Chapter two: Sold to the Larkspur Pack

ELIRA

The words hung in the suffocating space between us, heavy and toxic, floating through my hazy mind.

We were never mates. I lied.

I stood frozen, staring at Dorian's handsome face, searching for a twitch, a flicker of guilt, anything that would reveal this was just a twisted, sick joke. Nothing came. His dark eyes remained cold, smooth, and completely devoid of warmth. Beside him on the bed, Naya casually adjusted her dark hair, a small, satisfied smirk resting on her plush lips.

"I..." My throat was dry, the words scraping out like rust. "I was summoned today. To the Larkspur pack house. For Alpha Rurik's surrogacy selection."

I waited for the shock. I waited for Dorian's wolf aura to flare in protective rage at the thought of another pack taking me.

Neither of them blinked.

Naya let out a soft, amused hum, examining her manicured nails. Dorian merely tightened the belt of his silk robe, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe with infuriating composure.

"Oh," Dorian said, his tone as flat as if we were discussing the quarterly tax forms sitting on his office desk. "I was informed."

The final piece of my naivety shattered into tiny, unfixable shards. They knew. Dorian knew before I even opened the letter in his office. He had conveniently gotten involved with my stepsister, apparently with everyone's knowledge but me, all the while knowing that I would sooner not be a problem for him anymore.

The uncomfortable hardness in my chest didn't bleed out, like I stupidly thought it would. It condensed into a tight, icy knot right beneath my ribs, freezing the tears before they could leave my eyes.

"I see," I said softly.

I didn't scream. I didn't throw another punch at his solid chest. I simply turned around, picked up my broken phone from the tiles, and walked out of the bedroom. I didn't look back as Dorian's low voice began speaking to Naya again, nor did I speed up my pace as I left the quiet house behind.

The drive to the Montrose estate passed in a blur of gray streets and distant trees. The initial, crushing shock of the betrayal retreated, replaced slowly by a cold, sharp clarity. They thought I was a submissive, broken thing to be traded off to clear debts and secure political favors.

They were wrong.

When I pushed open the heavy front doors of the Montrose house, my stepmother, Klora, was already waiting in the main sitting room. She sat on the velvet sofa, sipping tea from a delicate porcelain cup, her eyes locking onto me the second I stepped into the foyer.

"Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence," Klora drawled, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. She set her teacup down with a sharp clink. "I assume you received your little letter from the Larkspur pack? Imagine my surprise when an official courier arrived here demanding confirmation of your residence."

I stopped at the edge of the room, my hands resting calmly inside my jacket pockets. "I'm leaving," I said quietly.

"Of course you are. It's long overdue," Klora said, leaning back with a cold, dismissive shoulder shrug. "You are of no consequence to us, Elira. If you can honour this family's name by participating in that obtuse selection for an alpha who's better off on the other side than here, it would be good. At least the compensation f*e for your participation in their trials will do some good here. You should be grateful that you are being useful for once in your miserable life."

I stared at her, feeling no anger, no sadness, only a vast, empty silence.

"Where is…" I paused momentarily, swallowing. "Where is Elder Kael?" I asked evenly. No matter how many times I had mentioned it, my stepfather's name would always feel heavy on my lips.

Klora blinked, caught off guard by the absence of tears or pleading in my voice. She narrowed her eyes. "He couldn't care less if you weren't here. Hurry. The Larkspur enforcers are strict about their timelines, and I will not have this household fined because you were brooding."

I turned without a word and climbed the stairs to my small bedroom at the end of the hall. The room was sparse, containing only a single bed, a wooden desk, and a simple closet. I pulled a single gray suitcase from the top shelf and laid it open on the mattress. I packed methodically. Three changes of simple clothing. My personal journal. The worn silver pocket watch that was the last of my birth mother's possessions.

I was done in five minutes.

As I zipped the bag shut, a heavy, thunderous vibration shook the floorboards. Outside the front windows, the low, synchronized hum of high-powered engines rumbled through the quiet estate grounds.

I walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. Two massive, dark-armored SUVs bearing the silver crest of the Larkspur pack had pulled into the driveway. Four tall, heavily built enforcers stepped out, their eyes scanning the perimeter with lethal efficiency.

It was 18:00 hours exactly.

I grabbed my suitcase, descended the stairs, and walked right past Klora without giving her the satisfaction of a single glance. She opened her mouth to shoot another bitter jibe, but the sight of the towering Larkspur guards standing at her front door made her instantly seal her lips.

The lead enforcer, a scarred man with sharp gray eyes, gave me a single curt nod. "Elira Montrose?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Let us go."

I walked between him and another man, dressed exactly like him, the same broad, towering frame. He opened the rear door of the second vehicle for me. I pulled my dress back slightly, climbed into the leather interior, and rested my single suitcase against my knees. The heavy door slammed shut, sealing out the quiet evening air.

The armored SUV reversed down the long, winding driveway of the Montrose estate, turning sharply onto the main road that led toward the pack border.

As we reached the outer gates of the Nightswirl territory, a sleek black sports car slowed down in the opposite lane.

Through the tinted glass of my window, I looked directly into the sports car.

Dorian was behind the wheel. Naya sat in the passenger seat beside him, her head resting lazily against his shoulder as they laughed about something between them.

For a fraction of a second, as the two vehicles passed side by side at the intersection, Dorian turned his head. His eyes met mine through the glass.

I didn't hide. I didn't flinch. I sat tall against the leather seat, resting my hands neatly on my lap. I stared back at him, my expression completely smooth, my eyes cold, calm, and stripped of every ounce of affection I had ever felt for him.

Dorian's smile faltered slightly as he registered the empty, dead stillness in my gaze.

Then the Larkspur driver pressed the accelerator, the engine roared, and the black car carrying Dorian vanished into my rearview mirror.