The elevator doors close with a soft whoosh.
I stand in the middle, holding my small suitcase with both hands even though it's almost empty. One side of the elevator is mirrored. My reflection looks strange—simple kurti, tired eyes, messy bun. The only fancy thing on me is the thin silver bracelet on my wrist.
My mother's last gift.
I press my thumb over it.
"Penthouse," the man beside me says, scanning his card over a black sensor. His voice is low, polite, a little too careful.
I glance at him. Dark blue suit, neat hair, expression blank—but his eyes are sharp.
"Ms. Ahmed," he says, as the elevator starts moving upward. "I'm Ethan. Mr. Black's assistant."
Of course.
Everyone powerful has one loyal shadow.
"Nice to meet you," I reply.
He gives a small nod. "If you need anything, you can call me. Your room has a direct line."
Room. Not home.
The number on the little screen climbs: 45… 46… 47…
My ears pop slightly. The air feels thinner.
"You're very calm," Ethan comments suddenly.
I blink. "Is that… a problem?"
Most girls who are brought to a billionaire alpha's penthouse are probably giggling, crying, or fainting.
I am planning murder in slow motion.
His lips twitch just a little. "Just an observation."
The elevator slows. My heart doesn't.
When the doors slide open, I almost forget to breathe.
This is not a house.
This is a sky palace.
The floor opens into a huge living area, all glass and clean lines and warm lights. One whole wall is made of floor-to-ceiling windows, showing the city like a sea of stars. A big grey couch faces a giant screen. There are plants in white pots, bookshelves, a grand piano near the window.
Quiet. Elegant. Dangerous.
Like the man who lives here.
Ethan steps out first. "This way."
I follow him, my shoes soft against the marble. Somewhere in the distance, a clock ticks, slow and steady.
"There are three bedrooms," he explains. "Mr. Black's room, your room, and a guest room. Kitchen is over there. Dining here. Gym at the end of the corridor. Rooftop access is restricted."
"Restricted?" I repeat.
"Yes," he says. "Mr. Black doesn't like anyone wandering up there."
Interesting.
The last time I heard about a locked rooftop, there were wolves chained under it.
We pass a long hallway. The walls here are darker, the lights softer. I feel something in the air—something heavy and electric, like the space is holding its breath.
I know this feeling.
Pack energy.
"Here," Ethan says, stopping in front of a door. He pushes it open and steps aside. "Your room."
I walk in.
It's… beautiful. Not princess-type beautiful. Calmer. A big bed with white sheets, soft rugs, a wardrobe, a long window with curtains pulled back to show the city. There's a small desk, a lamp, a chair that looks like it can hug you.
And a door on the right.
"Attached bathroom," Ethan explains. "Your clothes from your old apartment will be sent by tomorrow. If you need new ones, you can inform me or Mrs. Kiran—the housekeeper."
"Okay," I say. My voice sounds too small in the big room.
"Oh," he adds, almost as an afterthought. "One more thing."
"Yes?"
His eyes meet mine, and for a moment something strange passes through them. Respect? Warning?
"Do not go near Mr. Black's study without permission. It's the dark door at the end of the hall. You'll know which one."
"Because it's dark?" I ask dryly.
A ghost of a smile. "Because it feels different."
I believe that.
My magic already feels it—like a cold wind under the door.
"I understand," I say.
He nods. "Mr. Black has a meeting tonight. He may come late. Dinner will be at eight. You can eat in the dining room… or here, if you prefer."
"I'll see," I mumble.
He turns to leave, then pauses. "You're not afraid, are you, Ms. Ahmed?"
Of you? No.
Of the monster you serve? Maybe.
"I signed the contract, didn't I?" I reply. "It's a little late to be afraid."
His eyes linger on me for another second. I feel like he wants to say something, but doesn't.
"Welcome to BlackMoon Penthouse," he says instead. "Good evening."
The door closes behind him with a soft click.
Silence.
I drop my suitcase on the floor and walk to the window.
The city glows below, car lights moving like red and white ants. The full moon hangs above the skyscrapers, close enough to touch.
I press my palm against the glass.
The cold soaks into my skin.
Slowly, slowly, a faint warmth wakes in my chest, traveling down my arm to my fingertips. A tiny spark dances at the tip of one finger, then disappears.
"Behave," I whisper to my magic. "Not yet."
It hums under my skin, restless.
Wolves above. Witch inside. Moon outside.
Perfect storm.
I step back and sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress swallows me gently. For a moment, I just stare at my hands.
I should be happy, everyone would say.
Billionaire husband. Penthouse life. Brother's hospital bills covered.
But all I feel is a hollow ache.
"Ma…" I whisper without meaning to. "If you could see me now."
Would she be proud that I walked into the house of her killers?
Or would she cry because I became their daughter-in-law?
The memory hits—smell of smoke, screams, my father's voice yelling my name, the forest burning red under the blood moon.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Not now.
I lie back and stare at the ceiling.
Something is moving above my head.
Not really moving, but… pulsing.
The pack's presence.
When wolves live together, their energy connects. Most humans can't feel it. Witches can.
There are not many wolves here, maybe three or four, but their aura is strong. One is huge, like a shadow sitting right above my room. Another one is restless, pacing.
And one…
One presence is different. Heavy, sharp, like cold metal and wild wind mixed together.
Aiden.
Even when he's not here, his presence is.
"Alpha," I murmur. The word tastes like iron.
There's a soft knock on my door.
I sit up quickly. "Yes?"
A woman in her late forties opens the door and peeks in. "Beta? I mean, madam?"
I blink. "Just Alina is fine."
She smiles, relief softening her round face. "I'm Mrs. Kiran. Housekeeper. I came to check if you need anything."
Her aura is human. Tired but warm.
"I'm okay," I say. "Thank you."
"You must be hungry," she fusses. "You came straight from the office, no? I made biryani and some chicken curry. You eat a little, hmm?"
My heart tightens unexpectedly. "Biryani?"
"Yes," she says proudly. "Mr. Black doesn't like many things, but he eats my biryani."
Of course he does.
Everybody loves the thing that takes time and patience and love to cook.
Just not the person.
"I'll eat," I say. "At eight?"
"Achha, achha. I'll call you." She hesitates, then comes a little closer. "If you feel scared… this house is big. Don't stay alone with fear, beta. Call me, okay?"
I manage a small smile. "I'm not scared."
She looks at my eyes like she understands more than I want her to.
"Brave girl," she murmurs. "Sometimes brave girls cry the loudest inside."
Before I can answer, she pats my hand and leaves.
When the door closes, I let out a long breath I didn't know I was holding.
Time passes slowly until eight. I freshen up, open my suitcase, fold the two pairs of clothes I brought into the wardrobe. The room starts to smell like my cheap jasmine soap instead of expensive hotel air.
At exactly eight, Mrs. Kiran calls me for dinner.
The dining room is sleek—a long table of dark wood, soft lights above it. Aiden's chair is empty at the head of the table.
Of course. He's "busy".
I sit two seats away, not wanting to accidentally inhale his cologne from the cushion.
Mrs. Kiran serves me biryani, salad, curry. The smell makes my stomach growl loudly.
I didn't realize how hungry I was.
I take one bite and close my eyes.
Spices, warmth, a little too much chilli—exactly how Ma used to make. My throat burns in a good way.
"Nice?" she asks.
I nod quickly so I don't cry.
As I'm eating, I hear the soft sound of the main door opening.
My spoon stills.
That energy. Heavy, sharp, electric.
He's here.
Footsteps. Two sets. Boots on marble.
A low male voice, not Aiden's, says, "The meeting went well. But the east pack is restless. They're asking why you suddenly got married, Alpha."
Alpha.
The spoon almost slips from my fingers.
"Let them ask," Aiden's voice replies, smooth and bored. "The less they know, the better."
I freeze.
They're heading this way.
"I still think it was risky," the other man continues. "Bringing a human into the penthouse—"
"Human?" Aiden cuts in. His voice drops, colder. "She smells… different."
My heart jumps.
Different.
Witch.
I put my spoon down silently and look at my half-finished plate.
The footsteps stop at the entrance of the dining room.
Slowly, I turn my head.
Aiden stands there in his black suit and loosened tie, hair messier than before, eyes darker.
Beside him is a broad-shouldered man with caramel skin and short hair, eyes studying me like I'm a puzzle. His aura is strong, but not like Aiden's.
Beta wolf.
Our eyes meet.
For one second, nobody speaks.
Then Aiden's gaze drops to my plate.
"You started without me," he says casually.
I lift my chin. "You were late."
His jaw tightens, just a bit. The beta's lips twitch like he wants to laugh.
"I'm Kai," the beta says, stepping forward, hand in his pocket. "Beta of BlackMoon Pack. And apparently, your… brother-in-law?"
I don't take his offered hand, but I give a small nod. "Liyana."
His nostrils flare. He looks at me carefully, curiosity turning into something sharper.
"You're not just Liyana," he murmurs. "What are you?"
The air thickens.
Aiden's eyes flick between us, stormy.
I smile sweetly, even as I feel the moonfire curl lazily in my veins.
"Right now?" I say softly. "I'm just the wife who hasn't finished her biryani yet."
The beta huffs a small laugh.
Aiden doesn't.
His eyes lock on mine.
And in that moment, under the quiet dining room lights, with wolves at my table and the moon above our heads, I know one thing for sure:
He can feel that I'm dangerous.
He just doesn't know yet—
Dangerous for whom.