Arianna’s Perspective

It’s been a week since I found my mate.

A week since I moved into his packhouse and told myself that everything would finally be different.

It should have felt like freedom—like the start of something better. But fate, I’ve learned, doesn’t deal in kindness.

I used to imagine my mate would be my rescue. That when we finally met, the bond would strip away all the loneliness I’d carried for so long. Instead, it feels as though misfortune followed me here and unpacked its bags beside my bed.

Anthony barely looks at me. When he does, it’s only to issue commands—cold, clipped, without a trace of warmth. I’m not his partner. I’m a duty he refuses to acknowledge.

He spends his nights with other women. He doesn’t hide it either. Sometimes, when he kisses them in the open, I catch his eyes flicking to mine—just to see the hurt he’s caused.

Still, I tell myself this is better. He doesn’t hit me. He doesn’t drag me by the hair or shove me into the cold like my father used to. Here, at least, I sleep on a bed. It’s a small mercy, but after a lifetime of the floor, it almost feels like love.

I keep my head down. I clean, I cook, I tend the flowers at dawn when no one’s watching. It’s easier to survive quietly than to hope for something that will never come.

There are two people here who don’t treat me like I’m invisible.

Flavia, a rogue girl who works the stables—sharp tongue, soft heart. She makes me laugh sometimes, though she’d never admit she’s trying to.

And Giovani, the pack’s beta. He speaks to me with a kind of respect, maybe because he pities me, or maybe because he’s one of the few who still remembers that I’m the Alpha’s mate, no matter how unwanted I am.

That morning, the air was cool and sweet, the kind that carries a promise of rain. I was watering the flowers outside the packhouse, lost in the quiet rhythm of it—the steady pour of water, the smell of wet earth, the soft hum of bees. For a rare moment, peace didn’t feel like a dream.

Then the office door slammed open.

Giovani stormed out, his steps hard and fast, frustration rolling off him in waves. Maximus, the delta, followed close behind.

“Where are you going?” Maximus demanded.

Giovani spun around, his voice low but shaking with anger. “How can the Alpha abandon us like this? Does he not understand who he’s provoking? The werewolf prince isn’t coming for a friendly chat, Maximus—he’s coming for blood. Anthony’s defied the treaty. And when the royals retaliate, it won’t be the Alpha who suffers first—it’ll be us.”

Maximus’s expression tightened. “He’s still the Alpha. We follow orders, whether we like them or not.”

Giovani gave a bitter laugh. “Then may the Moon save us when the prince arrives.”

Before Maximus could answer, the courtyard fell silent. The kind of silence that warns of a storm before it breaks.

The air shifted—heavier, colder. A ripple of unease spread through the pack.

And then he appeared.

He didn’t walk so much as arrive, like a shadow materializing into form. Guards flanked him, but he didn’t need them. Power rolled off him in quiet waves, enough to make everyone instinctively bow their heads.

I froze where I stood, the watering jug trembling in my hands.

He was… breathtaking, in a way that didn’t feel safe. Skin pale as moonlight, cheekbones sharp as if carved from marble, dark hair neatly slicked back. His uniform was simple but immaculate, a mark of discipline rather than vanity.

But his eyes—gods, his eyes—were a piercing blue, cold and distant, like winter seas that could swallow you whole.

He moved through the courtyard with unhurried grace, his gaze sweeping across the crowd before landing—on me.

My breath hitched. The world narrowed until there was nothing else but that stare. My pulse thundered. My wolf, silent for so long, stirred uneasily beneath my skin, half-awake, half-afraid.

He came closer, the weight of his attention pressing down like gravity. When he stopped in front of me, I forgot how to breathe.

“Who are you?” he asked. His voice was deep, calm, and utterly indifferent. The kind of tone used for things, not people.

The question stole the air from my lungs. Who am I?

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I wasn’t a real pack member. I was the daughter of a disgraced drunk from East Iris. I was Anthony’s mate—but saying it aloud felt wrong. No one here believed me anyway.

Giovani stepped forward quickly. “She’s Arianna,” he said. “Alpha Anthony’s mate, Your Highness.”

My eyes widened. Your Highness?

The name hit me like lightning. The cold, ruthless prince everyone whispered about—*Daniel Rodriguez.*

He regarded me for a long, heavy moment. I couldn’t read his expression, only feel the chill it carried.

“Perfect,” he said at last. “Tell your Alpha that as punishment for breaking the treaty, I’ll marry his mate. If he refuses, she’ll be the one to suffer.”

For a heartbeat, I thought I’d misheard him. But the stillness around us told me I hadn’t.

Before I could even form a thought, he closed the distance between us and seized my wrist. His grip was firm, unyielding, like iron disguised as flesh. Gasps rippled through the courtyard, but no one dared to move.

He turned sharply, dragging me with him. My steps stumbled to keep up. The jug slipped from my hands, shattering on the stones with a hollow crack.

We crossed the courtyard, past bowed heads and terrified eyes, until the heavy door of a black carriage loomed before us. He opened it, pushed me inside, and followed.

The door slammed shut behind us.

My pulse still thundered in my ears as the carriage jolted forward. I stared at him, at the man who had just claimed me as if I were part of a transaction, and realized—with a cold, sinking certainty—that once again, my life was not my own.

Not with my father.

Not with my mate.

And now, not with the Prince.