Chapter 3

"Show me," he says, the command softened by genuine curiosity.

Clover hesitates, studying his face for any sign of mockery or trap. Finding none, she retrieves her phone from the nearby dresser and unlocks it. Her fingers move swiftly across the screen, pulling up a series of messages from various pack members. She hands it to him without comment, watching his expression carefully.

Milton scrolls through the messages, his eyebrows drawing together as he reads. Anonymous accounts calling her "Beta bitch" and "bloodline mistake." Suggestions that she should reject her position for the "good of the pack." Threats thinly veiled as advice. Some dating back years, others from just this morning.

"How long has this been happening?" he asks, his voice deceptively calm even as rage builds within him. His wolf is snarling now, protective instincts flaring unexpectedly.

"Since I was fourteen," she answers simply. "Around the time it became clear my father wouldn't produce a male heir. So do whatever, because I’m long over it. Now Alpha Heir, I think we’re done here, go back to being you."

Milton stares at her, his jaw working as conflicting emotions battle within him. Her dismissal stings in a way he doesn't want to acknowledge. His wolf, however, is having none of it, pushing against his consciousness with unprecedented force.

"We're not done," he says, his voice rougher than intended. "Not even close."

He takes another step toward her, close enough now that he catches the subtle scent of lavender and something uniquely Clover beneath it. Something his wolf recognises instantly, though Milton himself refuses to process the implications.

"You should have brought these messages to me sooner," he says, holding up her phone.

Clover lets out a harsh laugh that contains no humour. "I did. Three times. You told me to stop being dramatic and that leadership requires thick skin."

The memory hits Milton like a physical blow. She had come to him, evidence in hand, and he had dismissed her without a second thought. His wolf growls in reproach, making Milton wince slightly.

"I... don't remember that," he lies, though they both know better.

“Yeah, sure, you don’t much like everything else, you never noticed, like my handwriting doesn’t match from one report to another. Just leave, please. I still have to get ready for tonight, and people will talk if pack members find out you were in my bedroom. Perhaps it might be better for everyone if I were to transfer to one of our allied packs. Some have offered me a place if things didn’t work out here; maybe that would be best for everyone.”

Milton freezes, a cold sensation washing over him at her words. The thought of Clover leaving the pack, his pack, creates an unexpected hollow feeling in his chest that his rational mind can't explain away.

"Transfer?" he says, the word coming out harsher than intended. His wolf is practically thrashing now, rejecting the very notion with a ferocity that startles Milton himself. "That's not happening."

Clover tilts her head slightly, studying him. For the first time, she notices the faint lines of tension around his eyes, the rigid set of his shoulders. Something is off about him today; he seems less controlled, more volatile than usual.

"Why would you care?" she challenges. "You'd finally be rid of me. You could make Peter your Beta without any political complications. And don’t think I haven’t heard you say that you were what was the words ‘I got condemned with a female Beta. The Goddess must have been taking the piss out of our pack.’ Don’t make me laugh that you want me now as your Beta."

Milton freezes, colour draining from his face. He had never imagined she might have overheard those careless words, words his wolf had immediately challenged him on. The shame that floods through him is unexpected and unwelcome.

"You weren't meant to hear that," he says finally, his voice uncharacteristically subdued.

"But I did," Clover replies, crossing her arms. "And so did half the pack staff near your office that day. Funny how rumours spread, isn't it?"

Milton's wolf is practically howling now, demanding he make this right, though Milton himself can't understand the intensity of this reaction. Something primal stirs within him, a protective instinct he's never felt toward Clover before.

“So much so that I believe the going pool of bets is that I will be exiled by you tonight, coz you couldn’t do it before I shifted. So I think this conversation is over. Go run off to your friends for a good laugh. There are some things I must do before I shift.”

Milton stares at her, his entire body rigid with a tension he doesn't fully understand. His wolf is frantic now, pushing against his control with unprecedented force, desperate to prevent her from leaving. The animal inside him recognises what the man refuses to acknowledge.

"There is no bet," he says, his voice rough. "And there will be no exile."

“Are you sure there is no bet? I dare you to check your group chat.”

Milton's jaw clenches as his hand instinctively goes to his pocket. His phone feels suddenly heavy, like a stone of guilt. He hesitates, then pulls it out, scrolling through messages from Peter, Damien, and the other high-ranking wolves who form his inner circle.

His eyes widen as he comes across a thread started three days ago: "ODDS ON CLOVER LASTING PAST HER CEREMONY?" followed by a series of increasingly cruel wagers. Peter hasn't participated, but he hasn't shut it down either. The evidence is undeniable.

"I didn't know about this," Milton says, his voice hollow with genuine shock. His wolf is in a frenzy now, demanding retribution against those who would threaten what is... Milton cuts that thought off before it can fully form, but his hands shake slightly as he pockets the phone again.

Clover watches the truth register on his face, a bitter satisfaction mixing with the hurt she's long since learned to bury. "Now you know. So please, just go. I need to make an offering to my mother, and you’re stopping me, or am I not allowed that now, too?"