Chapter 3

The moment I felt despair hit my senses, I knew I had to find her.

I'd been in my study, reviewing territory reports, when the wave of anguish crashed over me.

Raw, devastating heartbreak that made my wolf pace restlessly in my chest.

It shouldn't have affected me—I barely knew the girl. But something about her pain called to every protective instinct I possessed.

I found her wandering the road, barefoot and shivering.

The sight of her, so small, so broken, ignited a fury in me that I hadn't felt in decades.

Damon has done this to her. He had destroyed something precious and thrown it away like trash.

"Get in," I commanded, and she obeyed with the resignation of someone who had nothing left to lose.

During the silent drive to my mansion, I caught glimpses of her in the rearview mirror.

Tears had dried on her cheeks, leaving streaks through the dirt. Her dark hair hung in tangles around her face.

She looked nothing like the confident young woman I'd seen around the pack house.

And yet... my wolf stirred with interest. With possession.

Dangerous thoughts, Magnus, I warned myself. She's Damon’s castoff. An omega. Beneath your station.

But even as I thought it, I knew it was a lie.

At the mansion, I called for my head maid immediately.

"Mrs. Chen," I said as Fiona stood uncertainly in my grand foyer, still clutching her suitcase.

"Prepare the blue guest suite. The finest linens, fresh flowers, whatever she needs."

The older woman's eyes widened slightly— I rarely brought guests home, especially not young omega females—but she nodded professionally.

"Of course, Alpha."

"And have the cook prepare something warm. She looks half-starved."

I watched Fiona's face as Mrs. Chen led her up the marble staircase. She moved like she expected the luxury around her to vanish at any moment.

When was the last time anyone had shown her true care?

Certainly not Damon, I thought grimly.

An hour later, I knocked on her door. She answered wearing one of the silk robes I'd had sent up, her hair damp from a shower.

The improvement was striking—without the dirt and tears, her natural beauty shone through.

High cheekbones, full lips, eyes the color of honey.

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

"Better. Thank you." Her voice was soft, uncertain. "Why are you helping me?"

I stepped into her room, noting how she instinctively backed away. Not from fear—from awareness.

The same electric current I felt was affecting her too.

"Because you deserve better than what my Damon gave you."

Her face crumpled. "He said he loved me."

"Damon is young. Foolish. He doesn't understand what real love looks like."

"And you do?"

The question hung between us, loaded with possibility. I moved closer, close enough to catch her scent, vanilla and jasmine, that made my chest tight.

"Yes," I said simply.

She looked up at me then, really looked, and I saw the exact moment she recognized the hunger in my eyes. Her breath caught.

"Sir..."

"Magnus," I corrected. "Just Magnus."

"This is wrong," she whispered, but she didn't move away.

"Why? Because of my age? My position?" I reached out, tucking a strand of damp hair behind her ear. Her skin was impossibly soft.

"All of those reasons."

"I don't care about any of them."

And I meant it. For forty-five years, I'd done my duty. Married for politics, ruled with my head instead of my heart, and made every decision based on what was best for everyone.

But standing here with Fiona, feeling alive for the first time in years after the death of my first mate, I realized I was tired of duty.

I was tired of denying what I wanted.

"You should rest," I said, forcing myself to step back before I did something we'd both regret. "You’ll need it for tomorrow ."

But as I turned to leave, her voice stopped me.

" What happens now? The pack doesn’t want me anymore. Nobody does”

I faced her again, my decision crystallizing in that moment.

"You have me."

Sleep didn't come that night. I paced my study, fighting with myself, with my wolf, with every instinct that screamed at me to go to her.

She's an omega, my rational mind argued. The weakest classification. If you claim her, the council will revolt. Your enemies will see it as weakness.

She's MINE, my wolf snarled back. I don't care what they think.

And that was the truth of it.

Forty-five years of perfect leadership, of never putting a foot wrong, and I was ready to throw it all away for a girl who calmed my rage and fueled my hunger.

I could already hear the whispers my decision would cause

"The Alpha King has lost his mind."

"A political disaster."

"She's beneath him."

"A temporary madness read."

Fuck them all.

I was their leader. I made the rules here.

But even as I tried to convince myself, doubt crept in.

Was I doing the right thing? Was I thinking clearly, or was this some kind of midlife madness that would destroy everything I'd built?

I walked to the window, staring out at the territory I'd protected for two decades.

My pack. My responsibility. Was I really willing to risk their safety for one omega? For a girl I'd known for less than twenty-four hours?

She's different, my wolf insisted. She's meant for us.

She's trouble, my mind countered. This will end badly.