A Queen Rises

The morning sun didn’t gently wake Emily; it assaulted her. Blazing light poured through floor-to-ceiling windows that lacked curtains, searing against her eyelids until she groaned and rolled over.

Her hand reached out, expecting the lumpy mattress of her tiny studio apartment or the cold emptiness of the bed she used to share with Ryan on weekends. Instead, her fingers brushed against silk sheets with a thread count higher than her annual salary.

Memory crashed into her.

The anniversary. The red dress. The glowing eyes. The wolf in the alley.

Emily shot up in bed, a gasp tearing from her throat. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs as she scanned the room. It was vast, modern, and intimidatingly masculine; all slate grays, blacks, and sharp angles.

She wasn't in her apartment. She wasn't dead in a ditch.

She was in the penthouse of the Rogue King.

"You slept for twelve hours."

The voice came from the corner of the room. Emily flinched, clutching the duvet to her chest as she whipped her head around.

Ethan Carter sat in a leather armchair, reading a tablet. He was dressed impeccably in a charcoal suit, though the jacket was draped over the chair and his sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms corded with muscle. He didn't look up from the screen.

"I... I did?" Emily croaked. Her throat felt like sandpaper.

"Trauma is exhausting," Ethan stated, finally lifting his eyes. The violet irises caught the morning light, shimmering like amethyst geodes. "And your body is working overtime to protect the fetus. It is to be expected."

He stood up, the movement fluid and predatory. He walked over to the bed, placing a glass of water and a small white pill on the nightstand.

"Prenatal vitamin," he explained before she could ask. "Lucas went to the pharmacy."

Emily stared at the pill. The casual domesticity of it was jarring. Yesterday, the father of her child had tried to kill her. Today, a terrifying stranger was ensuring she took her vitamins.

"Thank you," she whispered, popping the pill and draining the water.

"Do not thank me. I told you, I protect my investments." Ethan checked his watch—a platinum timepiece that probably cost more than a car. "Get dressed. We have work to do."

He gestured to a sleek black wardrobe built into the wall. "Lucas guessed your size. If he is wrong, tell him. He takes professional pride in being right."

With that, Ethan turned and strode out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Emily waited until his footsteps faded before scrambling out of bed. Her ankle throbbed, but the bandage held tight. She limped to the wardrobe and slid the door open.

She stopped dead.

It wasn't just "clothes." It was a curated collection. Silk blouses in cream and navy, tailored trousers, cashmere sweaters, and dresses that looked simple but screamed money. There were no jeans. No sneakers.

She pulled out a soft, cream-colored knit dress with long sleeves. It was modest but hugged her curves in a way that made her feel exposed yet elegant. She found fresh undergarments in a drawer, still in their packaging, and a pair of flat leather boots that looked comfortable enough for her ankle.

When she looked in the full-length mirror, she barely recognized herself. The girl in the reflection looked tired, yes, there were dark circles under her hazel eyes but she looked expensive.

"Ryan wouldn't even recognize me," she murmured, a bitter pang striking her chest. Ryan had always liked her in florals and pastels. Sweet, he had called her. Uncomplicated.

She pushed the thought away. Ryan Evans was dead to her. He had to be.

She followed the smell of coffee down the hallway, emerging into the open-concept living area. The view of Seattle was breathtaking; rain-washed and glistening under the morning sun.

Ethan was standing by a kitchen island that looked more like a marble altar, drinking espresso. Lucas was there too, typing on a laptop.

"Good morning, Miss Reed," Lucas said, his smile genuine. "Did the boots fit?"

"Perfectly. Thank you, Lucas."

"Eat," Ethan commanded, sliding a plate of eggs and avocado toast toward her.

Emily sat on a barstool, picking up a fork. "You said we have work to do. What kind of work? Am I... am I cleaning?"

Lucas choked on his coffee. Ethan just stared at her, an unamused quirk to his brow.

"You are under the protection of the Silverclaw Pack," Ethan said, his voice dropping an octave. "We do not make our protected guests scrub toilets."

"Silverclaw," Emily tested the name. "I thought you were the Rogue King."

"A title given by my enemies," Ethan said, leaning his hip against the counter. "Because I refuse to bow to the Council. But make no mistake, Emily. I am an Alpha. And the Silverclaw Pack is the most powerful economic force on the West Coast, even if we operate in the shadows."

He tapped the countertop with a manicured finger. "Ryan Evans leads the Ironmoon Pack. They are old money, traditional, obsessed with blood purity. They believe power comes from lineage."

Ethan’s eyes darkened. "I believe power comes from leverage. And you, my dear, are the ultimate leverage."

Emily put her fork down, her appetite vanishing. "I'm not a weapon, Ethan. I'm a pregnant librarian."

"You are the mother of the Ironmoon heir," Ethan corrected sharply. "And right now, you are a ghost."

He gestured to Lucas, who turned his laptop around to face Emily.

On the screen was a news article from the Seattle Times. The headline made the blood drain from Emily’s face.

TRAGEDY AT EVANS TOWER: SEARCH UNDERWAY FOR MISSING EMPLOYEE.

Emily Reed, 23, a junior archivist at Evans Enterprises, was reported missing late last night after failing to return home. Sources close to the family say Miss Reed had been struggling with mental health issues. Police discovered her coat and shoes near the waterfront, leading to fears she may have jumped during the storm.

"He killed me," Emily whispered, reading the text through blurred vision. "He... he erased me."

"He spun a narrative," Ethan corrected coldly. "Suicide. The perfect cover. If your body is never found, it’s just a tragedy lost to the Puget Sound. If you are found dead, well... the poor girl was unstable."

Emily felt sick. "He’s winning. He gets to be the grieving boss, and I get to be the crazy girl who jumped."

"He is only winning because he thinks you are playing by his rules," Ethan said. He walked around the counter, stopping directly behind her. She could feel the heat radiating from him, the sheer size of him boxing her in.

He leaned down, his voice a velvet whisper in her ear. "But we are not playing by Ironmoon rules. We are playing by mine."

"What do we do?" Emily asked, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and a sudden, burning desire for revenge.

"We resurrect the dead," Ethan said.

He straightened up and looked at Lucas. "Is the appointment set?"

"Yes, Alpha. The OB-GYN is expecting us in an hour. Private entrance. No paper trail."

"Good." Ethan looked back at Emily. "First, we ensure the pup is healthy. Then, we go shopping for something more... aggressive."

"Aggressive?"

"Tonight is the Founders' Gala," Ethan dropped the bomb casually. "Every Alpha in the state will be there. Including Ryan Evans and his new fiancée, Claire Johnson."

Emily’s heart stopped. "You want me to go there? He’ll kill me! He said if he saw me..."

"He said if he saw you in his territory," Ethan interrupted. "The Gala is held on neutral ground. And more importantly..."

He reached out, his hand wrapping around the back of her neck. It wasn't a chokehold; it was a claim. His thumb rested against her pulse point, grounding her.

"You will not be walking in as Emily Reed, the poor human archivist. You will be walking in as my date."

Lucas looked up, surprised. "Alpha, that is... a statement. The Silverclaw Pack hasn't attended the Founders' Gala in five years."

"Then it is time we made an appearance," Ethan said, his eyes never leaving Emily’s face. "Ryan thinks you are a shameful secret? Tonight, you will be the most envied woman in the room. You will hang on my arm, you will smile, and you will watch the color drain from his face when he realizes his 'dead' ex is under the protection of the one wolf he is terrified to cross."

Emily trembled. "I can't. I’m not... I’m not like them, Ethan. I can’t stand in a room full of monsters and pretend not to be afraid."

Ethan’s grip on her neck tightened slightly, pulling her face up to meet his.

"You are carrying an Alpha’s child," he murmured. "You have survived rejection. You have survived the storm. You are stronger than you think."

He leaned closer, his violet eyes searing into hers.

"And you will not be alone. You will be with me. And I promise you, Emily... when I am by your side, I am the only monster in the room anyone needs to worry about."

A shiver raced down her spine—part terror, part exhilaration. She looked at the laptop screen, at Ryan’s smiling face in the sidebar of the article. The face of the man who wanted her dead.

Then she looked at Ethan. The man who wanted to use her, yes, but who had also given her vitamins and armor.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of coffee and cedarwood.

"Okay," she whispered.

Ethan smirked, a dark, dangerous curve of his lips. He released her neck and buttoned his suit jacket.

"Eat your eggs, Emily. You’re going to need your strength."

The clinic was sleek, private, and discreet. Dr. Aris, a woman with kind eyes and a scent that Emily now recognized as 'wolf', earthy and sharp conducted the ultrasound in silence while Ethan stood in the corner, arms crossed, watching the door like a sentry.

"There," Dr. Aris said softly, turning the monitor.

Emily gasped. It was just a tiny bean, a flicker of gray on the black screen. But the sound...

Swish-swish. Swish-swish.

A heartbeat. Fast and strong.

Tears pricked Emily’s eyes. "It’s okay? Even after the fall? The stress?"

"The pup is strong," Dr. Aris said, wiping the gel from Emily’s stomach. "Wolf pregnancies are resilient. But the mother is anemic and exhausted. You need rest, food, and no stress." She shot a pointed look at Ethan. "No stress, Alpha."

"I will handle it," Ethan said gruffly.

He moved from the corner, approaching the monitor. He stared at the grainy image for a long time. Emily watched him, expecting disgust. This was the "abomination" Ryan had rejected.

But Ethan didn't look disgusted. He looked... transfixed. He reached out a hand, hovering it near the screen without touching it.

"It has a strong heartbeat," he murmured.

"Yes," Emily said softly.

Ethan looked at her then. The violet fire in his eyes had dimmed to a simmering coal. "Ryan Evans is a fool," he repeated, with more venom than before. "To throw this away."

He turned abruptly. "We are done here. Lucas is waiting with the car. We have a dress to buy."

The rest of the day was a blur of high-end boutiques where the assistants didn't ask prices and offered champagne that Emily politely declined. Ethan would walk into a store, point at three or four gowns, order Emily to try them on, and then swipe a black card without looking at the total.

But it was the final dress that changed everything.

It was emerald green, a deep, shimmering forest hue that brought out the flecks of green in Emily’s hazel eyes. It was silk, strapless, with a slit that went dangerously high up her thigh, and a corset bodice that snatched her waist.

When she stepped out of the dressing room, Lucas actually stopped texting.

Ethan, who was on a call, went silent. He slowly lowered the phone. He walked a circle around her, his eyes critical, possessive.

"Too much?" Emily asked, fidgeting. "It feels... loud."

"It is perfect," Ethan decided. "It is the color of the Silverclaw crest."

He stood behind her, looking at their reflection in the mirror. He was dark and imposing; she was vibrant and glowing. They looked like a power couple. They looked dangerous.

"Tonight," Ethan whispered to her reflection, "you are not a victim. You are a queen. And you are going to make the Ironmoon Alpha regret the day he was born."

Emily looked at herself. She touched her stomach. She thought of the heartbeat on the monitor.

She lifted her chin.

"Let’s go," she said.

Ethan’s smirk returned, sharp as a blade. "That’s my girl."