Chapter 1: The Art of Breaking

The champagne tasted like ash, but I swallowed it anyway.

"Smile, Raya. You look like you’re attending a funeral," Sienna whispered, her fingers digging a little too hard into my forearm.

I adjusted the silk strap of my emerald gown, fighting the urge to shake her off. "It’s the Ascendance Ball, Sienna. Nerves are part of the tradition. Tonight, Drail claims me as Luna. It’s not exactly a small event."

Sienna didn’t smile. She had this look in her eyes—something sharp, glinting under the massive crystal chandeliers of the Montenegro Estate. It looked like pity mixed with poison. She smoothed the fabric of her own dress, a pale silver thing that hugged her waist a little tighter than usual.

"Plans change, sweetie," she murmured, taking a sip of her drink.

"What is that supposed to—"

The massive oak doors at the top of the grand staircase slammed open. The chatter in the room, a mix of French, Italian, and English, died instantly.

Drail stood there.

My wolf, usually calm, began to pace anxiously in my chest. Something is wrong, she whimpered. He smells like... rot.

Drail descended the stairs, not with the grace of a future Alpha, but with the staggering arrogance of a man who knows he holds the detonator to a bomb. He didn't look at me with love. He looked at me like I was a stain on the marble floor.

I stepped forward, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Drail? The ceremony is about to start."

He stopped on the bottom step, towering over me. The crowd formed a tight circle, eager for the show. The silence was deafening.

"There won't be a ceremony, Raya."

I blinked, the words not registering. "What? Is it the Council? Did—"

"I, Drail Montenegro, future Alpha of the Crescent Elite..." His voice boomed, amplified by his Alpha tone, vibrating through the floorboards. "Reject you, Raya Tyndall, as my mate."

The pain wasn't immediate. It was a delay, like a thunderclap following lightning. Then, it snapped. A severance in my soul so violent I gasped, clutching my chest. The bond withered and died, leaving a cold, hollow pit in my stomach.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Phones were raised. Recording.

"Drail..." I choked out, reaching for him. "Why?"

He slapped my hand away. Hard. The sound echoed.

"Look at you," he sneered, his British accent clipped and cruel. "Weak. Pathetic. Do you really think a Tyndall is fit to lead this pack? I need a Luna who can give me an heir. Not a charity case."

"We are fated," I whispered, tears blurring the room.

"Fate is for fairytales." He turned, extending a hand into the crowd. "Come here, love."

Sienna stepped forward.

The room spun. My best friend. The girl who helped me zip up my dress three hours ago. She walked past me, her hip checking mine, knocking me off balance. She took Drail’s hand, lacing her fingers with his.

"Tell her," Sienna said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "She deserves to know why she’s being replaced."

Drail smirked, placing a large hand flat on Sienna’s stomach.

"Because Sienna is already carrying the next Alpha," Drail announced, his eyes locking onto mine, savoring my destruction. "Three months along. We’ve been... intimate... since the Winter Solstice."

The winter solstice. When I was nursing his sick mother. While I was taking care of his family, he was bedding my best friend.

"You're lying," I whispered, shaking.

Sienna laughed. It was a light, tinkling sound that made me want to scream. "Oh, Raya. Don't be tragic. You were always just a placeholder. Drail needed a distraction until I was ready." She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear, close enough that no one else could hear. "He says I taste better than you ever did."

Laughter.

The crowd was laughing. The High Society of the werewolf world, people I grew up with, were covering their mouths and snickering at the rejected girl.

I couldn't breathe. The walls were closing in. I turned on my heel and ran.

I pushed through the heavy double doors, ignoring the shouts of the guards, and sprinted out into the garden. It had started to rain—a freezing, torrential London downpour that soaked me to the bone in seconds.

I didn't stop until I reached the old stone folly at the edge of the estate, near the cliffs. I collapsed onto the wet stone bench, gasping for air, the rain mixing with the hot tears on my face. My wolf was howling, a sound of pure agony in my head.

Rejected. Unwanted. Broken.

"Bit dramatic, isn't it?"

The voice was low, dark, and wrapped in smoke.

I froze. I wiped my eyes frantically and looked into the shadows of the folly.

A man was leaning against a stone pillar, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. He was massive—broader than Drail, taller, with an aura so suppressing it made the air heavy. He wore a tuxedo, but the jacket was discarded on the bench, his sleeves rolled up to reveal ink black tattoos winding around thick, corded forearms.

Derek Montenegro.

Drail’s older brother. The outcast. The one they whispered about in fear. He wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be in exile in Italy.

"Get away from me," I snapped, though my voice trembled. "Are you here to mock me too?"

He took a slow drag from his cigarette, the cherry glowing bright orange in the dark, illuminating sharp cheekbones and eyes the color of storm clouds. He dropped the butt and crushed it under a polished dress shoe.

"Mock you?" He pushed off the pillar, stalking toward me. He moved like a predator—silent, lethal. "Why would I mock a woman who just handed me the keys to the kingdom?"

I pressed my back against the cold stone. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He stopped inches from me. He smelled of rain, expensive whiskey, and something feral—like cedar and blood. He reached out, his rough thumb tracing the tear track on my cheek. The touch sent a shockwave of heat through me that had nothing to do with the bond and everything to do with fear... and attraction.

"Drail is an idiot," Derek murmured, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "He thinks rejecting you makes him strong. He thinks breeding with that snake gives him power."

"He has an heir," I spat bitterly. "That makes him Alpha."

Derek chuckled darkly. It wasn't a nice sound. "He has a bastard. Pack Law, Article 7: An Alpha cannot ascend without a mated Luna. A true mate."

My eyes widened. "He rejected the bond."

"Exactly. Which leaves the position open." Derek leaned in closer, trapping me between his arms. His gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes. "I need a wife, Raya. Tonight. Before the clock strikes twelve and the Council ratifies Drail’s claim."

"You... you want to marry me?" I scoffed, hysterical laughter bubbling up. "I’m a reject, Derek. I’m damaged goods."

"You are a Tyndall," he corrected, his voice dropping to a command. "Your bloodline is older than this estate. And you are angry."

He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. His fingers were possessive, firm.

"I can see it in your eyes, tesoro," he whispered, the Italian endearment rolling off his tongue. "You want to tear his throat out. You want to make that bitch cry blood."

"I want them to suffer," I admitted, the truth tearing out of me.

"Then marry me." His eyes flared with gold—his wolf pushing to the surface. "We walk back into that ballroom. I claim you. We take the Alpha title. And then... we burn their world down."

My heart hammered. It was insanity. It was treason. Derek was dangerous, ruthless, a criminal warlord in the supernatural underground.

"Why me?" I asked breathlessly.

"Because you are the only one with enough hate in your heart to survive what I’m about to do to them."

He didn't wait for an answer. He checked his watch—a platinum piece that cost more than my house.

"We have five minutes, Raya. Yes or no?"

I thought of Sienna’s hand on her stomach. I thought of Drail’s laughter.

I looked up into Derek’s cold, beautiful face.

"Yes."

Derek didn't smile. He didn't offer a gentle kiss.

He grabbed the lapels of my soaked dress and yanked me flush against his hard body. "Good. Then brace yourself."

"For what?"

"For the performance of your life."

He tilted his head, baring his neck to me, and then he did the unthinkable. He didn't just mark me.

He bit down on his own wrist, drawing dark blood, and pressed it against my mouth.

"Drink," he commanded, his voice shaking the ground beneath us. "Seal the contract."

I hesitated for a split second, then pressed my lips to his wrist. The metallic taste hit my tongue, and power—ancient, terrifying power—surged through my veins. It wasn't just Alpha blood. I felt something different. It was beyond my control. Derek brushed his hands on neck, sending shivers down my spine. His wolf stirred.

He pulled me close and for a moment, I lost control, a kiss came first, it wasn't planned but it felt strange but safe.

I stepped back but his hands were still firm on my dress, causing it to pull up in a way that revealed my thigh.

His wolf stirred again. This time, it looked desperate and out of control. He pulled me in for another kiss I couldn't resist and somehow, his hands found its way down my thigh.

I moaned as warmth spread through my body, pooling low in my stomach. His hunger met mine. Derek's fingers went up my thick folds until it found my already wet pussy. Derek didn't hesitate. He slid a finger into my pussy and then another found my clit.

Breathless, I moaned softly into his ear. Lost in the heat of the moment—until the sharp ring of a bell snapped us out of the overwhelming haze.

Derek pulled back slowly, his eyes glowing neon gold.

"Now," he growled, adjusting my gown and grabbing my hand, pulling me toward the manor lights. "Let's go tell my dear baby brother that his King has returned."

We reached the patio doors just as Drail was raising a toast inside.

Derek kicked the glass doors open. They shattered inward, shards raining onto the carpet. The wind howled into the ballroom, extinguishing half the candles.

Silence fell again.

Derek stepped over the broken glass, dragging me with him. He looked like a god of war, wet, tattooed, and terrifying.

"Sorry we're late," Derek’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

Drail dropped his glass. Sienna turned pale.

"Derek?" Drail stammered. "You... you’re exiled. You can't be here."

Derek smirked, wrapping a possessive arm around my waist, pulling me so tight my feet almost left the floor.

"Correction, brother," Derek said smoothly. He looked at the Council Elders seated in the front row. "I am here to claim my birthright."

"You have no mate!" Drail shouted, panic rising in his voice. "You cannot challenge me!"

Derek turned to me. He lifted my hand, the one with his blood still staining my lips, and kissed my knuckles. The air in the room shifted. Everyone felt it. The pressure. The dominance.

"Actually," Derek said, his eyes locking onto Drail’s terrified face. "I found her."

He paused, letting the tension suffocate the room.

"And here is the funny part, brother," Derek whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear. "You thought she was your fated mate."

Derek’s eyes flashed, and for the first time, I saw the insignia on his cufflinks. The twin crest.

"But Raya was never fated to you, Drail. She was fated to the Montenegro bloodline." Derek pulled me into a dip, his face inches from mine. "And the Moon Goddess doesn't make mistakes. She was just waiting for the stronger twin to come and collect."

My breath hitched.

What?

Before I could ask, Derek crushed his mouth to mine in a kiss that wasn't about love—it was a branding. And as his lips moved against mine, I felt a snap. A real one.

Not the breakage I felt with Drail. This was a collision. A tether slamming into place, anchoring my soul to the dark, terrifying man holding me.

MATE.

My wolf screamed it.

I pulled back, gasping, staring at Derek with wide eyes. It wasn't a lie. It wasn't a fake contract.

Derek winked at me, a cold, predatory glint in his eye.

"Surprise, wife."