JACKLA

I stood naked in front of the tall mirror, the pale morning light pouring through the window, brushing softly over my bare skin. The girl staring back at me wasn’t unfamiliar, but she wasn’t quite me either.

My body had changed.

Not in a way that repulsed me. No. My breasts were round and high now, fuller than before, almost delicate in their curve. My waist dipped in softly, leading down to hips that swayed with a new weight—womanly, deliberate.

Even the muscles in my thighs seemed leaner, sculpted from endless days of training, stretching, and obedience drills. My skin looked softer, glowed warmer, as if someone had lit a candle beneath it.

And then there was the hair. A curtain of thick red waves tumbled down my back, brushing just above my waist. Not a trace of the blonde strands I once had.

They had made me beautiful.

But not for me.

For him.

For a man I was being handed to like a gift wrapped in flesh and silk. I didn’t hate what I saw. That was the part that scared me the most. I hated why I was made to look this way.

I hated that my beauty, whatever it was now, wasn’t mine to use, to enjoy, or to protect. It belonged to a monster I hadn’t even met yey. My stomach twisted. I pressed both hands against it, trying to quiet the storm.

Every part of me had been measured, painted, fixed, trained. They worked me like clay, whispering Morano’s name like a warning and a promise.

"He likes obedience."

"He doesn’t tolerate mistakes."

"You don’t speak unless spoken to."

Four weeks of this. Of being molded. Of becoming her. “What the hell is keeping you, Jackla?” The door burst open like a storm, slamming against the wall. I didn’t turn. I didn’t need to.

I could feel his fury crawling across the room like heat. “You’re already keeping Alpha Morano waiting on the first day you meet him,” he roared.

“I don’t care. If he wants me as his wife, then he’ll wait,” I said, my voice low but sharp. The words burned in my throat as they left me, but I didn’t take them back.

My father’s boots thudded across the floor as he stormed toward me. His hand shot up, rage shaking through his fingers, but he paused just before striking me. I turned to face him fully, naked and unafraid.

“You still haven’t told me why I’m marrying this man.” For a moment, he just stared. Then he laughed, dry and cold. “Because Morano’s dangerous,” he said.

“Too dangerous to ignore. Too powerful to fight. But not smart enough to suspect a woman in his bed.” His eyes narrowed. “You’ll be more than a wife. You’ll be my eyes inside the Wolf’s Den Pack.”

“Your role is clear. Spy on Morano. Gather names, maps, weaknesses, codes. Get close enough to hurt him without ever lifting a weapon.” My skin prickled, not from the cold, but from the weight of his words sinking in.

“I’m not sending you to be loved,” he added. “Get ready in five.” With that, he turned and walked out, the door slamming shut behind him. I stood there, frozen, until his footsteps faded.

Then I let the tears fall. The ones I had been holding since the moment I realized I was never going to be free. They slid down slowly, warm and heavy, leaving wet trails over my cheeks.

I wiped them away with the back of my hand like they didn’t matter, like I didn’t care, even though my chest felt like it was splitting open from the inside.

I turned toward the wardrobe. The doors creaked softly as I opened them, and there it was. The outfit Jayla picked. Her style. The leather fit too well. My curves no longer felt like mine.

I had been an assassin before, yes, but I worked in shadows. Never up close. Never vulnerable like this. Now I was walking into the lion’s den, dressed like a bride but made to bleed.

I wasn't ready.

Not for him.

Not for Alpha Morano.

He would crush me if I slipped.

I walked down the stairs slowly. Jayla was already waiting in the living room, lounging like a queen. “How do you look so much like me,” she said with a laugh, her voice sharp like glass, “but can never be me?”

“Not like I wanted this in the first place,” I muttered. She just smiled, lips curling with amusement, and I gave her one last look. One last glance at the girl who got to choose.

Then I walked out the door, feeling the weight of every step. The cab ride was quiet, but my thoughts weren’t. My fingers twisted around themselves in my lap as the car moved.

When we stopped, I stepped out and stared at the tall building. My father’s words echoed in my head as I walked through the hallway, each click of my heel louder than the last.

I stopped at the door, took a breath, and knocked.

“Come in.”

His voice. Low, deep, with something sharp buried inside it.

I stepped in and froze.

The light caught his jaw. Sharp. Familiar. My breath hitched. That scent—dark cedar and smoke. It twisted something deep in my stomach. My heart started pounding. My legs wouldn’t move. Then his eyes met mine.

Jade green. Cold.

It was him.

The man from the club. The one who pinned me like I was nothing. Like I was his. He was sitting in a wide armchair like he owned the world, his legs spread lazily, shirt half unbuttoned, a girl kneeling between them, sucking the life out of his manhood with her head moving in slow rhythm.

“Wanna join us, wifey?”

His eyes, cold and heavy with judgment, rested on me like I was beneath him. “You’re late. At least you made an effort to look good.” He didn’t recognize me, because I was wearing a mask that day at the club.

But I could never forget him. Even now, with ink crawling over his chest, his shoulders wide and carved like stone. His lips were full, perfect, but the words that came out of them could slice through skin.

He was beautiful in the most dangerous way. After he was done with his slut, he dismissed her.

“Come here. Sit.”

The way his voice dipped lower than usual, how his eyes never left mine, it felt like he knew. “Knew what?” I asked myself quietly, fingers digging into my thighs as I sat down, trying to stay composed.

I sat across from him in that quiet room, trying not to fidget under the weight of his stare. Morano didn’t speak at first. He just sipped from a glass of something dark, his rings catching the low light.

His eyes were steady on mine like he was peeling me apart layer by layer. “I hope you’re not planning to show up late tomorrow,” he finally said, voice smooth but sharp at the edges.

“Tomorrow?” I repeated, trying to keep my voice light.

“The wedding,” he said with a slight smirk, as if it amused him that I could forget. “Or are you getting cold feet, cara mia? That would be... unfortunate.”

I shook my head quickly. “No, of course not. I’ll be ready.”

His gaze didn’t move. “You should be. Everyone will be watching. Including enemies.” He leaned forward, setting his glass down with a quiet clink.

“You’ll need to be perfect.”

I gave a tight smile, though something in my chest twisted. “I understand.” He stared for a moment longer, then nodded slowly.

“Good. Because there’s something I need to confirm before tomorrow.”

I blinked. “What is it?”

He stood, taking his time like he wanted me to feel the shift in the air. “Let’s just say... I want to test something. To be sure, the woman I want to marry is as fierce as I was told.”

“You won’t refuse, will you?” His voice was gentle, but I felt the warning buried beneath it.

“No,” I said.

“Good. Follow me.” He turned and walked toward the door. I followed behind him even though every step felt like walking into a trap I couldn’t escape. He led me through a narrow hallway that smelled of metal and damp concrete. Two of his men followed behind.

My heels echoed against the ground like warning bells, and the moment the door creaked open, my stomach twisted. I saw the man before anything else. Tied to a pole. Face swollen.

Blood soaked the front of his shirt, dripping to the floor in thick, slow drops. But when his head lifted—barely—my knees nearly buckled.

It was him.

My boss. He was the head of our assassin crew. “What are you doing here?” My voice cracked as I touched his cheek gently, and his head leaned into my palm like it was the only comfort he had felt in days.

But he was too weak to speak. “Why?” I turned sharply to Morano, my voice rising, my eyes wide with disbelief. “Why did you do this to him?”

Morano stepped closer, calm, almost amused. “Do you know this man?” he asked slowly, and then I froze. My lips parted, but no sound came out. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t blow my cover.

He didn’t wait for an answer. “This man killed innocent people. My business partners,” he said, pacing now, his hands behind his back. “He claims it’s justice, but I know the truth.”

“He’s part of a crew. They call themselves ghosts. They’re nothing but murderers.” My hands trembled. My stomach churned. But what hit me hardest was the quiet thought echoing in my skull.

We only killed criminals. Right?

Had they lied to me?

Then the door opened again, and the air left my lungs. The rest of the crew… dragged in one by one. Bloody. Bound. Barely breathing. If I screamed, he’d know too much. If I stayed silent, I’d never forgive myself.

And just as I opened my mouth—

Morano raised his gun.

One shot. Then another. And another.