Chapter 2

The bedroom lay in darkness, lit only by city lights filtering through windows, casting shifting shadows across the walls.

Kieran placed me on the bed with surprising gentleness, his touch softer than expected from an Alpha fresh from battle.

His fingers found the nightstand, retrieving a silk blindfold. My body tensed instinctively, but I forced myself to relax. This was the first night—survival was everything.

"Don't be afraid," his voice carried strange tenderness in the darkness. "I won't hurt you."

The blindfold covered my eyes, plunging my world into complete black. My other senses sharpened immediately—his breathing, the warmth of his fingertips, that cedar scent rolling off him in waves. It made me dizzy, so like Dante's yet utterly different.

"Call me Kier," he whispered against my ear.

I opened my mouth but found my voice trapped. He waited patiently, never rushing. Finally, I managed: "Kier..."

But in my heart, I called another name. Dante, Dante, Dante. I closed my eyes beneath the blindfold, imagining Dante's hands touching me, Dante's lips on mine. The self-deception made everything bearable.

He was patient, controlled, treating me like fragile glass.

But I knew this gentleness wasn't for me—it was for the she-wolf in white silk. I was just a vessel, carrying his longing and need.

There was pain, but I bit through it. Harder to bear was the absurdity—I was with a stranger, an Alpha I'd just met, while we both thought of someone else.

Afterward, he didn't leave immediately. He lay beside me, breathing gradually steadying. I felt his fingers unconsciously tracing my features—forehead to nose to lips.

"She used to do this," he said suddenly, voice barely audible. "Trace my face with her fingers and say I looked like a sculpture."

I wasn't sure if I should respond. I chose silence.

"You're not her," he continued, talking to himself. "But you're close enough."

And you're not him, I answered silently, but you're close enough.

He left before dawn. A maid brought dark brown broth, bitter as poison.

"Contraceptive," she said bluntly. "Drink it every time."

I took the bowl and drained it. The bitter liquid burned down my throat, but my expression stayed neutral. These were the rules—I needed to learn them all.

The first year passed this way. Kieran came two or three times weekly, always with the blindfold, always having me call him Kier. He never stayed past dawn, always leaving while I slept or pretended to. The contraceptive became ritual—I drank it before him, he nodded, then left.

I could move freely on the third floor. Bedroom, bathroom, small living area, and a north-facing balcony. Daily I stood there, watching the distant bay, calculating escape routes. But too many guards watched, and my scent bore Kieran's mark—every wolf in Seattle would know who I belonged to.

Everything changed at the second year's start.

That evening, reading on the balcony, I heard commotion below. Maids whispered, and I caught key words: "Alaska," "Celeste," "twins."

My heart sank. Celeste had birthed twins.

When Kieran came that night, he reeked of alcohol, pushing inside without the blindfold.

He was rougher than ever. I bit through my lip, tasting blood. He noticed, pausing briefly, then continued. The night stretched endlessly as I counted ceiling shadows, telling myself to endure.

When he left next morning, he said nothing, but his eyes were red—not from tears, but sleeplessness.

Three days later, I saw the news: Celeste's mate, Kieran's half-brother Alaric, had been severely injured in an "accident" in Alaska. Though he survived, he'd be bedridden for life.

Suddenly, I understood.

A month later, deep in night, I heard fighting from the study. It wasn't my business, but my legs carried me there anyway. Through the door crack, I saw Kieran's bleeding shoulder, three black-clad figures on the floor, their fate uncertain.

He leaned against the desk, face pale. I should have returned to my room, pretended I'd seen nothing. Instead, I pushed the door open.

Kieran looked up, gaze wary. "Go back."

I didn't obey. I approached, examining the wound that cut to bone. The medical kit sat on a nearby shelf; I retrieved it and began cleaning his wound.

"I said, go back." His voice grew colder.

"Shut up," I heard myself say. The first time I'd defied his command.

He froze. Then actually fell silent, letting me tend his wound. My hands trembled—not from fear but anger. Who was I angry at? Him? Myself? This damned fate?

After bandaging the wound, I turned to leave. He caught my wrist.

"Why?" he asked, voice hoarse.

I didn't answer because I didn't know. I yanked free and returned to my room.

After that night, the rules quietly shifted. Next day, complete advanced medical equipment arrived. Kieran said nothing, but I knew it was for me.

On a winter night in the third year, everything spiraled out of control.

I was watching TV in the living area when assassins shattered the window. Kieran was there too—unusual, since he never stayed late. He handled documents while I watched news, like an ordinary couple.

Breaking glass shattered the quiet. Five masked figures rushed in, silver blades gleaming. Kieran shifted instantly, his half-wolf form lightning-fast.

But one assassin bypassed him, charging straight at me.

I should have dodged. As a Beta wolf, I might not match an Alpha's power, but I could evade a blade. Yet in that moment, my body chose differently.

I stepped in front of Kieran.

The silver blade sliced through my shoulder, cutting deep. Pain nearly made me faint, but I heard Kieran's roar, then the assassin's scream.

"Sage!" He held me, voice filled with panic I'd never heard. "Don't you dare die on me."

I wanted to laugh. So many times I'd thought about dying, about release. But when death actually approached, I realized I wasn't ready. I hadn't avenged my family yet, hadn't brought justice for my pack.

I couldn't die.

Hospital lights were harsh. The doctor stitched my wound while Kieran held my hand, never letting go until surgery ended. First time he'd held my hand outside bed—not to possess, just holding.

"Why did you shield me?" he asked, voice deep.

I stared at the ceiling, thinking long before answering: "I don't know."

It was truth. In that instant, I truly didn't know why. Habit? Because he resembled Dante? Or had three years together conditioned my body to instinctively protect him?

I didn't know, and didn't want to know.

Three days after recovery, everything returned to normal. Kieran came, I complied, he left, I drank medicine. That brief warmth between us vanished, leaving only cold transaction.

Until that morning.

The maid brought breakfast but no contraceptive. Thinking she'd forgotten, I asked for it.

The maid looked nervous: "Alpha said... it's not needed anymore."

My hand froze midair. "What?"

"Alpha said you don't need the contraceptive anymore."

I rushed from the room, heading straight for Kieran's study. He handled documents, not looking up: "Something wrong?"

"Why?" My voice trembled. "Why don't I need the medicine anymore?"

He finally raised his head, silver eyes calmly regarding me: "It's time you got pregnant."

My world collapsed. "Why?"

"Celeste birthed twins—a boy and girl," he stated matter-of-factly, like discussing weather. "I should have heirs too."

I stared at him, suddenly wanting to laugh. So this was my value? A breeding machine, a tool to bear children for his fantasy she-wolf?

"You're insane," I heard myself say.

"No," he stood, walking toward me. "I'm very clear-headed. You'll give me a child, Sage. That's your purpose here."

I should have fought back, screamed, cursed, rebelled. Instead, I just stood there, looking at this stranger.

"Yes, Alpha," I finally said, voice hollow as if from someone else.

He frowned: "I told you to call me Kier."

I looked at him and suddenly smiled. That smile must have been terrifying, because I saw unease flicker in his eyes.

"Whatever you say... Kieran."

I turned and left the study. His voice followed, but I couldn't hear anymore. In my ears was only one thought, repeating endlessly:

This child will be born into a lie. Just like you. Just like me. Just like this whole fucking arrangement.