Chapter 3

I sat on the edge of my small cot in the basement room, staring at the bare concrete walls that had become my prison. The tattered remains of my possessions lay scattered around me—shredded dresses, torn photographs, and the empty jewelry box that had once held my most precious treasure. My fingers traced the velvet lining, now ripped out, as if I could somehow conjure my grandmother's locket back into existence.

The pendant had been more than jewelry. It was the last physical connection to my bloodline, to the grandmother who had whispered secrets with her dying breath. Now it was gone, like everything else that had once defined me.

Lyra, my wolf, paced restlessly in my mind. *They've taken too much,* she growled. *We cannot let them take more.*

The basement door crashed open, flooding the dim space with harsh light from the hallway. Isabella's silhouette appeared in the doorway, her copper hair gleaming like a crown of fire. Her lips curled into a victorious smile as she sauntered toward me.

"Looking for something?" she purred, dangling my grandmother's silver locket from her manicured fingers. The antique pendant swung hypnotically, catching the light with each movement.

I rose slowly, my heart hammering against my ribs. "That's mine."

"Is it?" Isabella's eyes narrowed with malicious delight. She closed her fist around the locket, and I heard a sickening crack. When she opened her palm, the silver pendant lay broken, its delicate hinge snapped. "Oops."

She tossed the ruined locket at my feet, where it landed with a soft clink against the concrete. I stared at it, unable to move, unable to breathe.

"Your grandmother's bloodline won't save you," Isabella hissed, stepping closer until I could smell her expensive perfume. "We know exactly who you are—and you'll never claim what's yours."

The words hit me like a physical blow. They knew. They had always known. The years of abuse, of degradation—it had never been random cruelty. It had been calculated, targeted.

"What are you talking about?" I whispered, though deep down, I already understood.

Isabella laughed, the sound like breaking glass. "Poor little Victoria. Did you think it was just bad luck that landed you with us? That your precious grandmother entrusted you to my father out of friendship?" She leaned in, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "The Moonstone Pack lands were never meant for you. They were meant for wolves who know how to use power."

She turned on her heel and stalked toward the door, pausing only to glance back with contempt. "Enjoy your new accommodations, *Luna*." The title dripped with mockery as she slammed the door behind her.

I sank to my knees, gathering the broken pieces of the locket in trembling hands. As I cradled the shattered silver, something shifted inside me—not just grief, but a cold, clear purpose.

* * *

The Regional Pack Summit buzzed with activity, the grand hall of the neutral territory filled with Alphas, Lunas, and high-ranking wolves from twelve different packs. I moved through the crowd like a ghost, ignored by most, actively avoided by others. The formal blue dress I wore—one of the few garments that had escaped Isabella's destruction—felt like a costume, a pretense of dignity that fooled no one.

Across the room, Marcus stood with his arm possessively around Isabella's waist, playing the role of devoted mate to perfection. Richard Ashford hovered nearby, his calculating eyes constantly scanning the room, occasionally landing on me with cold warning.

I spotted her near the ceremonial fire—Luna Elena Vance of the Silver Lake Pack. Known for her compassion and fair-mindedness, she represented my last hope for asylum. I had sent her a carefully worded message through one of the kitchen staff, and her brief response had given me a flicker of hope: *Meet me by the fire. I'll listen.*

I approached cautiously, my heart in my throat. Elena's warm brown eyes met mine, and for a moment, I saw genuine concern in them.

"Luna Victoria," she began, her voice soft. "I received your—"

"Elena." Richard Ashford materialized between us, his broad shoulders blocking my path. "A word, please."

He bent to whisper in her ear, his hand gripping her elbow with false cordiality. I watched Elena's expression change—the warmth draining away, replaced by fear and then careful blankness.

When Richard stepped aside, Elena wouldn't meet my eyes. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I can't help you." She turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd without a backward glance.

I stood frozen, watching my last hope vanish. Richard's hand clamped down on my shoulder, his fingers digging into my flesh with bruising force.

"Outside," he growled. "Now."

Numb with defeat, I followed him through the French doors and into the garden. The ancient oak that stood sentinel over the summit hall loomed above us, its sprawling branches casting deep shadows in the moonlight.

Richard spun to face me, his Alpha aura pulsing with barely contained rage. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a manila envelope, slapping it against my chest.

"Open it," he commanded.

With trembling fingers, I slid the photographs out. My blood turned to ice. There I was, meeting with Beta Caleb in the forest. Another showed me speaking with an Omega from the Eastern Ridge Pack. A third captured me examining bus schedules at the human town's station.

"We watch your every move," Richard snarled, his face inches from mine. "Every. Single. One."

He snatched the photos back, stuffing them into the envelope. "Return to Ashford territory or be exiled as a rogue," he growled. "Those are your only options."

The threat hung in the air between us. Exile as a rogue meant certain death—lone wolves rarely survived the brutal politics of unclaimed territories. It was no choice at all.

As Richard stalked away, leaving me alone beneath the ancient oak, I clutched the broken locket in my pocket. Something Isabella had said echoed in my mind: *We know exactly who you are.*

But they were wrong. They didn't know who I was becoming.

And soon, they would regret it.