Chapter 4

The next morning, Eira woke before her alarm.

For a few seconds, she did not know where she was. The ceiling was white instead of cream. The bed smelled like hotel detergent instead of cedar. Her cheek throbbed when she moved, and memory returned with the dull efficiency of a knife being placed on a table.

Alpha Sebastian. Serena.

Then the slap.

Eira sat up slowly. The slippers from the paper bag waited beside the bed. She had put them there before sleeping, because the floor was cold and because practical kindness was harder to reject than pity. The anti-swelling cream sat on the nightstand. Her cheek was still marked, but the redness had gone down.

Her laptop showed three unread emails from Susan.

The final agreement was ready.

Eira read it twice, then a third time. Every clause had a purpose. The first page looked harmless enough: Pack operational authority update, monthly finance approval, domestic account restructuring.

Alpha Sebastian had signed dozens of documents like it before without reading beyond the title. The true separation terms began on page four, shielded beneath language he would consider boring.

Eira did not feel guilty.

Alpha Sebastian read contracts when he respected the person across the table. He checked clauses when he feared betrayal. With rivals, board members, suppliers, and Council lawyers, he was careful to the point of arrogance.

With her, he signed.

Because you do not check the blade in a tool's hand.

She returned to the apartment before noon to change. Alpha Sebastian was leaving when she stepped out of the elevator. He stopped immediately.

He looked perfect. Dark suit. Clean shave. Hair neat. No sign of the man who had lost control the night before, except for the faint red mark on his cheek where her hand had landed.

His eyes moved to her face, and regret appeared. Not enough to be useful. Just enough to insult her.

"Eira," he said softly, the way people spoke to frightened animals. "Last night was my fault. I drank too much. My head wasn't clear."

"Drank too much," she repeated. "But your hands seemed very clear."

His expression stiffened. Then he covered it with the warm public smile that had fooled half the Pack. "I was wrong."

He took a small box from inside his jacket and opened it. A silk scarf lay inside, pale gold with a designer logo printed near the edge.

Even at a glance, the thing wasn't cheap—funny, for a man who always claimed the Pack was running on empty. Guess there was still room in the budget when it came to an apology.

"This is for you," he said. "My apology."

Eira looked at the scarf. Yesterday, she would have wondered if this meant he cared. Today, she wondered whether Serena's gift had come in a larger box.

"No need," she said. "I think someone else deserves it more."

Alpha Sebastian's smile faltered.

For one second, calculation moved behind his eyes. Did she know? How much did she know? Then pride came to rescue him, as it always did. He decided she could not possibly know anything dangerous.

He closed the box. "By the way, tonight is the Pack's monthly family dinner. You still need to come."

Need.

There it was. Not please. Not would you. Need.

Every last Friday of the month, the core Hale family and senior Pack members gathered at the main house. For four years, Eira had handled everything: menus, seating, wine, elders' allergies, Margaret's temper, Isabella's sudden requests, Alpha Sebastian's preference for low-salt food after late meetings. She had cooked when the chef was sick, cleaned emotional messes when family fights broke out, and made sure everyone left full enough to still insult her comfortably.

Tonight, she had no intention of feeding anyone.

But she did have a reason to go.

The agreement sat in her bag, printed and clipped beneath the routine finance approval forms. Alpha Sebastian would be relaxed after dinner. His family would be present, Serena possibly too. If he signed in front of them without reading, it would be almost poetic.

Eira lifted her eyes. "I'll be there."

Alpha Sebastian seemed relieved. That almost made her laugh. He thought obedience had returned because she had answered calmly.

At seven that evening, Eira drove into the Hale family driveway. The main house glowed with porch lights. Through the open windows came Margaret's voice, loud enough for the flowers outside to suffer.

"That worthless mixed-blood girl is late again. Always running off as if she has something important to do."

Isabella's bored voice followed. "She probably has office papers to staple. Very demanding career."

Eira opened the front door and walked in.

Three faces turned toward her. Margaret sat at the head of the living room sofa like a queen without a country. Isabella lounged with her phone in hand. Alpha Roger emerged from the study, already frowning.

"I'm here," Eira said, setting down her bag. "Please continue. I'd hate to interrupt quality family education."

No one spoke for a beat.

Margaret recovered first. "Dinner needs to be made. The kitchen is waiting."

"There's a chef for that."

"The chef has the night off. You know Friday dinners are your responsibility."

"No," Eira said. "They were my habit. I'm breaking it."

Margaret stared at her as if the furniture had started talking back. "What did you say?"

Eira took out her phone and opened a delivery app. "I said I'm not cooking. If you want food, order it. I recommend poached shrimp, garlic broccoli, low salt, low oil. Very tragic, but survivable."

Isabella lowered her phone. "Are you insane?"

"No. Hungry."

"You're a wolfless Omega," Isabella snapped. "If you can't even cook, what can you do? My brother gave you the Luna title. Without him, no Pack would even look at you."

Four years ago, those words would have sent Eira into the kitchen with a polite smile and burning eyes. Tonight, she felt only a clean coldness.

"Your words smell bad," she said. "If you want dinner, make it yourself. Don't expect me to spoon-feed you."

Margaret rose so fast her necklace jumped against her throat. "Who do you think you are?" She seized Eira's wrist, nails biting into skin. "No family, no wolf, no power. My son marrying you was a gift, and you dare speak to me like this in my own house?"

Eira looked down at the hand on her wrist.

Last night, Alpha Sebastian's fingers had left bruises there. Margaret's nails pressed close to them now.

Something inside Eira clicked into place.

She closed her hand around Margaret's wrist and tightened just enough.

Margaret gasped. Shock spread across her face. She had expected tears, apologies, retreat. Not resistance.

"Let go," Eira said. "If you don't, I'll show everyone here that being wolfless doesn't mean being weak."

"You wouldn't dare—"

"One."

"This is my home."

"Two."

Margaret jerked her hand free before Eira reached three. She stumbled back and hit a chair with a dull thud. Isabella's mouth fell open. Roger's frown deepened, but even he seemed unsure what to say to a version of Eira that refused to shrink.

The front door opened.

"Sorry, I'm late." Alpha Sebastian's voice sounded almost cheerful.

Eira turned.

He was not alone.

A woman stood beside him in a cream coat that cost more than Eira's monthly salary on paper. Brown curls framed a delicate face. Her makeup was soft, her smile softer, and every inch of her seemed designed to make other women appear either plain or loud.

Alpha Sebastian held her coat sleeve lightly as he guided her inside.

"I ran into Serena on the way back," he said. "Serena Winthrop. A close friend from when I was young."

Close friend.

Serena's overpoweringly strong perfume slid into the room and wrapped around Eira's memory like a snake.

Alpha Sebastian turned to her with the calm smile he used at business dinners. "Eira Crawford. My Luna."

Eira looked at Alpha Sebastian's hand on Serena's waist.

Alpha Sebastian did not notice it at first. Serena did. Her eyes flicked down, then up to Eira's face, and her smile deepened by the smallest possible degree.

Some women needed knives. Serena Winthrop had dimples.

"It's so nice to finally meet you," Serena said, extending her hand. "Sebastian talks about you all the time."

Eira glanced at the offered hand, then took it lightly. Serena's fingers were soft and cool. Her grip tightened just enough to pretend warmth while testing strength.

"How generous of him," Eira said. "What exactly does he say?"