The morning after Marian’s visit dawned gray and cold, the sky a solid slab of iron above the Montenegro estate.

Seraphine hadn’t slept.

She sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped in one of the estate’s silk robes, her hands resting on her stomach. Seven weeks. The weight of it was invisible, yet it filled every inch of her. She could feel the faintest flicker of life beneath her skin, delicate and defiant. A quiet heartbeat that had no idea how many people wanted to use or destroy it.

The door opened without a knock.

Alaric.

Still shirtless, loose black sweatpants riding low on his hips, golden hair tousled and damp as if he'd just returned from a run—or a fight. His green eyes locked on her with a mixture of cold fury and burning calculation.

Seraphine stood instinctively, every inch of her body bracing.

He stalked toward her, not speaking. The tension in the room was thick as fog. When he stopped barely a foot away, Seraphine could smell blood and pine on his skin.

“You’re still here,” he said finally, voice like a blade sliding from its sheath.

Seraphine swallowed. “You signed the contract. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You could’ve refused. You could’ve tried to run again.”

She held his gaze. “And end up dead? I’m not that naive anymore.”

His smile was sharp and humorless. “So you’re learning.”

“You should try it sometime.”

In a blink, his hand shot out, catching her jaw—not rough, not bruising, but claiming. His fingers tilted her face up so she couldn’t look away.

“You still think you can talk back to me like we’re equals?”

“We’re not,” she said coldly. “You’re the one who has to pretend you didn’t almost carve open the mother of your heir in a drug-fueled rage.”

His eyes darkened. “I knew you were trouble the second I smelled you. You think you’re clever—think you can use this child to climb back into power.”

“I didn’t plan this,” she snapped. “I didn’t even know it was you. I was unconscious, drugged, betrayed by the only people I trusted.”

“Convenient,” he murmured, drawing closer. “That you forgot everything… except the part where I marked you.”

“I have no Wolf,” she said, louder now. “My bond to you is one-sided. You’re the one who left a scar.”

That struck something.

Alaric’s hand dropped.

His eyes flickered—not with sympathy, but something closer to confusion. He turned away, pacing, hands clenched at his sides.

“I don’t believe in accidents,” he said. “Everything in my life has been betrayal or design. So which one are you, Seraphine?”

“Neither,” she said. “I’m a consequence.”

The door burst open.

Gregor, the butler, stepped in with a firm knock that was more formality than permission.

“Alpha Alaric,” he said, calm as ever. “Lady Marian requests your presence in the Great Hall.”

Alaric didn’t move.

“She says it’s urgent,” Gregor added, eyes flicking to Seraphine.

Alaric cursed under his breath and stormed out, the door slamming behind him.

Seraphine sat back down slowly, her heart still pounding. That room had felt like a bomb waiting to go off—and somehow, she was always the one standing too close when it did.

The Great Hall of the Montenegro estate was built like a cathedral—stone columns, arched ceilings, and stained glass depicting wolves under phases of the moon.

Alaric stood at the center, facing his grandmother and several members of the Alpha council. Seraphine entered moments later, escorted by Gregor. Everyone turned to her.

She didn’t flinch.

Marian’s voice echoed across the chamber. “It’s official. The child is confirmed as Alaric’s heir. Under pack law, Alaric must claim full responsibility—or face challenge from the other bloodlines.”

Alaric scoffed. “They’d rather have Daniel or Cassie, and they’re not even here.”

“Daniel is too weak,” Marian said. “Cassie is too young. You are the only option left.”

One of the elders, a wolf-shifter with white hair and scars down his jaw, stepped forward. “But the mother—”

“She will be temporarily married to the Alpha,” Marian interrupted. “A bond of duty. Not love.”

Seraphine’s jaw tensed. Every word grated like silver on bone.

Alaric turned to her. “Are you ready to play the loyal Luna for a child you didn’t want?”

Seraphine smiled sweetly. “Are you ready to be Alpha of a pack that barely tolerates your existence?”

That made him pause.

Marian cleared her throat. “The terms are simple. Seraphine stays until the child is born. She has full protection under Alpha law. Afterward, she leaves with a granted wish of her choosing.”

Everyone nodded.

Seraphine’s voice rang through the hall. “I’ve already chosen. I want the hourglass that belonged to the Argent family. The one confiscated during the Mooncliff raid.”

Murmurs spread through the room.

“That’s all?” one of the elders said. “A trinket?”

Seraphine met Alaric’s eyes. “It’s all I need.”

Alaric’s expression was unreadable. But Seraphine saw it—the tiny crack in his mask. Something flickered there. Something uncertain.

Good, she thought. Let him wonder what it means.

Let them all wonder.

Later that night, Alaric returned to her quarters. She was brushing her hair in front of a mirror, trying to ignore the bruises still mottling her shoulders.

He closed the door behind him. “The council thinks you’re clever.”

She didn’t turn. “They’re not wrong.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Trust isn’t part of the contract.”

He moved behind her, so close she could feel the heat of him.

“You know what happens to liars in this house?”

She finally turned, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Yes. They end up dead. Or in charge. Sometimes both.”

His reflection smiled. There was something dangerous in it, but not angry this time. Calculating. Curious.

He leaned down, breath brushing her neck. “Be careful, Seraphine. Because I’m starting to wonder which one you are.”

She held his eyes. “Good. Keep wondering. It might save us both.”

His fingers lifted the necklace she wore—the one her mother had given her before the fall of Mooncliff. A silver chain with a tiny hourglass pendant, almost invisible.

“Is this it?” he asked.

“No. It’s just a copy.”

He stared at it for a long moment, then let it go. “You know the real one is buried in the vaults. Alongside the rest of your clan’s bones.”

“I know,” she whispered. “And someday, I’ll dig it up.”

He stepped away, no further words, just the soft creak of the door as he left.

But as it shut, Seraphine exhaled slowly.

The game had begun.

The wolf in her blood—even if silent—was watching.

Waiting.