~~Olivia's POV~~

The car hummed as we drove down the road. I stared out the window and tried to sort out the noise in my head: the murmurs in the hall, my father’s face, Lucas’s sneer, and the deal I made with a total stranger. Fenrir, the man with silver eyes, who had given me his blood. My coughing stopped. My body didn’t feel like it was made of glass anymore.

Then the bargain: a child in exchange for my freedom. To anybody else it would have felt like a trap, but somehow it had felt like an answer. At least back then.

He sat beside me now, silent. His jaw was a cliff in the half-light. This was the man I'll be losing my virginity to.

The driver kept his eyes on the road; the two men in the front seat were a shadowed wall of muscle. I wanted to ask a hundred questions but didn't know how to start. So I just opened my mouth and let the first word slip.

“So… what do you do?” I broke the silence, clearing my throat as if that would help lighten the tension I felt. “When you said your name, people… the way they reacted. Are you famous? A businessman? Something like that?”

He looked at me, and it was like watching someone read a book they have been trying to memorize. “To ordinary humans, you could say so,” he said finally.

“To ordinary humans?” My brain picked at the phrase like an itch. “What does that mean?”

He didn’t answer. He returned his attention to the road. His demeanor is now cold. I knew not to push further.

The road opened and closed under us for a long time, each mile folding into the next until the trees finally fell away and the world widened into fields. A wide mass of grassland brushed the sky. An estate came into view like a storybook castle someone had drawn from memory: wide, formal lawns and hedges clipped into proud little columns that the car followed, leading us to the gates set with iron teeth.

The walls of the estate were high, carved stone with tall pillars, and in the distance I could see towers where flags, dark with silver, flew in lazy circles.

My jaw dropped. I had never been anywhere this big. My whole life had fit into rooms with white tiles and quiet disinfectant smells. Even the idea of cozying through a lawn felt dizzying.

The car slowed and pulled up before an enormous door. A man in uniform opened my door, and I found myself outside in a place that smelled faintly of leather, wood smoke, and something floral I didn’t know the name of. Fenrir went in first, and I followed, my dress whispering against the marble. Inside, the house swallowed us with ceilings high enough to make me tilt my head. Columns arched up like the interior of a cathedral. Light fell through high windows and spread over textiles, fabrics, and rugs rich with colors I could hardly name.

This man wasn't just rich; the word felt small next to what this house showed. It was wide but elegant in a way that didn’t shout. It breathed power.

As we walked, maids and guards dipped their heads and stepped aside. Their silence made the place feel like a court. They moved with practiced order, like everyone knew where they stood.

We walked the hall; paintings lined the walls: portraits of men with wolfish expressions, of huge beasts with fur like night, of battles and moons. Fenrir walked with a calm that could have been arrogance or ease. I could feel his coldness and distance from me.

Then, at the end of a corridor, he stopped.

He pulled the little knife from his coat, the same one he'd used in the hotel, and then cut a small nick into his palm. A red bead appeared and slid along the skin.

My knees tightened. “What are you doing?” I whispered without even meaning to.

“Give me your hand.” His voice was commanding, but there was a softness to it still.

I stared like an idiot, heart stationed in my chest. The idea that this was serious, that this was more than just a performance, pressed on me like a weight. Still, I put out my hand. My fingers trembled when they touched his.

He cut my palm, the shock of pain bright and small. Blood bloomed, and I felt my breath go thin. Then he placed where he’d cut directly on top of mine. Warm ran over warm. His eyes were on mine, steady and impossible to look away from.

“Our deal is now sealed in blood,” he said, plain and sharp. “Until you fulfill your part of the agreement, we’re bound.”

My throat closed. A deal sealed in blood. It sounded ancient and dramatic, like something from a book my nanny from when I was younger would have read to me. A blood oath? It was all ridiculous. I knew it.

But for some reason, it felt real. Like I was now a character in one of those books, and this was now my life. I had agreed to it.

As he pulled his hand away, I looked down at my hand and watched the two little drops of crimson bead together and fade into each other like they belonged.

He snapped his fingers, and, as if from the walls themselves, a maid appeared.

Where had she been hiding?

The woman bowed and moved towards me like a small, fast shadow.

“Give her a bath,” Fenrir instructed without looking away from me. The maid nodded and hustled me away, already set on the task as if I’d always been part of the rhythm of this place.

I was led to a room that felt like a small palace. The wide room had soft rugs and a bed that was an island of pillows. Curtains fell in heavy folds. In an adjacent room, a tub waited by the window, steam curling like breath. It smelled of lavender and something sweet.

The maid, a small woman with careful hands, excused herself to fetch clothes. Left alone, I let myself look around. The walls were painted in a warm, friendly color that made me feel like the world had a face for the first time. I felt something odd and bright inside, like a small plant finding sun.

I was still breathing the new air when the door opened.

I thought it was the maid returning. Instead, a woman stepped in, like a cut of flame. Long red hair, green eyes that snagged at me, and pale skin that made her look almost too bright in the dim room. She was beautiful in a way that hurt to look at, like a photograph taken of someone who’d never been told no.

Then she sniffed.

She lifted her face, looked at me, and scrunched it with a curl half disgust and half disbelief. “How the hell did a human get in here?” she spat.

My mouth fell open. “Human?” I echoed. I didn’t even know if I should be angry or embarrassed. It felt like someone had named me the last leaf on a dying tree.

The woman strode closer, and before I could find my voice, she grabbed my wrist, hard and sharp. I felt the heat of her grip like a brand. She began dragging me out of the room.

Just then, Fenrir appeared, like something moving in the shadows had stepped forward. He was suddenly between us, fingers closing around the redhead’s. “Get your hand off my mate,” he hissed.

Mate. The word slid into my bones and stuck there. My heart hitched.

The redhead’s eyes widened as if she’d been struck. “Alpha Fenrir, your second-chance mate is a… human?” Her tone was a mixture of shock and repressed fury, and so much else I couldn’t name.

“Leave. Now.” Fenrir’s voice was a command that did not welcome disobedience.

She backed off with a final look at me, something like anger, disbelief, and…jealousy rolled into one. She turned and left. The door shut like a verdict.

Fenrir’s posture loosened. He reached for me with hands that were suddenly gentle, lifting my chin to look at my face. “Are you okay?” he asked, worry threaded into his voice.

I watched him, trying to hold myself steady. One moment he’d been as cold as a stone, and the next his touch was careful, like he was handling fragile glass. “What was that?” I asked, voice small and raw. “What do you mean, mate? Alpha? Second chance?”

He took a breath, like preparing to tell me something big. “One thing at a time,” he said. “I don’t want to overload you.”

He shifted backwards, his hand running through his hair like he was weighing the words to speak next. He paced once, then came back looking like he’d made a decision. “Earlier, you asked who I am. You want the truth, yes?”

I nodded. I couldn’t imagine anything more important in that moment than the truth.

He watched me with an expression that mixed tiredness and something like tenderness. “You’ve heard of us in fairytales and myths,” he began. “But we’re real. We exist among humans. I am Fenrir Lycaon, heir to the Lycaon Empire. Alpha of the Blood Moon Pack.”

He paused, as if giving me space to breathe for what he was about to say next. “I’m a werewolf,” he finished.

Everything paused for a second, my brain trying to register what my ear just heard.

And then, a laugh escaped my lips. I must have heard wrong.

“A… what? Werewolf” I could hardly say the words, the syllables tasting strange in my mouth.

His brows furrowed, and his fist tightened by his side. He looked offended. “You don't believe me? Fine. I'll prove it.”