Chapter 1 (The First Glance)
Ring... ring... ring...!
Amber pressed the small silver bell on the wooden counter. "Table two, order is out!" she called, her voice crisp and melodic, cutting cleanly through the mellow hum of clinking spoons and whispered conversations.
A bead of sweat traced down her temple, but she didn't stop to wipe it away. Strands of her honey-brown hair had slipped from her ponytail, framing her face, yet exhaustion did little to dull her quiet radiance. There was something unshakably elegant about Amber—like moonlight caught in motion. She wore only a simple white shirt under her apron and faded dark jeans, but she carried herself like she bore a crown.
"Coming! Table two, serving!" called Jam's voice from the back.
Jamaica—Jam to everyone—was a blur of energy and warmth, a young she-wolf from a remote tribal line who had found both family and purpose in Luna Café. And she wasn't alone. Amber had taken in more than half a dozen wolves over the years—lost souls from struggling clans who now worked under her leadership. Jonas brewed their best roast. Margaux managed the register. Leo and Elmer handled deliveries. Jessie, Cherry, and Jester served tables with grace. Together, they turned the café into something sacred.
At first glance, Luna Café appeared rustic and quaint—twenty tables arranged beneath warm lanterns, a double-tiered bar near the entrance, with vines crawling up its arched windows. But among werewolves, this place was revered. It was more than a business. It was neutral territory. A haven. A silent pact. And above all, it was her mother's legacy.
Luna. The name that clung to the café's walls like perfume in old fabric. The first female Alpha of the Southern region, who turned away from bloodshed and instead built peace with a coffee pot and a quiet smile. She had died when Amber was just a child—but her presence remained in every brick, every corner.
"Amber," Jam's voice murmured "Look at table four... that guy's staring again."
Amber raised her eyes discreetly—and froze.
At table four, seated as though he owned the air around him, was Alpha Zachary Artesian.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with raven-black hair and eyes like obsidian, Zach didn't move. He simply watched. There was no warmth in his expression, no invitation—only cold intensity, as though he were studying her soul, memorizing the pattern of her breath.
He wasn't just any Alpha. He was the Alpha of the Northern continent. A warrior raised on discipline and silence. Tales of his merciless ways echoed from forest to city—his punishments, his strength, his rumored gift to see into the hearts and minds of others. Many feared him. Some admired him. All respected him.
And now, he was here.
In her café.
Then, without a word, Zach rose from his seat, nodded once to no one in particular, and left.
"Weirdo," Jam muttered again
Amber blinked, her pulse still racing. "Shh... just clean table seven," she murmured aloud, trying to steady her voice.
Jam saluted with a grin. "Yes, boss!"
The laughter between them returned briefly, lifting the weight that had suddenly settled on Amber's shoulders. But in her chest, unease brewed like a storm behind a calm sky.
Midnight came with the soft chime of the Big Ben clock across the plaza.
"Time to go home!" Jam sang, already untying her apron and grabbing her tote.
"You go ahead," Amber said, still bent over a stack of papers at her tiny office corner behind the kitchen. Luna Café didn't run on magic—it ran on math, on budgeting, on stubbornness. And tonight, none of it was adding up.
She stared at the scribbled numbers, frustration prickling her eyes. "How am I supposed to fix this?" she muttered to herself.
The supply budget had vanished—stolen, technically. By the one person she had no power over: her stepmother.
Amber shoved the receipts into her leather bag, locked the register, and stepped into the cool night. Her breath misted in the air. Her fingers trembled, but not from the cold. The weight of her mother's café, her team, her father's failures—it was crushing her.
I won't let it fall, she told herself.
At home, the silence was louder.
She had barely stepped inside when voices drew her to the study. Low, sharp, tense.
"I told you—just a few more days and this will all be over," Liza said, her tone falsely sweet.
Amber paused in the hallway. Her senses sharpened. Her wolf stirred uneasily beneath her skin.
She peered through the door. Liza and Philip were seated inside, upright, expectant.
"I think it's time to tell her," Liza said, looking straight at her.
Amber stepped in. "Tell me what?"
Her father took a shaky sip of whiskey. His eyes didn't meet hers.
"You're going to work for Alpha Zachary Artesian," Liza announced.
Amber stared at her.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Personal assistant. Secretary. It's temporary. Three to five months," Liza said. "He made the offer himself. He's recovering from injuries—he needs someone he can trust. And you, dear are the chosen one and you have no choice." A loud laugh echoed
Amber's chest tightened. "You... sold me?"
Liza's laugh was ice. "Don't be ridiculous. It's a job."
"It's servitude!" Amber shouted, her voice cracking. "To a man who's feared across every pack!"
"He's paying generously," Liza replied. "Enough to save this café. To clear my debts. To protect your little friends."
Amber turned to Philip, pleading. "Dad... please..."
But he just looked away.
Liza stood, smoothing her silk dress. "If you love this café, you'll go. You'll smile. You'll survive. And when it's done, you'll be free."
Amber clenched her fists.
It was a gilded cage. A collar disguised as kindness.
She turned toward the door, fury bubbling in her throat.
"Amber—" her father called out.
She stopped.
He looked up at her finally. His eyes were damp. "I'm sorry."
She nodded once.
It wasn't enough.
And as she stepped out into the night, tears fell freely down her cheeks—silent, burning, resolute.
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