Stephanie

“You should get back to the music room. We need new songs for the Opera House.” Howard said in his usual nonchalant tone.

“Don't worry,” I said. “I'll write something unforgettable.”

He smiled, unaware of the fire now lighting my soul.

I left the garden in silence, trailing behind Howard as we made our way to the music room.

When we arrived, he settled into the leather chair behind his desk with a sigh, already flipping open a folder like nothing had happened.

I, on the other hand, crossed to the far side of the room, brushing my fingers lightly over the polished keys of the violin before settling on the harpsichord instead. It was always easier to think with something in my hands.

The door creaked open just as I lifted my fingers.

My stomach turned when I saw who it was. Who they were.

Vivian waltzed in with a smile plastered on her perfect face, her arm looped through Jack's as if they hadn't just returned from sneaking around in the garden.

I glanced around me and felt the slow burn of irritation rising in me.

The hem of her dress was streaked with mud and Jack’s boots were no better. Clumps of dirt clung to the soles, trailing onto the polished marble floor with each careless step they took.

Hey didn't even bother to clean up. No shame. No effort to hide it.

I hissed internally, my grip tightening on the string. Of course they wouldn't care. Why would they? They believed I was too blind to notice.

I turned back to the harp, jaws clenched.

Fine. Let them pretend.

I could pretend too.

“Stephanie, I expect you to start preparing the musical notes,” Howard said without looking up from his polished mahogany desk. “There'll be a performance soon.”

My fingers paused midair over the string of the harp. “Performance?”

In my past life, there had been no performances around this time. Nothing memorable. Nothing planned. “What performance are you talking about?”

Howard finally met my gaze with a half-smile, like he knew something I didn't. “Alpha Dante is returning to the pack.”

The room tilted.

No. Not Father.

“You mean Alpha Dante?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Jack leaned against the doorway with a grin. “The one and only. He's coming back from the Eastern Border. I hear he painted the rivers red with rogue blood.”

My heart gave a painful thump.

Alpha Dante Davenport, the Devil of the MoonClaw Pack. The name alone had the power to silence an entire room. Stories about him were whispered or painted in the blood of the wolves who dared oppose him. A beast of a man with a smile carved from war and eyes sharp enough to cut through soul and steel.

I swallowed.

Vivian, ever the actress, twirled a lock of her blonde hair around her finger. “He's the type to drag singers to his bed before the chorus even starts. Ro-guish.” She said as if that was a compliment.

Jack tousled her hair as if she was a child. “How can you say that, dear? Stay away from him. He's not the kind of man you want to be with.”

“But he's coming here?” I asked, struggling to control the tremor in my voice.

“Yes. Our pack is to honour his return so father insisted we, the Opera House, host Alpha Dante upon his return,” Howard confirmed, glancing at the folder on the desk. “You'll compose something, Stephanie. Something worthy.”

My fingers tightened around the harp’s frame.

Alpha Dante was the only one. The only one who'd seen through the glittering cage my family had built around me.

In my past life, when I was barely more than a pawn in their empire of greed and manipulation, he'd told me, “Come to me, not those who use you.”

And I hadn't listened.

Maybe this time… I would.

I forced a shaky breath, then gave a small curtsy. “I'll go write something in my room.”

No one looked twice as I slipped out.

But I didn't go to my room. I went to the Velvet Lodge.

It was the most decadent building in the entire pack city with towering stone arches and gold balconies that glittered like a crown under the moonlight.

It was the kind of place where the most powerful wolves stayed, where whispers were traded for gold and where one man, the Devil, was currently residing.

I pulled my hood lower over my face, adjusting the loose-fitting traveling cloak. My hands trembled beneath the fabric as I walked up the carved status, heart hammering like I'd stolen something.

The scent of sandalwood and blood in the air, luxurious and sharp.

Inside the lobby, the chandelier looked like a constellation hand fallen into the room. And then, I saw him.

Broad-shouldered, dressed in black with a blood-red tie. A face so symmetrical it was almost cruel and eyes like steel catching moonlight. The man standing a few feet away was none other than Beta Dean, Dante's second. The silver-haired wolf every she-wolf whispered about but dared not approach.

He stopped me before I reach the elevator. “Who are you looking for?”

My breath got caught in my throat.

But I remembered why I came here and lifted my chin.

“My name is Stephanie Laurent,” I said. “Youngest daughter of Alpha Roman Laurent and I'm here to see Alpha Dante.”

His expression flickered and recognition flared in his silver eyes.

“Miss Laurent,” he said in a low voice. “My Alpha isn't seeing anyone.”

“I only need 5 minutes,” I insisted. “I want to tell him something he won't be able to ignore.”

He studied me. Then, with a nod, he stepped aside. “Follow me.”

The elevator ride felt.like stepping into the jaws of a wolf. When the doors opened, I was led into a lounge that smelled of smoke and clear, leather and danger. And there he was.

Alpha Dante.

Seated by the fireplace, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a half-buttoned shirt soaked in the scent of blood and pine. His hair was jet-black, slicked back but messy, and his face was both beautiful and terrifying like a weapon forged in fire and left to cool in war.

His gaze sliced into me the moment I stepped in.

“You requested five minutes, Laurent,” he said. “Use it wisely.”

I had to steady myself before I could speak. “I came to make you an offer.”

He scoffed, leaning back. “You? What could you possibly offer me?”

Instead of answering, I reached into my cloak, pulled out my flute, and raised it to my lips. My hands stopped shaking the moment the first note left the silver instrument.

The melody was haunting. A call of pain wrapped in defiance, rising like smoke, curling like claws.

When I stopped, the room was silent.

Dante stared.

Then his voice came, slow and stunned. “I want that music.”

A breath escaped me. “You can have it,” I said. “But that's not why I came.”

I stepped closer. “I want to be your wife.”

The silence cracked like thunder.

His laugh was sharp and almost cruel. “You're joking.”

“I'm not,” I said evenly. “I composed all the music in our opera house. Every piece you've heard… It's mine. Not Howard's.”

His brows furrowed. “According to Pack Law, an unmarried woman can't claim property or copyrights.”

“Exactly,” I said. “That's why I need a husband. For one year. I take back what's mine, and in return, I help you deal with the elders. They want you to marry Vivian, don't they?”

His smile vanished. “I hate her.”

“Then marry me instead.”

He stood and crossed the room in a single step, towering over me. His hand coiled around my waist like a serpent. “Are we supposed to act like lovers in this arrangement?” He asked, voice a dark whisper.

“Only if the situation calls for it,” I said, chin raised.

His eyes glinted like polished onyx. “Dangerous little songbird.”

Then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed me.