CHAPTER FIVE

The guard's grip on my arm was bruising as he dragged me back down the hallway, away from that door, away from the truth I'd just overheard. My heels scraped against the carpet, my attempts to pull free completely useless against his iron hold.

"Let go of me!" I hissed, trying to keep my voice down even as panic clawed at my throat. "I can walk on my own."

He didn't respond. Didn't even look at me. Just kept pulling me forward with mechanical efficiency until we reached the ornate door of the room I'd been locked in earlier.

He pushed it open and shoved me inside with enough force that I stumbled, catching myself on the edge of a chair. Before I could turn around, the door slammed shut behind me. The lock clicked into place with that same terrible finality.

I stood there for a moment, breathing hard, my mind racing. Tyler's body hadn't been found. After a month of searching, there was still no trace of him. What did that mean? Had the river carried him so far that recovery was impossible? Or was there a chance—no. No, I couldn't let myself hope. Hope was dangerous. Hope would destroy me all over again.

I walked to the window on shaking legs and pressed my forehead against the cool glass. Below, the gardens were still lit with those soft lanterns, still beautiful and perfect and completely oblivious to my suffering.

The clock on the mantle read 11:56 PM.

Four minutes until midnight. Four minutes until I'd be paraded in front of the entire pack as Damon's Luna.

I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. My hands were still trembling from the adrenaline of being caught, from the shock of what I'd heard. I'd knocked out two innocent maids, nearly escaped, eavesdropped on a private conversation, and now I was right back where I started.

Trapped.

The sound of the door opening made me spin around.

Damon stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. He stepped inside and closed the door softly behind him, his eyes never leaving my face.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched between us, heavy with everything we weren't saying.

"I underestimated you," he finally said, his voice low and measured. "I didn't think you'd actually go through with it. Knocking out my staff, sneaking through my mansion in the middle of a ceremony." His lips curved into something that might have been a smile if it had reached his eyes. "I won't make that mistake again."

"Good," I shot back, lifting my chin even as my heart hammered against my ribs. "Because I'll do it again the first chance I get. You can lock me in all the rooms you want, station all the guards you can spare, but I will never stop trying to escape you."

Something flickered across his face—hurt, maybe, or anger. But it was gone so quickly I couldn't be sure.

"Why do you hate me so much?" The question came out quieter than I expected, almost vulnerable. "I know you blame me for Tyler's death. But is that the only reason? Or is there something else?"

"Isn't that enough?" My voice cracked despite my best efforts to keep it steady. "You killed the man I loved. You took away my future, my happiness, everything I'd ever wanted. And now you're forcing me into a life I never chose, with a man I can't stand to be near."

"I'm trying to protect you—"

"I don't want your protection!" The words exploded out of me, sharp and vicious. "I don't want anything from you except to be left alone. But you can't even give me that, can you? You have to control everything, own everything, possess everything—"

"That's not what this is about."

"Then what is it about?" I stepped toward him, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. "Why are you doing this? Why marry me? Why force this bond when there isn't one? When there will never be one?"

He stared at me for a long moment, his jaw tight, muscles working beneath his skin. I could see him wrestling with something, some truth he didn't want to speak.

But then he shook his head, and that cold mask slipped back into place.

"The ceremony starts in two minutes," he said, his tone shifting to something more formal, more distant. "You need to be there."

"I told you, I'm not—"

"You will be there, Elodie." His voice hardened, leaving no room for argument. "Whether you walk down those stairs on your own or I carry you down myself, you will be at that ceremony. The choice is yours."

We stared at each other, the air crackling with tension and unspoken fury. Part of me wanted to refuse just to spite him, to make him drag me kicking and screaming in front of his entire pack.

But I was tired. So tired of fighting. And I knew, deep down, that it wouldn't matter. He'd win either way. He always did.

"Fine," I said through gritted teeth. "I'll go to your ceremony. I'll stand there and smile and play the perfect Luna. But don't mistake my compliance for acceptance. I will never accept this. Never."

Something in his expression cracked, just for a moment. His eyes went soft, almost sad, and when he spoke again, his voice carried a weight I'd never heard before.

"I know," he said quietly. "And I'm sorry for that. I truly am."

Then he turned toward the door, his hand on the handle. But he paused, his shoulders tensing.

"Two more maids will be here shortly to escort you downstairs." He didn't look back at me. "Don't be late."

The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone once more.

I stood there in that beautiful prison, my chest tight with a confusing tangle of emotions I didn't want to examine. Anger. Fear. Grief. And underneath it all, something else I refused to name.

A knock at the door made me jump.

"Miss Vexley?" A soft voice called from the other side. "We're here to escort you to the ceremony."

I took a deep breath, smoothing down my dress with trembling hands. The burgundy silk felt like chains against my skin, beautiful and suffocating all at once.

This was it. There was no more running. No more fighting. At least not tonight.

I walked to the door and opened it. Two young maids stood there, both different from the ones I'd knocked unconscious earlier. These two looked nervous, their eyes darting between each other like they weren't sure what to expect from me.

Smart. After what I'd done to their colleagues, they had every right to be wary.

"We're ready when you are, miss," one of them said, her voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. They stepped aside, and I walked past them into the hallway.

The mansion had transformed while I'd been locked away. The corridors were lined with candles now, their flickering light casting dancing shadows on the walls. Soft music drifted up from below—something classical and haunting that made my skin prickle.

We made our way through the maze of hallways, the maids staying close but not touching me. They'd learned that lesson, apparently.

As we approached the grand staircase, the music grew louder. I could hear voices now too—the low murmur of conversation, the clink of glasses, the rustle of expensive fabric.

The ceremony had already begun.

We stopped at the top of the stairs, and I looked down at the scene below.

The foyer had been completely transformed. The massive space was packed with people—hundreds of them, all dressed in elegant gowns and sharp suits. But what struck me most were the masks. Everyone wore them—elaborate creations of feathers and jewels and silk that covered the upper half of their faces.

A mating ceremony tradition. Masks to hide identities until the bond revealed itself, until fate drew mates together despite the disguise.

The memory hit me like a physical blow. Tyler. The night we'd found each other at a ceremony just like this one. I'd been wearing a simple silver mask, and he'd been in black. Our eyes had met across a crowded room, and I'd felt it—that pull, that undeniable certainty that he was mine and I was his.

Now I was about to walk into another ceremony, wearing another dress, standing beside another man. And Tyler was gone.

A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. I wiped it away quickly, hoping the maids hadn't noticed.

"Miss?" one of them prompted gently. "They're waiting."

I took a breath and started down the stairs.

Every eye turned toward me immediately.

The conversations died away, replaced by whispers that swept through the crowd like wildfire. Even with their masks on, I could feel their stares, could sense their judgment.

"That's her..."

"Tyler's mate..."

"Shameless, isn't she? Not even a full year..."

"I heard she was only with Tyler for his position. Now she's moved on to the Alpha himself."

"It's disgusting. Taboo. She should be cast out..."

"A whore, that's what she is. Couldn't even wait a month before warming his best friend's bed..."

Each whispered word was a knife to my chest, but I kept my head high. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me break. Not again.

The crowd parted as I descended, creating a clear path through the sea of masked faces. Some looked at me with pity. Others with disdain. A few with barely concealed disgust.

I focused on the podium at the far end of the room, where Damon sat in an ornate chair that looked more like a throne. His legs were crossed casually, but there was nothing casual about the intensity of his gaze as he watched me approach.

Even from this distance, even with half his face hidden behind a black mask decorated with silver and gold, I could feel the weight of his stare.

My feet moved mechanically, carrying me forward through that gauntlet of judgment. One step. Another. Each one bringing me closer to a future I didn't want, a life I hadn't chosen.

This should have been Tyler beside me. Tyler's hand I'd be holding. Tyler's mark on my neck, permanent and perfect and proof that I was loved.

Another tear escaped. I blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the flood threatening to break free.

I was halfway across the room when something on the massive screen behind Damon's podium caught my eye.

The screen was enormous—clearly meant to display the ceremonial dance that would happen later, showing the Alpha and his Luna to the entire pack. But right now, instead of remaining blank or showing some decorative pattern, it displayed an image that made my blood run cold.

My father.

Tied to a chair in what looked like our living room. His face was bruised, blood trickling from a cut above his eyebrow. His eyes were wide with terror, and even though the screen was silent, I could see his mouth moving, forming words I couldn't hear.

Help me. Please.

I stopped walking, my feet rooted to the spot. The whispers around me faded to a dull roar as blood rushed in my ears.

"Dad?" The word came out as barely a whisper, but in the suddenly silent room, it might as well have been a scream.

On the screen, the camera pulled back, revealing another figure standing behind my father's chair. A man I'd never seen before—tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and a cruel smile.

He leaned down and whispered something in my father's ear. My father shook his head frantically, tears streaming down his face.

Then the man pulled out a knife.

"No," I breathed, my hands flying to my mouth. "No, no, no—"

The entire room had gone silent now. Everyone was staring at the screen, at the horrifying scene playing out in real-time.

Damon shot to his feet, his casual demeanor vanishing in an instant. "What the hell is this? Who authorized—"

But I wasn't listening anymore. My eyes were locked on that screen, on my father's terrified face, on the knife glinting in the harsh light.

The man on screen looked directly at the camera—directly at me—and smiled.

Then text appeared at the bottom of the screen, stark white letters against the black background:

**"RETURN WHAT WAS PROMISED. OR HE DIES."**

My legs gave out.

I fell to my knees in the middle of that crowded room, my dress pooling around me like blood, my world crashing down for the second time in as many months.

"Dad," I whispered, my voice breaking on the word. "Dad..."