The air in the Montenegro estate was too quiet.

Not peaceful—suffocating.

Alaric paced the length of his office, his bare feet silent against the stone floor. A glass of whiskey sat untouched on his desk. Shadows stretched long from the firelight, flickering against shelves lined with ancient tomes and family relics he didn’t care about.

Everything around him reeked of heritage, power, and expectation.

None of it felt like it belonged to him.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, stopping by the window. Below, the courtyard was empty save for a few guards pacing in wolf form. The eastern wall shimmered under the silver runes carved to keep rogues out—and prisoners in.

Seraphine was still here.

Still alive.

Still carrying his child.

His teeth ground together at the thought. He’d tried to convince himself this was a trick, another layered betrayal orchestrated by someone trying to manipulate the Montenegro name. His family was full of vipers—Jessica, Emily, Daniel, all of them. Why wouldn’t this outsider be the same?

And yet… every time he looked into her eyes, he didn’t see a liar.

He saw fire.

And pain.

Pain like his. Old. Quiet. Dangerous.

A knock broke the silence.

“Enter,” he barked.

Gregor stepped inside with his usual unnerving calm. The butler’s presence was like a scalpel—always precise, never emotional.

“Lady Marian requests your presence.”

Alaric didn’t look away from the window. “What now?”

“She has summoned the inner circle,” Gregor said. “To finalize the status of the heir—and your temporary union with Seraphine Argent.”

Alaric scoffed. “Temporary marriage. What a joke.”

“It is the only way to silence internal resistance. The bloodline must remain unified.”

Alaric turned, his green eyes sharp. “Do you trust her?”

“Lady Marian?”

“No. Seraphine.”

Gregor hesitated. A rare thing.

“She has nothing left to gain. That makes her unpredictable.”

Alaric smirked. “Which means no.”

The inner circle gathered in the council chamber—twelve wolves in human form, each representing a bloodline loyal to the Montenegro pack. Marian stood at the head of the long obsidian table, calm as a blade laid flat.

Seraphine was already there.

She sat in silence at the far end, wrapped in a gray cloak, her face unreadable. Her posture was perfect. Controlled. Regal, despite the bruise still faint on her cheek.

Alaric took the seat beside her without looking at her.

“Let’s make this fast,” he muttered under his breath.

Marian’s voice carried across the hall. “You are all aware of the situation. The child has been confirmed as Alaric’s. Under pack law, this grants Seraphine Argent the right to temporary protection and status—until the child is born.”

A murmur passed through the council.

One of the older alphas—a gray-bearded man named Harven—stood. “This girl is not even bonded to her Wolf. What right does she have to stand beside the heir of Bloodshadow?”

Seraphine didn’t flinch.

She answered before Alaric could.

“My Wolf was lost when my clan fell,” she said, voice clear. “But I am still the last Argent. And I carry his heir. I do not need a Wolf to defend what is mine.”

Harven snorted. “You speak like an Alpha, but you're nothing now.”

Seraphine leaned forward slightly. “And yet, here you are, arguing with me in front of your matriarch. Which one of us is weaker?”

Alaric watched in silence.

Part of him wanted to applaud her.

Another part wanted to strangle her for speaking like she belonged here.

Marian raised a hand and the room silenced.

“Enough. The decision is made. The bond will be formalized in ritual tomorrow. Until then, Seraphine remains in this house under our protection.”

A formal nod ended the meeting.

As the elders filed out, Alaric rose.

So did Seraphine.

“You didn’t need to speak for me,” he muttered.

“I wasn’t,” she replied. “I was speaking for the child.”

Her voice didn’t carry warmth—but it did carry warning. She wasn’t doing this for him. She never would.

Alaric narrowed his eyes. “You’re really going to pretend you didn’t orchestrate this? No plot? No clever manipulation?”

Seraphine stepped closer, chin lifted. “You think everyone’s as twisted as your family. Not everyone lies for power. Some of us lie to survive.”

He stared at her.

Then, too low for the others to hear, he said, “Do you dream about the night they died?”

Seraphine froze.

That hit.

He saw it.

And then her voice dropped to a whisper. “Every night. But unlike you, I still feel it. You buried your pain in blood. I carry mine.”

She left him standing there, and Alaric hated her for it.

Because it wasn’t a threat.

It was the truth.

Hours later, Alaric stood before a sealed steel door in the Montenegro vaults, deep beneath the estate.

Marian had sent him here with a cryptic message: If you want to understand her, start with what she asked for.

Gregor’s words echoed in his mind. She has nothing left to gain. That makes her unpredictable.

The door creaked open with a groan of ancient hinges and magic.

Inside: relics from destroyed families. Spoils of war. Trophies from every rival they’d crushed.

He found it on a lower shelf, beside broken jewelry and shattered blades.

A small wooden hourglass.

The frame was carved by hand—simple, rough, old. The glass was cracked, but intact. Sand still moved between the chambers.

He picked it up.

Nothing magical.

Just… memory.

He imagined a child playing with it. A mother handing it over. A family still alive.

He turned it over in his palm and suddenly imagined Seraphine as a girl.

And it made something twist in his chest.

He left the vault without a word.

That night, he found her in the west wing library, curled up by the fire.

Her hair was loose, cascading over one shoulder. She wasn’t reading—just staring into the flames, fingers gently tracing her stomach.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her.

She looked… tired.

Not just from the pregnancy.

From carrying everything alone.

He stepped forward.

She heard him, but didn’t move.

“You know this place has cameras,” she murmured without looking. “If you’re here to finish what you started in the van, at least give the guards a show.”

“I brought you something,” he said.

That made her look.

He placed the hourglass on the table beside her.

Seraphine stared.

Her fingers reached out slowly, reverently. She touched it like it was something sacred. Something buried and long lost.

Her throat moved as she swallowed. “Where did you find it?”

“In the vault.”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “I thought it was destroyed.”

He didn’t answer.

She picked it up, cradling it against her chest. Her eyes shimmered—but she didn’t cry. Not in front of him.

And then she said it.

“Thank you.”

Two words.

Simple.

Quiet.

But Alaric felt them hit like a blow to the gut.

He cleared his throat. “You could’ve asked for anything.”

“I know.”

“You could’ve asked to be Luna. Or for money. Or your name restored.”

Seraphine met his eyes.

“I don’t need a title to rebuild what I lost. I just need to remember who I was.”

He stared at her for a long moment. The flames crackled. Her eyes reflected gold and sorrow.

He sat in the armchair across from her.

Not close.

But not far.

“You don’t trust me,” he said.

“I don’t trust anyone,” she replied. “Not anymore.”

He smirked. “Good. We have that in common.”

They sat in silence.

And for once, it wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was… still.

Real.

Alaric looked into the fire and wondered, for the first time in years, what peace might feel like.

Then Seraphine spoke again. “What about your Wolf?”

He tensed.

She noticed.

“Luke,” she said. “That’s his name, right?”

Alaric’s jaw tightened. “He doesn’t come out unless it’s for blood.”

“Mine vanished after my parents died,” she said softly. “Sometimes I wonder if we were both marked that night—me by loss, and you by vengeance.”

He didn’t respond.

But something shifted.

He no longer saw her as just a problem.

She was becoming a mirror.

One he didn’t like looking into—but couldn’t turn away from.

When he finally stood to leave, she spoke once more.

“Alaric?”

He turned.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “When we’re joined before the council… pretend if you want. But don’t lie to yourself.”

His brow furrowed. “About what?”

She looked down at the hourglass in her lap.

“That some part of you doesn’t want this. Not just for the child. But for something you haven’t had in a long time.”

“What’s that?”

She looked up, eyes too sharp for someone so soft-spoken.

“Someone who sees you—and doesn’t flinch.”

He left without a word.

But he didn’t sleep that night.

And in the dark, for the first time in years…

Luke stirred.