The sun didn't rise in Shadow-Crest territory; it pierced through the fog like a golden spear.
I woke up with a gasp, my hand flying to my throat. For a second, I expected to feel Julian's heavy hand or the cold, damp floor of our pack basement. Instead, my fingers brushed against silk sheets.
I sat up, waiting for the familiar, agonizing morning cramp in my gut. It came, but it was different—shorter, sharper, like a dying ember rather than a spreading fire.
The tea. I looked at the empty cup on the nightstand. I had actually slept. But as the fog of sleep cleared, a different kind of ache settled in my chest—a burning shame. My wolf, usually a shivering pile of misery, was unusually still. Almost... expectant.
A sharp knock at the door made me flinch.
"Enter," I whispered.
Mrs. Vance, the stern-faced housekeeper, walked in followed by two girls carrying a rack of clothes. These weren't the drab, oversized sweaters Julian forced me to wear to "hide my shame." These were silks and wools that looked like they cost more than Julian's entire car collection.
"The Alpha is waiting," Mrs. Vance said. "You have twenty minutes."
I chose a deep emerald dress that hugged my frame more than I liked. As I walked down the grand staircase, the scent of him hit me before I even saw him. Sandalwood. Rain. And a raw, musky Alpha pheromone that made my stomach do a slow, traitorous flip.
I hated him. He had watched my husband slap me and then treated the aftermath like a business transaction. He had shackled me in silver and dragged me to a cage of black stone.
So why did my heart race when I saw him?
Silas was sitting at the head of a long obsidian table, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle and faint, silver battle scars. He was devastatingly handsome—a sharp, cruel sort of beauty that felt like a trap.
He didn't look up as I entered, but his nostrils flared. He was scenting me.
"Sit," he said.
I sat at the far end of the table, as far away from his suffocating presence as possible. A plate was placed in front of me: steak, seared rare, and a bowl of dark berries.
"I'm not a dog, Silas," I said, my voice trembling. "I don't need to be fed on command."
Silas folded his paper slowly. He looked at me, his amber eyes tracking the way I was perched on the edge of my seat. His gaze was heavy, traveling over the curve of my neck before landing on my bruised cheek.
"You're a wolf, Seraphina. Even a broken one needs protein. Eat."
"And what is my 'service' today?" I spat, trying to ignore the way the sunlight caught the golden flecks in his eyes. "Do I scrub the floors until my knees bleed? Or is this the part where you remind me you paid five million for the right to touch me?"
Silas stood up. His massive frame seemed to swallow the light in the room. He walked the length of the table, his movements fluid and predatory. I wanted to run, but my feet felt glued to the floor. As he stopped beside my chair, the heat radiating from him was overwhelming.
I hated how much I wanted to lean into that heat. I hated that my weak wolf was wagging her tail at the man who held our leash.
"Five million was a bargain for you," Silas growled, leaning down until his lips were inches from my ear. "And as for touching you..."
He reached out, his large, warm hand hovering just an inch from my waist. I could feel the static in the air between us. My skin tingled, begging for the contact even as my mind screamed monster.
"I don't touch broken things until they're mended," he whispered, his voice a low, vibrating chord that settled deep in my belly. "Today, you are going to learn how to walk. You scuttle like a beaten cur, Seraphina. Under this roof, if I see you bow your head to another person—including me—I will extend your contract by another month."
He pulled away, and I felt a sudden, cold void where his warmth had been. It made me want to scream with frustration.
He slid a leather-bound book across the table. "Read this. It's the history of the High-Alpha lineages. By noon, I want you to tell me why your 'Silver-Moon' pack is a pack of liars."
"They saved me!" I cried out, my voice high and brittle.
"They caged you," Silas corrected. He leaned closer one last time, his eyes flashing a vivid, hungry gold. "And Seraphina? Throw away those syrups you brought in your bag. If I find them, I'll consider it a breach of contract."
He vanished, leaving the scent of woodsmoke and power behind.
I looked at the steak, then at the book. My hand went to my chest, feeling my heart drumming a frantic rhythm. I hated him. I hated him for being strong while I was weak. I hated him for knowing things I didn't.
But most of all, I hated that for the first time in my life, I wasn't thinking about the man who had sold me. I was thinking about the man who had bought me—and how much I wanted to see his eyes turn gold again.