Chapter 3

The world swam back into focus in fractured, agonizing pieces. The murmur of the crowd was a low, predatory hum. The scent of champagne was nauseating. I was still on my knees, the cold of the marble floor seeping through the thin silk of my dress. The pain in my soul was a living thing, a fire that consumed me from the inside out.

Mark and his father were huddled with a tearful, triumphant Isabel, their backs turned to me. They were already rewriting the narrative, painting me as the unstable, jealous shrew. I was no longer a person; I was a liability, an embarrassment to be discarded.

The Landon family security, two large men in black suits, moved toward me, their expressions impassive. Their orders were clear: remove the problem.

Sophie was there first, a whirlwind of furious red hair and protective rage. She knelt beside me, trying to help me up, her hands gentle but firm. "Get up, Clara. We're getting you out of here. Don't let them see you like this."

Her words were distant, muffled by the roaring in my ears. I felt stripped bare, my heart and my humiliation laid out for public consumption. As Sophie helped me to my feet, my legs shaking so badly I could barely stand, I saw the looks on the faces in the crowd. Pity from some. Scorn from others. And from most, a cold, calculating assessment. I was no longer connected to the Landon dynasty. I was packless. I was nothing.

The security guards flanked us, their presence a silent, intimidating command to leave. They escorted us not through the grand foyer, but toward a service exit, past the kitchens where the staff averted their eyes, pretending not to see the spectacle. The smell of grease and disinfectant was the final indignity.

Just as we reached the heavy steel door, a frail hand touched my arm. I turned to see Dr. Evans, his kind face etched with a deep, professional worry that went beyond the social humiliation. His wife stood behind him, wringing her hands.

"Clara, my dear," he whispered, his voice urgent and low, pressing a small, cool object into my palm. "This was your mother's."

I looked down. It was an old silver locket, shaped like a crescent moon, cool against my feverish skin. It was intricately carved with patterns I didn't recognize. I hadn't seen it since she passed away years ago.

"The rejection... what Mark did... it wasn't just cruel, it was unnatural," he murmured, his eyes darting toward the guards. "Your symptoms, the weakness... *something is draining you,* my child. This may offer some protection. Don't lose it."

Before I could ask what he meant, the guard cleared his throat pointedly. The moment was over. Sophie pulled me through the door and out into the cold, damp air of a back alley.

The alley stank of garbage and stale beer. The sudden shock of the cold air on my heated skin made me gasp. The pain of the broken bond, the severed engagement, was a constant, throbbing fire in my soul. But the humiliation was a colder, sharper blade, twisting in my gut.

"I'll call a cab," Sophie said, her voice tight with fury as she pulled out her phone. "We'll go to my place. I'll make you tea. I will curse Mark Landon's name until the sun comes up."

I leaned against the rough brick wall, the locket clutched in my hand. The metal seemed to warm slightly against my skin. Dr. Evans's words echoed in my head. *Something is draining you.* The weakness was overwhelming now, a heavy cloak settling over me. My vision began to blur at the edges, the dim alley lights smearing into long, distorted streaks.

"Soph," I managed to say, my voice barely a whisper. "I don't feel so good."

The world tilted violently. The brick wall scraped against my back as I slid down to the grimy pavement. Sophie's panicked cry sounded very far away. The energy drain was no longer a subtle weakness; it was a catastrophic failure. My body was shutting down.

My last conscious thought was one of utter despair. I was going to die here, alone in a filthy alley, discarded like the trash piled up in the overflowing bins beside me. The darkness closed in, a welcome relief from the pain.

Just as I succumbed, a brilliant, blinding light cut through the darkness. It was followed by the high-pitched screech of tires on wet asphalt. The sound was impossibly close. A sleek, black luxury car, something so out of place in this alley it might as well have been a spaceship, had screeched to a halt just inches from my feet.

The driver's side door opened, and a man in a chauffeur's uniform got out, his face alarmed. But it was the passenger door that held my fading attention.

It opened with a soft, expensive click. A man emerged, unfolding himself from the car with a fluid grace that was utterly commanding. He was impossibly tall, dressed in a tailored suit so dark it seemed to absorb the dim light around it. Even in my weakened state, I could feel the aura of power radiating from him, an intensity that made Mark's arrogant authority seem like a child's tantrum. This was a true Alpha. This was a predator.

He moved toward me, his expensive leather shoes making no sound on the pavement. He knelt, bringing his face into my blurry field of vision. He had sharp, aristocratic features, a strong jaw, and eyes the color of a stormy sea. His gaze was electric, pinning me in place.

His eyes weren't looking at my face, though. They were locked onto my hand, onto the moon-shaped locket clutched within it.

As he stared, a faint, silvery light began to hum from the locket, pulsing in time with my fading heartbeat. A low vibration traveled up my arm.

The driver, a man named Robert, I heard him say, approached cautiously. "Mr. Thorne? Your orders?"

The man, Julian Thorne, didn't look away from me. His stormy eyes finally lifted from the locket to my face, and his expression was a chilling mixture of shock, recognition, and something that looked terrifyingly like triumph.

His voice, when he spoke, was a low, resonant rumble that vibrated through the very ground. It was filled with a chilling, absolute authority.

"Ready the jet," he commanded. "I have found her."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over my face, a flicker of some unreadable emotion in their depths.

"My true fated mate... and the daughter of the woman who destroyed my family."