C4

"The music program was a Blood Moon tradition, Chika. I didn’t think you’d mind if I used that little melody you were humming in the shower. I just needed a hit to get the Okafor Moon Clan to notice me," Bianca smirked, her eyes gleaming with that predatory greed our family cultivated. "It wasn't plagiarism; it was a Whitmore contribution."

I stared at my sister across the marble breakfast table, my hands trembling. That 'melody' was a complex arrangement I’d spent months scoring, a piece meant to prove I was more than just a political pawn. She’d turned it into a trashy club anthem for the Mafia elite.

"You stole my work, Bianca. You let the world think you’re a prodigy while I’m barred from the competition because I can't prove I wrote it first," I whispered, my voice thick with a sense of betrayal that felt like a physical weight.

"Don't be so dramatic, Chika," my mother, Helena, cut in, not even looking up from her tactical tablet. "Bianca has the charisma for the spotlight. You have the technical skill. It was a logical transfer of resources. Now, go back to the study and finish the bridge for her next track. She has a gala performance in two weeks."

I had turned to Ronan back then, seeking some shred of protection, some proof that I mattered to someone.

"You're being incredibly selfish, Chika," Ronan had sighed, his eyes fixed on a map of the Blackwell territories. "It’s just a song. Your family needs a win right now, and Bianca is providing it. Why do you have to be so difficult? Support your bloodline for once."

That was the moment I realized I was invisible in my own life. I was a ghostwriter for my sister’s career, a bargaining chip for my father’s business, and a placeholder for Ronan’s boredom.

"Please, Ms. Hopkins. I’m not that same person anymore," I said, my voice resonating in the quiet of the Conservatory office. "I’m not bowing to their 'logic' ever again. Give me the slot on the tour. I’ll be the best cellist you’ve ever seen, or you can strip me of my rank yourself."

Wanda Hopkins looked at me, a sharp, assessing gaze that stripped away the Whitmore pretenses. "You have the fire of a wolf who’s finally smelled blood, Chika. I’ll take the risk. Don’t make me regret it."

I walked out of the Conservatory, the registration receipt tucked safely in my jacket. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Cedric.

"What have you done, you useless whelp?" my father’s voice roared through the line, vibrating with a rage that usually preceded a beating. "The Blackwell Pack just pulled their security detail from our north-side warehouses. We’re exposed! What did you say to Ronan?"

"He left me at the altar for a rival heir, Father," I said, my voice eerily calm as I walked toward the taxi stand. "I didn't say anything. I just stopped pretending that his disrespect didn't have a price. We’re over."

"You arrogant pup! Get home. Now!"

I knew what was coming. Cedric Whitmore didn't negotiate; he enforced. But I didn't care. I was already a ghost to them.

I arrived at the Whitmore estate at six o'clock. The air in the living room was thick with the scent of ozone and suppressed aggression. Lanny and Helena sat on the high-backed velvet sofa like judges in a tribunal. Bianca stood by the window, her expression a mix of feigned sympathy and sharp-edged triumph.

"Why was I summoned?" I asked, standing in the center of the room.

"You’ve cost this bloodline forty percent of its annual revenue in a single afternoon," Cedric growled, standing up and slamming his fist onto the mahogany coffee table. "You will call Ronan, you will get on your knees, and you will beg him to restart the alliance."

"He treated me like a stray dog," I said, my eyes flashing blue. "And you watched him do it. You think my dignity is worth a few warehouses?"

"A man of his rank can do whatever he likes with a mate who can't even hold his attention," Cedric spat, stepping into my personal space. "It’s your failure, Chika. You were too soft, too focused on your music to be a proper Alpha’s consort. Now go fix it."

"No."

The word was a stone dropped into a deep well.

"What did you say?" Cedric’s voice was a dangerous whisper.

"I’m done being the family sacrifice," I said, looking at Bianca. "Let her marry Ronan if the alliance is so precious. She’s already used to taking everything I have."

"You fool!" Cedric’s hand blurred. The slap was so hard it sent me stumbling back, my vision swimming. I tasted copper in my mouth.

"Cedric, enough," Helena said, though her voice lacked any warmth. She turned to me, her eyes like ice. "Chika, be reasonable. Ronan called. He said he was 'stressed' by the Okafor situation. He’s willing to host a private ceremony this weekend to save face. He apologized. Why must you be so stubborn?"

"He apologized to you, Mother. Not to me," I wiped the blood from my lip, a jagged laugh escaping my throat. "Yesterday, when he walked out, you didn't even look at me. You left me in the dirt. Are you even my parents? Or am I just a commodity you failed to sell?"

"Chika, how can you doubt our love?" Helena sighed, as if my pain was a personal inconvenience. "We want you to have the security of the Blackwell name. You’d be safe for life."

"I’m married," I said, the words cutting through their gaslighting like a blade. "I sealed a blood-bond this morning. Do you think a Blackwell Alpha would take a husband who’s already marked by another?"

The room went dead silent. Helena’s mask finally cracked. "To who? Who could you possibly find in a few hours?"

I hesitated. If I told them it was Lucien Afolayan, they’d be terrified—but they’d also try to use me to infiltrate the Dominion. I looked at their greedy, anxious faces and decided on a different path.

"Just a man. A nobody with no pack and no power," I lied. "A pauper."

Cedric erupted. "You’ve ruined everything! You’ve thrown away our future for a peasant? You will annul it immediately!"

"I won't," I said, standing my ground even as my father grabbed a heavy cane from the corner. "The bond is sealed in blood. You have no authority over me anymore."

"I made you! I will break you!" Cedric roared. "Driscoll! Guards! Take him to the sub-level cage. No food, no light, until he remembers his name!"

I didn't fight as the enforcers grabbed my arms. I saw Bianca’s eyes gleam. "If he can't marry Ronan, I guess I’ll have to step up," she whispered. "Someone has to save the business."

The basement was a cold, damp cell where we used to keep rival informants. I sat in the corner, my stomach cramping with hunger, watching the shadows crawl across the stone walls. I knew they were waiting for me to break, to beg for the Blackwell ring.

But they didn't know who I’d married.

Around eleven o'clock, the heavy iron door didn't just creak—it was kicked off its hinges. The sound of heavy tactical boots echoed in the stairwell.

"Who’s there?" I called out, my voice raspy.

"Search the perimeter! Find him!" a voice commanded.

Lucien Afolayan didn't roll into the basement. He was carried in a specialized chair by four of his elite enforcers, his face a mask of absolute, terrifying fury. He looked around the filthy cell, his eyes landing on me.

"Chika," he said, his voice a low, vibrating threat.

I stumbled out of the darkness, my face bruised, my clothes torn. "Lucien... how did you find me?"

He didn't answer. He just looked at the handprint on my face, and for a second, the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. "Who touched you?"

"My father," I whispered.

"Driscoll, bring the Master of this house to me," Lucien commanded, his voice cold and final.

Five minutes later, I was standing in the brilliantly lit foyer of the Whitmore estate. My parents were huddled together near the sofa, their faces pale with terror as they realized the "pauper" I’d mentioned was the King of the Dominion.

"Alpha Afolayan," Cedric stammered, sweat pouring down his face. "We... we didn't know. Chika didn't tell us."

"You struck my consort," Lucien said, his voice slicing through the air like a razor. "You locked a member of my bloodline in a cage. Why?"

"He was being defiant!" Cedric squeaked. "He refused to honor the Blackwell alliance! We were just... disciplining a son."

"He is no longer your son," Lucien said, his eyes glowing red. "He is my shadow. And you have damaged my property."

"We are so sorry!" Helena cried out, her composure entirely gone. "Please, we meant no disrespect to the Dominion!"

Then Cedric, ever the scavenger, saw an opening. "Alpha... since the marriage is official... surely there should be a settlement? A dowry for our precious boy?"

I looked at my father with pure, unadulterated disgust. "Precious? You just had me in a cage."

"Hush, Chika! We raised you!" Cedric hissed, before turning back to Lucien with a sycophantic smile. "Surely a man of your stature wouldn't take a Whitmore heir for nothing?"

Lucien’s smile was the most terrifying thing I had ever seen. "Of course. I believe in fair trade."

He snapped his fingers. Malik Arden stepped forward with a leather case. He laid five thick contracts on the table.

"These are five high-level construction and logistics projects," Lucien explained. "The profit margins are in the tens of millions. They are yours. Sign them, and the 'debt' for Chika’s upbringing is settled."

Cedric’s eyes practically turned into dollar signs. He grabbed a pen, his hands shaking with excitement. He didn't even read the fine print. He signed all five documents in a blur of ink. "There! It’s a deal! He’s yours, Alpha. Take him!"

"Now that you have your 'compensation,' can he go with me?" Lucien asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Absolutely! Take him! He’s all yours!" Cedric cheered, clutching the contracts to his chest as if they were his own children.

I looked at the papers, then at the man I had married. I saw the look in Lucien’s eyes—it wasn't kindness. it was the look of a predator who had just closed a trap.

"Let’s go, Chika," Lucien said.

As we walked toward the armored SUV, I didn't look back at the Whitmore estate. I didn't care that they had sold me. I only cared about the man who had bought me.

"Lucien," I said once we were inside the car. "Why did you give him those projects? You just rewarded him for hurting me."

Lucien leaned back, the shadows of the city flickering over his face. "I didn't reward him, Chika. Read the fine print on those contracts tomorrow."

"What do they say?"

"They say that the Whitmore Bloodline is now legally responsible for the security of those sites. Sites that are currently being targeted by the Blackwell Pack. Your father didn't just sign for money, Chika. He signed a death warrant. He’s going to be the front-line shield for my business, and when the Blackwells attack him, I won't have to lift a finger to finish what’s left of your family."

I sat in the dark, the weight of his ruthlessness settling over me. He hadn't rescued me out of love. He had used me to turn my family into a meat-shield for his empire.

And the worst part? I wasn't even mad. I just wanted to see the look on Cedric’s face when the first Blackwell bomb went off.