Chapter 2

"Lock the door. Let her calm down in her room."

I stepped down the spiral staircase from the third floor, holding a cold-storage box. Derrick's voice hit my ears, thick with exhaustion and irritation.

At the corner of the stairs, six-year-old Hazel pressed herself flat against the wall.

Her white dress was ripped at the seam. Scrapes covered her bare knees. She curled into a tight, trembling ball.

Maids from the east wing stood along the walls, heads down. Nobody dared to step in.

Nadia knelt on the floor, rubbing seven-year-old Wyatt's hand.

A faint pink mark barely showed on the boy's skin, yet he wailed at the top of his lungs.

"Derrick, don't blame the child..." Nadia looked up. Her eyes were rimmed with red, her voice barely a whisper. "I wasn't watching Wyatt closely enough. He just thought the stone was pretty and wanted to touch it..."

Near the edge of the rug lay a moonstone, cracked clean in half. The twisted chain sat beside it.

Derrick carved that amulet himself. He stayed up all night to etch Hazel's name into it when her inner wolf first stirred at two years old.

He held her in his arms back then and called it a father's lifelong promise.

Now, it was shattered on the floor.

"Daddy gave that to me..." Hazel saw me. Heavy tears poured down her cheeks. She pointed a shaking finger at the boy, choking on her words. "He went through my drawers and stole it! He threw it on the floor on purpose! I tried to grab it back, he shoved me, so I bit him!"

Derrick stood by the coffee table. He loosened his shirt collar, his brows knit tight.

He never glanced at the broken pieces on the floor. He rested a hand on Wyatt's head, stroked the boy's hair, and then turned to look at his own daughter.

His eyes held nothing but tired, cold disappointment.

"Hazel, you are an heir to this pack," Derrick said, his voice dropping into the harsh tone of a commander lecturing a soldier. "Wyatt's father died defending our borders. He's an orphan. He has no family here. You have everything in the world. You bite another child over a rock?"

"You made that for me..." Hazel sobbed, struggling to breathe.

"I will fly in ten better ones from Zurich tomorrow."

Derrick pinched the bridge of his nose, cutting her off cold.

"Tonight is the pack bonfire for our fallen warriors. The whole territory is watching us. You bit another wolf's son. You're not going to the ceremony tonight. Go to your room and think about what you did."

"Derrick Thorne."

I stepped off the final stair and pulled my daughter behind me.

"You carved that stone for her yourself. A boy sneaks into her room, steals it, and smashes it. You won't even check the cameras, and you lock your own daughter away?"

Derrick looked at me and sighed.

He took half a step closer. His hand reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

He did that every single time he tried to calm me down over the last four years.

I jerked my head away.

His hand froze in midair. He dropped it slowly, and his expression turned to ice.

"Valerie, we are mates, but you are being way too sensitive," he lowered his voice, forcing himself to stay patient. "Nadia just lost her husband. The whole pack is watching how I treat them. Hazel bit him. That is a fact. I have to show the pack accountability. She's our daughter. What's wrong with making a small sacrifice for the pack? I will make it up to her later."

"Accountability?" I stared at him.

"Yes. The big picture matters most." He glanced down at his watch. "The district elders are already in the second-floor conference room. I don't have time to referee kids fighting in the hall. Take Hazel upstairs. Change her clothes. Stop causing a scene in front of the staff."

He patted my shoulder as if telling me to fall in line. Then he gestured to a guard to take Nadia and her son to get cleaned up, and marched off toward the conference room.

He saw zero wrong with what he did.

To him, this was just strong leadership. My daughter and I were simply expected to swallow the pain to hold up his pedestal.

An east wing guard stepped up. "Luna, please take the young lady to her room."

I walked right past him. I knelt down slowly and gathered the sharp pieces of moonstone into my palm.

The jagged edges cut into my skin, drawing thin lines of blood.

"Mommy," Hazel threw her arms around my neck, crying softly into my shoulder. "Does Daddy hate me now?"

"Not at all, baby." I scooped her up and carried her into her second-floor bedroom. "Draw some pictures for Mommy. I'll come get you at ten."

I closed her door and walked straight down to the end of the hall.

The heavy double doors were cracked open. The bitter smell of cigars and the deep voices of elders leaked out into the hall.

"...The budget for the east wing renovation looks solid, Derrick. You take damn good care of your dead men's families."

"It's my duty, Uncle," Derrick answered, his tone smooth and respectful.

I walked right up and shoved both doors open.

The six elders sitting around the mahogany table stopped talking all at once. They looked up in shock.

Derrick sat at the head of the table in a sharp black suit. He was dropping an ice cube into his whiskey glass.

When he saw me standing in the doorway, his face hardened. "Valerie? I told you to stay in the room with Hazel. We are finalizing my speech for tonight."

I walked down the length of the long table, straight to his side.

The elders traded uneasy glances. The room went freezing cold.

Derrick frowned and reached for his glass, eager to drink away his irritation.

Before his fingers brushed the crystal, I snatched the heavy whiskey glass off the table.

Right in front of all six elders, I slammed it onto the marble floor.

The glass shattered. Amber liquor splashed across the floor, soaking the legs of Derrick's expensive trousers.

Total silence gripped the room.

"Valerie, you've lost your damn mind."

Derrick shoved his chair back and surged to his feet. His Alpha aura slammed through the room.

Next second, my open palm cracked across his left cheek.

The slap rang out like a gunshot.

Nobody breathed.

Derrick stood frozen, his head knocked to the side. A dark red handprint bloomed across his jaw.

He turned his head back slowly. Rage burned behind his eyes.

"Valerie..." His jaw locked tight. His chest heaved. Blood flooded his face. "You slap me in front of the council over child's play?"

"That slap was for Hazel."

"Derrick, you don't care about the pack. You just get off on playing the holy savior."

"She lost her mate, so she gets your mercy? And you crush your own daughter's dignity to make yourself look noble?"

A flash of raw panic broke through the rage in Derrick's eyes.

He reached out to catch my wrist. "Calm down. I never said I wouldn't fix it. I told you, after the ceremony—"

I took a step back and dodged his grip.

"Don't bother."

I looked around at the stunned faces of the elders, then turned my back on him.

"You're pathetic as a father."

"Don't look for us at the bonfire tonight. Hazel and I won't show our faces for a single second."