The guest suite was larger than the entire cottage Ava had hidden in for the last six months. It smelled of expensive linen and cold rain. But as she stood in the center of the room, staring at the massive, four-poster bed, she felt like a prisoner in a gilded cage.
"The Alpha has requested you wear this for the introductory banquet tomorrow night," a stern-faced maid named Martha said, gesturing to a garment bag hanging from the wardrobe. "We need to ensure the fit is perfect. Please, take off the coat."
Ava's heart stuttered. The oversized trench coat was her only shield. Beneath it, her silk blouse was starting to feel tight, the slight but undeniable curve of her three-month pregnancy visible to any trained eye.
"I can fit it myself," Ava said, her voice a pitch too high.
"Alpha's orders, miss. I am to assist you," Martha replied, her eyes narrowing with professional impatience.
Reluctantly, Ava peeled off the coat. She felt exposed, as if the very air in the room was a witness to her treason. As Martha unzipped the garment bag, a cascade of midnight-blue silk spilled out. It was breathtaking—and terrifying. The fabric was thin, bias-cut, designed to cling to every curve like a second skin.
"Turn around," Martha commanded.
Ava obeyed, her hands trembling as she stepped into the dress. As Martha began to pull the zipper up her spine, the silk tightened across Ava's midsection.
"The waist is... snug," Martha muttered, her cold fingers brushing against the small of Ava's back. "You have an unusual shape for a rogue, Miss Ava. Most are skin and bone. You carry a bit of weight here."
Martha's hand moved toward Ava's stomach, intending to smooth the fabric.
Panic flared in Ava's chest like a wildfire. "It's just... the bloating. The travel was rough," she blurted out, pulling her stomach in so hard it hurt.
"Is that so?"
The deep, gravelly voice from the doorway made both women freeze.
Silas stood leaning against the doorframe, his jacket discarded, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle and dark hair. He looked predatory, his grey eyes tracking the way the blue silk hugged Ava's body.
"Leave us," Silas ordered, his gaze never leaving Ava.
Martha bowed quickly and scurried out, clicking the door shut behind her. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace.
Silas walked toward her, his footsteps silent on the plush carpet. He circled her like a wolf inspecting a strange new creature in his territory. Ava held her breath, her muscles aching from the effort of sucking in her stomach.
"Blue suits you," he murmured, stopping behind her. He reached out, his large hand hovering just inches from her waist. "But you're stiff. Like a soldier facing a firing squad."
"I'm not used to being touched," Ava whispered, the lie tasting like copper in her mouth.
"Liars always hold their breath, Ava," Silas said, his voice dropping to a dangerous vibration. He placed both hands on her waist, his thumbs meeting near her navel.
Ava's heart hammered so loudly she was sure he could feel it through his palms. She felt the warmth of his skin through the silk, a heat that seemed to burn through her layers of deception.
"You're trembling again," he noted, his grip tightening slightly. His hands began to slide downward, tracing the curve he had questioned earlier. "Martha was right. You're not as thin as you look in that coat."
"Silas, please—"
"Please what?" He spun her around so she was forced to look into his stormy eyes. His face was inches from hers, his scent of sandalwood and dominance overwhelming her senses. "Are you afraid of me, Luna? Or are you afraid of what I'll find if I look too closely?"
His hand moved, fingers splaying across her lower abdomen. Ava's breath hitched. She felt the tiny, rhythmic pulse of her own blood—and for a terrifying second, she wondered if his Alpha senses could pick up the second, faster heartbeat beneath his palm.
The tension was a physical weight, a wire pulled to the snapping point. Ava saw his eyes darken, his pupils dilating as he searched her face for the truth.
"I am a man of many vices, Ava," Silas growled, his thumb brushing the silk over her stomach. "But I despise being played for a fool. If you are carrying a secret into my house, tell me now. Because if I find it out on my own, my mercy ends where your lies begin."
Ava looked at him, her eyes wide with genuine terror. She was one breath away from confessing, one heartbeat away from ruin.
"I'm just... hungry," she choked out, a hysterical laugh bubbling in her throat. "I haven't eaten a real meal in weeks. My body is just reacting to the sudden change."
Silas stared at her for a long, agonizing minute. Then, he let go, his expression shifting back to a mask of cold indifference.
"See that you eat then," he said, turning toward the door. "I want my Luna looking radiant tomorrow, not famished. But keep the dress. It shows exactly what I want the Council to see."
He paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder. "And Ava? Don't bother locking the door. In this house, there are no locks that keep me out."
As the door clicked shut, Ava collapsed onto the edge of the bed, her legs shaking so violently she couldn't stand. She gasped for air, clutching her stomach.
She had survived the first night. But the dress was a trap, and Silas Blackwood was a man who hunted secrets for sport.