Consciousness slams into me, violent and unwelcome. A stinging crack echoes in my ears a second before the pain registers—a vicious slap that snaps my head to the side, splitting my lip. The coppery tang of blood floods my mouth. My eyes fly open to find Olivia Roscente standing over me, her beautiful face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated loathing. “Look who decided to wake up, you filthy slut,” she hisses, the words laced with poison.
The fog clears, and the guest house bedroom comes into sharp, humiliating focus. Pale morning light filters through the dusty windows, illuminating the scene of my disgrace. The air is heavy, saturated with the unmistakable, musky scent of sex, the cloying sweetness of a heat recently spent, and the sour odor of regret—a perfect summary of my current predicament.
I look down at myself. My skin is a map of last night’s transgressions. Bruises bloom in the shapes of fingers and mouths, bite marks stand out like dark brands, each one throbbing back to life with my awareness. They are souvenirs from the Valdemar brothers, and Olivia’s sharp eyes are inventorying every single one, her gaze cold and analytical.
With each new mark she identifies, her anger seems to burn hotter, a silent fury stoked by the evidence of possession stamped on my body.
“I came to find my wayward sister,” she says, her voice deceptively calm, a thin veneer over seething rage. “Imagine my surprise to find you here, in our guest house, still warm from being thoroughly used. The whole place stinks of your disgusting heat and—”
She stops abruptly, nostrils flaring as she takes a deeper breath. Her expression shifts, confusion warring with dawning suspicion.
“Who was it?” The question is a blade, sharp and demanding. “Which pack member was so hard up he’d sink to fucking a wolfless bitch? The house was packed.”
Fucking. As if I were a thing, an object. Typical Olivia.
I try to push myself up, scrambling for some shred of dignity that had vanished somewhere between Benjamin’s possessive grip and Alexander’s relentless pace. But she’s already moving, her hand tangling in my hair and yanking with a cruel, practiced ease—a move perfected over a lifetime of putting me in my place.
“Olivia, stop—”
Stopping is not in Olivia Roscente’s vocabulary. She drags me from the bed, and I barely manage to clutch a corner of the rumpled sheet before she’s hauling me toward the door, treating me like a bag of garbage.
Outside. Nearly naked. In the fucking morning sun.
The cool air bites at exposed skin never meant to see daylight, and I stumble across the dew-damp lawn, the flimsy sheet a pathetic shield for my nonexistent modesty. Any curtain in the pack houses could twitch, any member could be enjoying this impromptu spectacle of the wolfless daughter’s walk of shame.
With another brutal tug, she pulls me through the back entrance and into our father’s study. Both our parents are there, seated, porcelain coffee cups frozen halfway to their lips.
The moment their eyes land on me, the room goes still. Mother’s face transforms from polished elegance to raw, incandescent fury in a nanosecond. Father’s expression curdles into one of profound disgust, usually reserved for finding rot at the core of something precious. And Olivia?
She radiates the smug triumph of a queen who has just successfully orchestrated a rival’s downfall.
“She was giving it away for free like a common streetwalker,” Olivia announces, her tone dripping with theatrical disdain, as if presenting damning evidence in court. “Found her in the guest house, reeking of heat and come.”
The silence that crashes down is suffocating.
Then, Mother moves. She’s across the room in a blur, her perfectly manicured hand closing around my throat with terrifying strength, her nails digging into my skin with pinpoint accuracy.
“You foolish, worthless girl.” Her breath is a hot mix of expensive espresso and naked hatred. “He was paying a fortune for your virginity!”
Oh. Right. That. The arranged marriage to Beta Daniel Winston’s disappointing youngest son—the one with lackluster genes who was willing to overlook my “defect” for the right financial incentive. I’d somehow managed to forget I was a piece of merchandise with a price tag.
Funny how a night with two Alphas can make you forget you’re a commodity.
“Do you have any comprehension of what you’ve destroyed?” Father’s voice is icy, controlled, and somehow worse than Mother’s physical violence. “Winston was our gateway into the Beta’s inner circle. You were finally going to serve a purpose!”
Finally going to serve a purpose.
There it is—the Roscente family’s official stance on their defective daughter.
“I’m sorry…” I choke out, though the apology feels like grit on my tongue.
I’m not sorry for last night. Not really. Only for being discovered.
“Sorry?” Mother’s grip tightens, cutting off my air. “You’re sorry? That contract was for seventy-five thousand dollars. Seventy-five thousand for your useless virginity, and you threw it away on some random, low-ranking mutt!”
If only she knew. If she had the faintest idea that it was her precious Olivia’s fiancé and his brother—the crowned Alpha heirs—who had taken me, her meticulously styled head would spin right off her shoulders.
A hysterical laugh threatens to bubble up, but I choke it down. Letting it out would be a death sentence, likely ending with my body decorating this expensive Aubusson rug.
“Who was it?” Olivia demands, her eyes narrowing to slits, a hunter locking onto prey. “I want a name.”
“I don’t—” I begin, but Mother shakes me so hard my vision blurs.
“Don’t you dare lie. We can smell him on you. Multiple scents, in fact.” Her scrutiny intensifies, looking at me with the detached interest of a biologist examining a strange new organism. “How many?”
My continued silence is confession enough.
“Multiple?” Father’s voice drops to a dangerous, low register. “You allowed multiple pack members to…”
“It wasn’t like that—” I try, but what’s the use?
How do I explain that my heat chose the two Alpha heirs who have tormented me for years? That my body betrayed every instinct of self-preservation and claimed them as its own?
Yeah, that would go over beautifully.
Olivia’s focus is laser-like now, tracing each bruise and bite as if reconstructing a crime. The mark on my collarbone. The vivid bruise circling my throat. If she looks closely enough, will she recognize the particular set of Benjamin’s teeth? The specific way Alexander’s fingers pressed into my hips?
“The wedding was set for three months from now,” Mother says, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “Winston’s son was prepared to overlook your… condition… for the agreed sum. But if you’re pregnant…”
The word detonates in the quiet room. Pregnant.
The possibility hadn’t even brushed the edges of my heat-addled mind. Now it crashes into me with terrifying force—no protection, two virile Alphas, a heat that lasted hours, biology that is brutally efficient.
Oh, god…
“And if you were idiotic enough to get yourself knocked up…” Mother’s nails pierce deeper, and I feel a warm trickle of blood slide down my neck, “I will personally tear any bastard seed from your useless womb before it can ever quicken.”
She means every word. This isn’t hyperbole; it’s a vow. She would reach inside me and scrape out any potential life without a flicker of remorse, probably while critiquing the wallpaper.
“Winston’s son might still accept you if we manage this discreetly,” Father states, his tone utterly clinical, as if discussing the salvage of a damaged asset. “We’ll take you to the pack physician. Ensure you’re not carrying, get you… sanitized.”
“Repaired,” Olivia adds, her voice sickly sweet. “Make you fit for presentation again.”
Mother finally releases my throat, and I stagger back against the wall, gasping as air floods my burning lungs. The full scope of my situation crystallizes with brutal, icy clarity.
They will take me to the doctor. They will verify I am not pregnant. And if I am? Mother’s vow echoes in my skull.
I will personally tear any bastard seed from your useless womb…
“Go to your room,” Father commands, leaving no room for argument. “Clean yourself. We will discuss consequences and containment strategies after we’ve assessed the full extent of the damage.”
I turn, clutching the sheet to my chest, when Olivia’s voice stops me cold.
“You know what’s odd?” she muses, almost to herself. “Benjamin left the gala quite early last night. And Alexander vanished around the same time, now that I recall.”
My blood turns to ice in my veins, a cold so deep it aches.
“Both said they needed some air.” Her eyes lock onto mine, a predator’s gleam shining in their depths. “Quite the coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”