The Trap Springs
POV Sage Winters
"Sage?" Ronan's voice came through the door, unnaturally gentle. "I brought you breakfast, sweetheart."
I pressed my fingers to the mark on my neck, feeling the slight warmth that pulsed beneath my skin, then pulled on a high-necked silk robe that concealed it completely. Through the door, I could smell the tea—jasmine and honey, the blend my mother had loved.
"Just a moment, Uncle."
He stood there with a breakfast tray when I opened the door, his expression arranged in grandfatherly affection that would have been convincing if I hadn't known him better.
"I thought we could talk." He stepped inside without waiting for permission, setting the tray down on my desk with deliberate care. "There's something important we need to discuss. Elder Marcus is coming at three o'clock this afternoon."
I took the cup, the porcelain warm against my palms, and sipped slowly. The tea tasted exactly like I remembered—sweet and floral, with just a hint of bitterness underneath. How fitting.
"We have an egagement with Ashford, I hope you could be ready this afternoon."
"Isn't this arrangement meant for Celeste?" I asked quietly, setting the cup down with careful precision.
Ronan's expression shifted seamlessly into sympathy, the transformation so smooth it was almost admirable. "Celeste has developed very strong feelings for someone. They're deeply in love. As her elder cousin, I'm hoping you'll help her by taking her place."
"She stole my boyfriend" I said flatly, feeling Silver stir restlessly in my mind.
His face flickered with genuine surprise, the mask slipping for just a fraction of a second. "What? No, you must be mistaken—"
I pulled out my phone, my fingers steady despite the rage building in my chest, and turned the screen toward him. The images from last night loaded one by one—Kieran and Celeste tangled together in ways that left no room for misinterpretation.
"I have audio recordings too," I added, my voice cold and clear. "Of them discussing their plans to steal my inheritance. Of Kieran calling me pathetic and desperate. Would you like to hear those as well?"
Ronan's jaw clenched, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. His eyes moved over the images, and I watched him recalculate, adjust, prepare his next move. Then he sighed, reaching up to rub his temples in what was probably meant to look like weary resignation.
"This is unfortunate. But Sage, Celeste came to me this morning. She believes she may be pregnant with Kieran's child. We can't force her into marriage with the Ashford Pack now, not in her condition."
He leaned forward, his voice taking on that reasonable, understanding tone. "Couldn't you find it in your heart to help your cousin? Just this once?"
I stared at him, this man who'd raised manipulation to an art form, who could pivot from one lie to the next without missing a beat. "Help her? She stole my boyfriend, plotted to rob me blind, got herself pregnant during her affair, and now you want me to feel sorry for her?"
"Think of the family—"
"No." I stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the hardwood. "I will not marry whoever you've arranged. I will not sacrifice myself for Celeste's mistakes."
Ronan's sympathetic mask cracked, falling away to reveal the cold calculation beneath. "You think you can refuse?"
"I have forty percent of Winters Global's controlling shares—"
"Which means nothing without my cooperation." His voice hardened, taking on an edge that cut through the false warmth like a knife. "I am the Alpha of this pack. Without my authorization, that inheritance lawsuit will drag on for a decade. Every cent going to lawyers instead of you."
"Then I'll go to the Northern Council," I said, my voice steady despite my racing heart. "File for arbitration. Let them investigate how you've been managing my mother's estate all these years."
Alpha command suddenly filled the room, crashing down like a tidal wave of pure dominance. The air itself seemed to thicken, pressing against my skin, trying to force my knees to buckle, my head to bow. "You have no allies, no resources, no support. Everything you think you own, I control."
I held his gaze, feeling Silver surge forward in my mind with wild, feral strength. My eyes flashed gold—not the amber of submission, but bright, defiant gold that burned with her untamed power. The command crashed against us and broke, scattering like water against stone.
For just a moment, I saw genuine shock flicker across Ronan's face as he realized I was stronger than he'd ever suspected.
"I am not six years old anymore, Uncle."
Rage replaced his shock, his face flushing dark with fury. "The Ashford delegation arrives at three. You will be there. You will be polite. And whether you agree or not doesn't matter—this alliance is happening. I can forge your signature if necessary. Pack law gives me that right."
He stepped closer, his presence still trying to dominate the space between us. "You have no choice in this, Sage." He paused at the door, his hand on the frame. "Accept it now, or learn it the hard way."
The door closed behind him with a soft click that sounded like a death knell.
At two-thirty, I emerged from my room ready for battle, every piece of my armor carefully chosen.
The deep purple V-neck dress hugged my curves, the fabric rich and elegant, the neckline just low enough that the mark on my neck would be visible when I moved or tilted my head. My mother's silver luna pendant hung at my throat, catching the light. I'd left my hair loose, cascading down my back in waves that drew attention to my exposed neck.
In the mirror, my eyes gleamed with Silver's anticipation.
My phone buzzed: We're arriving now.
I took a deep breath, feeling my heartbeat steady and strong, then headed downstairs. Voices drifted up from the foyer—Ronan's false warmth, servants moving quickly to prepare.
The doorbell rang precisely at three.
Ronan appeared from his study, straightening his tie and smoothing down his jacket. "Right on time. Excellent." His voice carried satisfaction, completely unaware of what was about to unfold.
A servant opened the door with practiced formality.
Elder Marcus Ashford entered first—silver-haired and commanding, his presence filling the space with undeniable authority. Every line of his posture spoke of decades of leadership, of power wielded with absolute confidence. Behind him came two younger males, both in expensive suits that spoke of wealth and status.
One was golden-haired with warm brown eyes and an easy, approachable smile that put people at ease. The other was dark-haired with amber eyes that seemed to see everything, his aura filling the room with the kind of power that made even Ronan step back instinctively—Thorne.
The mark on my neck pulsed hot with recognition.
Ronan's eyes swept past the two younger wolves, searching the doorway as if expecting someone else. "Elder Marcus, welcome! Please, come in." He gestured toward the sitting room, his confusion barely masked. "Is your... eldest grandson joining us later?"
From the stairs above, I heard a soft, delighted gasp. Celeste had appeared, dressed in a white lace dress with a plunging neckline that showed far too much skin for a formal meeting. Her makeup was heavier than usual, her perfume strong enough to smell from where I stood. Her eyes were bright and calculating as she looked at the two handsome young wolves, clearly seeing opportunity.
She descended quickly, her heels clicking on the marble, positioning herself strategically so both men would have to look at her. "Welcome to our home," she purred, her voice dripping honey as her gaze moved appreciatively between Thorne and the golden-haired wolf. "Both of you are so handsome. It's such a pleasure to meet such distinguished members of the Ashford Pack."
Ronan shot her a warning look that she ignored completely, then turned back to Elder Marcus with forced warmth. "Elder Marcus, I apologize if this is indelicate, but I was under the impression your eldest grandson would be attending today? The one we discussed for the potential match?" He paused delicately, his tone carefully sympathetic. "I understand he has certain... challenges that make travel difficult. If he was unable to make the journey, we certainly understand—"
Elder Marcus set down his teacup, the soft clink of porcelain against saucer somehow ominous in the suddenly tense silence. His expression turned sharp, his eyes assessing Ronan with the kind of scrutiny that made grown Alphas sweat. "Ronan Alpha, I'm beginning to wonder what exactly you've been told about my grandson."
He placed one weathered hand on Thorne's shoulder with unmistakable pride and affection. "My eldest grandson is sitting right here."
