposites. Where I was brash, rowdy, and rebellious, my sister was quiet, demure, and obedient, everything a perfect society girl was meant to be. My parents’ favourite child.

If anyone ever had to bet on which of us would go missing, all bets would’ve been on me. Never on Daria. She wasn’t reckless. She didn’t disappear on impulse. Which meant only one thing: whatever had happened to her had been bad enough to force her hand.

The shock hit first—sharp and disorienting—followed immediately by a tight, clawing fear that wrapped itself around my ribs. I knew what kind of people my parents were, after all, I’d experienced the height of their cruelty myself.

“Missing?” I repeated, my voice betraying my emotions. “How does someone like Daria just go missing?”

My father didn’t reply, his face hard as ever, but in his eyes churned a storm of warring emotions and one of them was guilt. I knew the level of surveillance my sister lived under. There was no way she could have just disappeared.

My mind raced as I thought back to the last few letters she’d sent me. Nothing had been out of the ordinary. We’d talked about the usual mundane things—my shifts at the bar, her life as a pianist, travelling all over America, Europe, and Asia for recitals. She’d offered me money, as usual, and I’d declined. Any money from her would indirectly be money from my parents.

She’d briefly mentioned her engagement when I wrote to her after seeing it on the news. She’d been surprisingly casual about it.

Even during the rare moments we managed to speak on the phone, she’d sounded completely fine. Or had she? Maybe I just hadn’t noticed?

I took a step closer, anger bleeding into my voice. There was only one reason she’d disappear like this if she herself was fine. “What did you do to her?”

My father’s stoic expression cracked, morphing into righteous indignation as he bellowed, “How dare you accuse me of harming your sister! I would never—”

“Right! Like you never harmed me?!” My voice rose even higher than his as I stepped toward him. His bodyguards moved instantly, ready to intervene. “What did you do to my sister?!”

“Daria is not like you,” he snapped. “I would never do anything that would negatively affect your sister’s well-being.”

He emphasised it.

I flinched.

He seemed to realise what he’d said a moment too late. A prickle of tears burned behind my eyes, but I forced them down as years of resentment and anger surged up my throat.

“Enough,” my mother finally said, cutting through the heavy silence, her pale, tired blue eyes landed on me. “Your father didn’t do anything to your sister, Nika. Daria ran away.”

I stared at her. “She did what?”

“According to our sources,” my father continued, tone clipped, “your sister refused to go through with the marriage. She left the city without permission.”

Something in me snapped and I laughed.

Not a soft, nervous laugh. A full, incredulous burst that echoed too loudly in my apartment. “You’re serious?” I asked when the laughing ceased. “You’re telling me Daria ran away because she didn’t want to get married?”

My mother frowned. “Nika—”

“To a werewolf?” I finished for her, amusement curling sharp and bitter in my chest. “I don’t blame her.”

My father stiffened. “This is not funny.”

“No,” I said, wiping the smile from my face. “It’s ridiculous. You sell your daughter off to a monster and you’re shocked she bolts?”

My mother’s lips trembled. “Damian Moretti is not a monster.”

“That’s debatable.”

It wasn’t.

Damian Moretti—Daria’s fiancé—was the Alpha of the New York pack. A werewolf. The grandson of the man who, seventy years ago, had led the werewolves in their three-year war against humans after they revealed themselves to the world.

Those years had been catastrophic. Cities burned. Entire regions were ravaged as humans desperately clung to power we were rapidly losing. The war ended in an uneasy truce, one that still felt fragile even now. Werewolves ruled their own territories. Humans kept what little influence they could, barely any at all. The few human families that were still powerful—like mine—hoarded the power tightly.

Tension still simmered between the two species. Just days ago, there were reports of human workers rioting against their werewolf bosses in Los Angeles. The week before, werewolves in more remote cities complained of discrimination. But New York was different.

New York held because of its Alpha.

Damian Moretti kept the peace, kept his pack under control, and gave humans no excuse to rise up against him. Not because they were content with the status quo but because they were afraid.

To say Alpha Damian had a bloody reputation would be an understatement.

Silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable.

I crossed my arms, the earlier fear draining away, replaced by indifference.

I didn’t care that Daria had run to avoid marrying him. Hell, I’d been one letter away from suggesting it myself, and would have, if our communications hadn’t been so closely monitored. This wasn’t the first human–werewolf marriage attempt, and they all ended the same way: the human bride or groom dead or unaccounted for, with no accountability from the werewolves.

All I hoped was that my sister was safe and that she’d contact me when she was.

“How did she even get away?” I asked, glancing pointedly at the bodyguards. “Don’t you have people on her at all times?”

My parents exchanged a look I couldn’t decipher before my mother spoke. “It was after one of her recitals. She was supposed to go backstage, then leave immediately but she disappeared. We believe she had help.”

I pressed my lips together, then shrugged.

“So why are you here?” I asked. “If Daria ran, you have resources. Connections. You don’t need me to find her.”

“We’re not asking you to search,” my father said.

The calm, deliberate way he said it sent a chill down my spine.

“Then what?” I asked slowly.

He met my gaze without flinching.

“We need you to take her place,” he said. “We need you to marry Damian Moretti.”