Chapter 2

Isla POV

He stared down at me, his chest heaving with arrogant indignation, waiting for the tears and submission he believed he was owed.

I didn't give him the satisfaction. Instead, I let out a soft, humorless laugh that echoed in the dim Luna's Suite.

"A Gamma aura?" I repeated, my voice dropping to a deadly calm. "Justin, you speak of strength, yet you are blind to the reality of your own Pack. Bloodfang is a hollow shell."

His eyes narrowed. "Watch your mouth, Isla."

"Or what?" I challenged, remaining seated but projecting a stillness that made his Inner Wolf twitch. "Will you cut off my funds? Oh, wait. You can't. Your Pack's vault couldn't even produce a hundred thousand dollars if your life depended on it. For the past year, I have been the one keeping this estate from crumbling. I am the one paying for the food on your Warriors' tables."

I tilted my head, locking eyes with him. "And your mother, Luna Bertha? Those Lycanthrope Elixirs from Doctor Fritz Klein cost ten thousand dollars a pill. My dowry paid for every single one of them to keep her failing heart beating."

Justin's face flushed a dark, ugly red. His Alpha pride, fragile and unearned, shattered against the cold, hard truth.

"You dare throw your money in my face?" he snarled, his voice vibrating with a pathetic attempt at an Alpha's Command-which washed over my dormant White Wolf like a light breeze. "I am the Alpha! I am informing you of a Royal Decree, not asking for your permission. Brenna is moving in, and that is final."

He spun on his heel and stormed out, slamming the heavy oak door behind him. The suffocating reek of cheap spices and metallic blood trailed after him like a plague.

As his footsteps faded down the hall, the fragile mate-bond in my chest gave a pathetic, dying throb. But deep within my soul, my White Wolf let out a low, rumbling scoff of pure disdain. He wasn't worthy of us.

A soft sniffle broke the silence. Effa Rose, my loyal wolfless maid, slipped out from the shadows of the adjoining dressing room. Her round face was streaked with tears, her eyes red and swollen.

"Oh, My Lady," she wept, dropping to her knees beside my chair. "How could the Alpha be so cruel? After everything you've done for this Pack..."

"Do not call him that, Effa," I said quietly, my voice devoid of the sorrow she expected.

I reached up, brushing my fingertips against the smooth, unblemished skin of my neck. "He is no true mate of mine."

Effa blinked through her tears, staring at my neck. "But... the Moon Goddess..."

"A year of marriage," I murmured, my eyes turning cold. "And he never gave me his Marking. Our bond was never sealed. He is nothing to me now."

Effa choked on a sob. "But your mother's dying wish... she wanted you safe here, hidden away from the wars."

The mention of my mother sent a violent jolt through my mind. In a flash, the opulent walls of the Luna's Suite melted away, replaced by the burning ruins of the Silvermoon Pack. I could smell the suffocating stench of Rogues, the metallic tang of fresh blood, and the searing, unnatural burn of Silver weapons. I saw my father, Alpha Arthur Crawford, and my brothers, their bodies torn apart defending our home. My mother's desperate, tear-soaked face flashed before me, forcing me to hide my White Wolf bloodline just to survive.

The memory didn't bring tears; it brought a lethal, icy clarity.

I was done hiding. I was done playing the weak, wolfless victim for a Pack of leeches.

I reached out and firmly tapped Effa's forehead, snapping her out of her crying fit.

"Safety is an illusion, Effa," I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Dry your tears and go to my private vault."

"M-My Lady?" she stammered, rubbing her forehead.

"Bring me the Dowry Ledger," I commanded, standing up to my full height. "Every last cent of the ten million dollars I brought to this pathetic Pack is leaving with me."