Bond To The Silent Alpha

Hannah's pov

"I can't do this, Hannah."

Jones's voice cut through me like a blade, quiet but final. He couldn't even look me in the eye. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched, as if just saying the words was exhausting him.

For a second, I thought I'd misheard. My heart hammered so hard against my ribs I swore the whole corridor could hear it. "What… what do you mean you can't?" I whispered, my throat tight.

He finally looked up. His dark eyes were cold—no trace of the boy who used to hold my hand like it was the only thing keeping him steady. "I reject you, Hannah. Whatever this is—whatever you thought this was—it's over. Don't follow me."

My breath caught. "You don't mean that."

He stepped back, almost flinching as if my presence stung. "I do. You're not who I thought you were. We're done."

The words slammed into me, each one breaking something fragile inside. Before I could say anything else, he turned and walked away, his boots echoing down the stone hallway, the sound fading but leaving silence louder than anything I'd ever known.

I stood frozen, my body refusing to move. My palms felt clammy. My throat burned. And then the weight hit me all at once, crushing, and I couldn't breathe.

I stumbled out of the academy gates, not caring about the students who glanced at me, their whispers trailing behind. By the time I reached the road, my vision was blurred with tears I couldn't hold back anymore. My chest heaved as I wrapped my arms around myself, as if I could stitch myself together before I completely came apart.

Jones had been my everything.

My anchor.

The one person who made me feel like I belonged. And now… he was gone.

By the time I made it back to the Adams house, my body felt hollow. I pushed the door open, and the familiar creak of the hinges only made the ache sharper. Home, but not really home.

I trudged inside, dropping my bag by the door, wiping at my face with the back of my hand before anyone saw.

The smell of old wood and laundry detergent clung to the air.

The Adams house was always neat, but tonight it felt suffocating.

"Is that you, Hannah?" Mrs. Adams's voice floated from the living room, warm as ever.

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice not to crack. "Yeah. It's me."

"Good." She said.

"I'm sure you remember what we discussed today. You don't have an option Hannah. You must marry Alpha Ross, in place of your sister. This is what you owe the Adams family after all! You—"

"I will."

The words slipped from my lips before I could think twice.

My foster mother sucked in a sharp breath. "What did you just say?"

I understood her disbelief.

This wasn't the first time we had discussed the arrangement with Alpha Ross. For years, I had refused. For years, I'd fought her, begged her, promised that Jones would choose me. That one day, I'd prove my worth.

She never expected me to fold so easily.

Calm. Numb. I repeated, "I'll do it."

The silence stretched before she let out a relieved breath.

Then her tone snapped sharp again. "One month from now, the Mercer family will register your marriage with their eldest son. They've already set the date. Someone will come to fetch you for the wedding. I've accepted the bride price, Hannah, and I will not return it. If you dare go back on your word or cause trouble, I will—"

"I won't," I cut her off, my voice cold.

Her satisfaction was almost tangible.

I forced myself to keep my tone steady.

"The Mercer family is rich. I trust their bride price was generous. You took me in from the orphanage, raised me for sixteen years. Fine. I'll marry him in your daughter's place. That settles my debt to you and the Adams family. From now on, we owe each other nothing."

And before she could spit another word, I walked up to my room.

The silence that followed was deafening.

I sat there at the vanity table, staring blankly. My chest felt hollow. But I couldn't stop myself from reopening the news app.

There it was again.

Jones and Elsa's wedding.

Videos. Photos. Headlines screaming about the "reunion of the century." Their names dominated every trending chart.

I tapped on one clip.

There he was—my Jones—standing hand in hand with Elsa, surrounded by flashing lights and smiling guests. Their vows echoed clearly, promises of forever.

The crowd roared, offering blessings. The internet praised them endlessly. "A match made in heaven," they called it. "True love reunited at last."

Everyone celebrated.

Everyone except me.

Because Jones wasn't just some stranger. He was the man I had loved with every piece of my heart.

Four years ago, after his accident, when everyone else abandoned him, I stayed. When Elsa herself had left for a convenient marriage abroad, I stayed. When his powerful family cut ties with him, I stayed.

When he nearly ended it all on that snowy night, it was me who found him. Me who carried him back from the edge.

I gave him everything—my time, my dignity, my health.

I sold my blood, endured beatings as a debt collector's scapegoat, swallowed humiliation after humiliation—just to raise money for his surgery overseas.

I worked until my ribs cracked, until I could barely breathe, until my body was little more than bruises and exhaustion.

But I did it.

Two years ago, he walked again. He kissed me, promised he would treat me well forever. Promised he would never let me down.

And I believed him.

I believed every word.

Until Elsa came back.

They said she was dying. Six months left. Her final wish—to marry him.

And he… couldn't refuse.

So the wedding I spent six painstaking months preparing… became hers.

The dress I stitched by hand, each thread filled with hope? Elsa wore it.

The ring he had designed for me? Elsa wore it.

And around her neck—my pendant.

The keepsake my parents had left me. The only thing of them I had left.

I remembered the night I lost it—rushing to save Jones. He told me later he'd found it, said he'd give it to me on my birthday.

But when Elsa whispered that she liked it, he gave it to her without hesitation.

My throat burned. No tears came. I'd wasted enough of them already.

That night, I didn't call him. I didn't beg.

Instead, I lit a candle on a small cake I'd bought for myself. My birthday cake. The single flame flickered, dancing over the frosting. I stared at it until the wax melted, until the cream turned to a mess.

Just like my love—once bright, now melted into nothing but ash.

When the candle finally guttered out, I closed my eyes and whispered into the silence, "Happy birthday, Hannah."

It was nearly dawn when I finally decided to go to the Pack house.

I sat at the dining table, my eyes raw from staying up all night. He paused when he saw me. His brows knitted together.

"Why are you here Han?"

I didn't answer his question. My voice came out flat, lifeless. "Jones, let's break up. And tell Elsa to return my parents' keepsake."

For a moment, he just stared at me. Then his lips curved in a faint smile, like he understood everything.

"You know I had to do that. I had to put in a show for them all."

His tone wasn't guilty. It wasn't apologetic. Just… knowing.

He thought I was jealous.

He always thought I was jealous.

His voice softened, like he was humoring a child. "Don't be mad. I didn't forget your birthday. Look—this is your gift."

He set a jewelry box on the table. Burgundy velvet. Expensive.

Inside lay a pink diamond necklace. The gem sparkled brilliantly, large enough to buy a house.

Far more valuable than my pendant.

But it wasn't what I wanted.

He thought my silence was forgiveness. That if he bought something prettier, shinier, I would stay.

He reached for the necklace. "Here. Let me put it on you."

"I don't want this necklace!" My hand shot out, slapping it away. The box clattered across the table, the diamond gleaming up at me like mockery.

"I only want my parents' keepsake!" My voice cracked, rising with desperation I couldn't swallow back. "That pendant was all I had of them. How could you give it to Elsa?"

His expression shifted. The warmth drained from his face, replaced by ice.

His voice sharpened, every syllable cutting. "Elsa really likes that pendant."

I stared at him. "And because she likes it, you gave it away?"

"She doesn't have long." His eyes narrowed. "Six months. Maybe less. Do you really have to fight with her over something so small?"

Something so small.

My lips trembled. "It's not small. It's the only piece of my family I had left."

He didn't flinch. His voice was cold, merciless. "She's dying, Hannah. And you—you're acting selfish. Heartless. When did you become this way?"

The words gutted me.

Because he didn't see me. Not anymore.

He saw her.

And I finally understood—I'd already lost.

Not just to Elsa. But to the man John had become.

The man who would give away my parents' keepsake without a second thought.

The man who would call me selfish for wanting it back.

The man who had once promised me forever and handed it to someone else instead.

I swallowed hard, forcing down the sob clawing up my throat. And for the first time, I didn't fight. I didn't plead.

I just looked at him and thought, You're not worth it.

I laughed. I actually laughed.

The sound came out cracked and wrong—too sharp, too brittle to be anything close to sane. Jones stared at me like I'd grown horns, his mouth half open, eyes wide with disbelief.

"You think this is funny?" he asked.

I straightened, forcing the laughter to die in my throat. "What's funny," I said slowly, "is how you think you can take something that doesn't belong to you and still act righteous about it."

His brows furrowed. "It's a pendant, Hannah. A piece of metal. Elsa's wolf is so weak that it leaves her as helpless as a dying human, and she wants to have it with her. You're really that heartless?"

My pulse drummed against my temples. "That pendant was my mother's. She left it for me."

He scoffed. "Oh, right. Everything has to be about you. Even when someone's on her deathbed."

The words hit harder than I expected. For a second, I couldn't breathe.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and said quietly, "You'll regret saying that."

"Will I?" His lips twisted into a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "You used to be kinder, Hannah. Before you turned bitter over everything that didn't go your way."

I wanted to scream. Instead, I looked him dead in the eye and said, "Return my pendant, Jones. Or there'll be hell to pay."

He barked out a laugh. "You're unbelievable." He turned and walked away, muttering something under his breath about me being cruel and selfish.

I didn't chase after him. I stood there, shaking, my fingers curling into my palms until my nails dug deep into my skin. I could feel something inside me hollowing out—like a part of me had finally snapped and gone quiet.

That night, I sat alone in my room, the moonlight spilling across the floor. I replayed his words over and over again until they started to lose meaning.

Heartless. Bitter. Cruel.

Maybe he was right. Maybe I had turned into everything he accused me of.

But what did he expect? That I'd just sit here, smile sweetly, and watch him play house with my sister while wearing the one thing my mother left me?

No.

He didn't get to have both of us.

By morning, I'd made up my mind.

Elsa's "sickness" had always seemed too convenient. The fainting spells, the trembling hands, the sudden need for pity. And Jones—stupid, loyal Jones—had eaten every lie she fed him like a starving man.

I waited until evening before going to her room. The house was unusually quiet, the kind of quiet that carried secrets. I pushed open her door without knocking.

She was sitting up in bed, painting her nails. Perfectly healthy, perfectly smug.

"You should knock," she said without looking up. "It's rude to barge in on sick people."

I smiled thinly. "You don't look sick."

Her eyes flicked up to mine, a slow smirk spreading across her lips. "Guess I'm having one of my good days."

"I want my pendant."

She laughed—a low, satisfied sound. "Oh, that? I'm keeping it."

I stepped closer. "You don't even care about it."

"Oh, but I do. It looks beautiful on me. Besides," she said, leaning back against her pillows, "it was always meant to be mine. You just happened to snatch it first."

I froze. "What are you talking about?"

Her grin widened. "You really didn't know? That pendant was supposed to be mine. Mother promised it to me before she realized you'd already taken it. She told me it belonged with the eldest daughter. But you—oh, you were always the thief, weren't you?"

I clenched my fists. "You're lying."

"Am I?" She shrugged lazily. "I lied about dying, yes. About this—no."

The air left my lungs. "You what?"

She tilted her head, amused by my reaction. "You didn't really believe I was sick, did you? Come on, Hannah. I may be dramatic, but not that pathetic. I just needed time. Time for Jones to feel sorry enough to leave you. And he did."

My jaw tightened. "You faked all of this? The doctor's reports? The hospital visits—"

"Oh, darling," she interrupted, "money can buy anything. Even sympathy."

I wanted to slap her. To scream. To tear that smug little smile off her face. But instead, I forced myself to stand still.

"Why?" I asked quietly.

"Because everything you have was meant to be mine," she said without hesitation. "Jones, the pendant, even the attention from the Mercer family. You just got lucky being born first."

"You mean unlucky," I murmured. "Because you were the one who went abroad to marry that man."

Her smile faltered, just for a second.

"Ah," I said softly. "There it is. The regret."

She stood abruptly. "Don't pretend you understand anything. That marriage was a nightmare. But at least it got me away from this miserable house for a while. When I came back, I realized Jones was the only one who still adored me. So yes, I decided to take him back. Why shouldn't I? You never deserved him."

I felt something inside me harden. "You don't love him," I said. "You just don't want me to have him."

She smirked. "Close enough."

The door creaked behind me, and I turned just in time to see Mother standing there, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

"Hannah," she said smoothly. "You shouldn't upset your sister. She needs rest."

"She needs consequences," I said.

Mother's lips curved. "Careful, dear. You sound vindictive."

I met her gaze evenly. "Maybe I am."

Elsa snickered. "There's the real Hannah. The one who pretends to be so righteous while plotting behind everyone's back."

I ignored her. "You both planned this together, didn't you?"

Mother didn't deny it. She just said, "It was necessary. Jones belongs with someone who can secure our family's standing. You'll understand one day."

"I already do," I said. "You'll do anything for control."

Mother's eyes narrowed slightly. "Go to your room, Hannah."

But I wasn't a child anymore. I took a slow step forward, lowering my voice. "You and Elsa will return my pendant. If you don't, I'll make sure everyone knows about the fake illness. Including Jones."

Elsa stiffened. "You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?" I asked. "You really think the Mercer family will let Jones marry a woman who lies about being terminally ill to manipulate people? Or that your mother's friends won't turn on you the moment they smell a scandal?"

Their silence told me everything I needed.

Mother spoke first, her tone icy. "You're making a mistake, Hannah. This won't end well for you."

"Maybe not," I said. "But it'll end worse for you."

I turned and walked out before they could respond.

By the next morning, the pendant was back on my dresser. No note, no apology—just the necklace, gleaming coldly in the morning light. I stared at it for a long time before slipping it into my palm.

Jones came to see me that afternoon.

He hesitated by the door, rubbing the back of his neck like he didn't know where to start. "I… wanted to apologize," he said. "About what I said on your birthday. I was upset. I shouldn't have snapped at you."

I didn't look up from the book I was pretending to read. "You shouldn't have," I said.

He sighed. "Hannah, come on. Don't do this. I know you're angry, but—"

"I'm not angry," I said flatly. "Just done."

He blinked. "Done?"

"Yes." I closed the book and finally met his gaze. "You can stop worrying about me, Jones. In a month, I'll be out of your hair."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm getting married."

The color drained from his face. "Married?"

"Yes," I said simply. "To the eldest son of the Mercer family."

He stared at me like I'd slapped him. "Hannah, he's in a coma."

"I know."

He ran a hand through his hair, baffled. "Then why—"

"Because it's convenient," I interrupted. "He has power. Wealth. Freedom. And most importantly, he won't interfere."

Jones took a step toward me, his voice low. "You don't have to do this."

"Oh, I do," I said softly. "You and Elsa made sure of that."

He flinched. "Hannah—"

"Save it." I stood, brushing past him. "I'm done being the fool who waits for you to grow a conscience. Congratulations on your engagement. I hope she's worth everything you've lost."

He reached for me, but I moved away before his fingers could touch me. "Goodbye, Jones."

I walked out, my heart hammering so hard I could barely breathe.

By the time I reached my room, tears were already burning behind my eyes. I refused to let them fall. Not for him. Not anymore.

I looked at the pendant again, the one thing that had started it all. The gold glinted under the light, catching on the curve of my palm. It used to symbolize love—my mother's, my family's. Now, it was a reminder of betrayal.

Marrying a comatose man might've sounded insane, but it was the only move left that gave me control. The Mercer family had influence, protection, and power—everything I needed to destroy Elsa and Jones.

I wanted them both to see what it felt like to lose something they couldn't replace.

I fastened the pendant around my neck and looked at myself in the mirror. For the first time in months, I didn't see the broken girl Jones had left behind.

I saw someone dangerous.

Someone reborn.

And for that, I smiled.

The chapel smelled faintly of lilies and old incense. The candles flickered against the marble walls, throwing long, trembling shadows across the empty pews.

Empty—that was the word that clung to everything around me. Empty pews. Empty air. Empty vows.

And yet, I stood there in a white dress, veil pinned perfectly in place, pretending this wasn't the most hollow moment of my life.

"Are you ready, dear?" Cecile Mercer asked gently from her seat in the front row. She was the only one there who looked remotely pleased. Her hands were folded neatly on her lap, a picture of elegance and composure. Her expression was soft, kind even—but her eyes missed nothing.

"Yes, ma'am," I said quietly.

Beside her sat another woman—Elsa's mother. Her presence was the opposite of comforting. Her sharp gaze lingered on me like she was waiting for me to falter, waiting for me to run so she could call me a coward.

She wouldn't get that satisfaction.

The elder they chose was one from the Mercer's pack. He gave me a once over before he cleared his throat. "Shall we begin?"

I nodded, my fingers tightening around the small bouquet I held. The flowers were perfect, too perfect—white roses tied with silver ribbon, the Mercer family's color, the representation of the color of the moon.

The ceremony began.

I repeated the words the priest said, my voice steady even when my chest felt like it was caving in.

"I, Hannah Grace, take Ross Mercer as my lawful husband..."

The echo of my own voice felt surreal. There was no groom standing beside me. Just an empty altar, a vacant space where Ross should have been.

"...to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall live."

His voice filled the silence, solemn and calm, like this was normal. Like brides married absent men every day.

When he asked for the rings, Cecile stood and handed one over—a simple gold band.

"This belonged to his grandmother," she said softly. "Ross would have wanted you to have it."

Would he? I had no idea.

I slid the ring onto my own finger when the priest instructed me to, my hand trembling only slightly. Then he pronounced us husband and wife, his tone grave but gentle.

And that was it.

I was married.

To a man who wasn't even in the room.

Cecile approached first, smiling faintly. "Congratulations, dear."

I tried to smile back. "Thank you, ma'am."

Elsa's mother rose next, her lips curling into something that was almost satisfaction. "Well," she said, "I suppose you've kept your end of the bargain."

I met her gaze squarely. "I always do."

She didn't respond, just adjusted her shawl and turned toward the door, muttering something about informing Elsa.

Good. Let her run and tell her daughter. Let them both know I'd done exactly what they thought I wouldn't.

Cecile slipped her arm through mine as we exited the chapel. "Ignore her," she murmured. "People like that thrive on bitterness. You, my dear, are above that."

I wasn't sure about that. But I nodded anyway.

Outside, a sleek black car waited at the curb. Cecile gestured for me to enter. "We'll go straight to the Pack house. I know this wasn't the wedding you imagined, but I promise you'll be well taken care of."

The ride to the Mercer pack was quiet. Cecile sat beside me, occasionally giving small, polite smiles. She was every bit the refined matriarch—poised, graceful, composed. Yet there was warmth beneath it.

I found myself studying her. There was something about her voice that carried both authority and comfort. I wondered how she'd raised a son in a world like this and still managed to sound kind.

"Ross spoke of you before," she said suddenly.

I turned to her, surprised. "He did?"

Her lips curved faintly. "He met you once, at a charity event three years ago. You wouldn't remember—you were with your parents. He noticed you, though. Said you were... different."

"Different how?" I asked quietly.

Her smile deepened. "He said you looked like you wanted to disappear, but your eyes refused to let you."

I didn't know what to say to that.

The car pulled up to the Mercer manor, an enormous structure of grey stone and arched windows. It looked like it had stood through centuries—beautiful but intimidating.

When the butler opened the door, Cecile gestured for me to step out first.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Mercer," she said.

The words hit me harder than I expected. Mrs. Mercer. It sounded too heavy, too final.

As we entered the grand hallway, two figures appeared near the staircase. One was a tall man in a navy suit, handsome in a cold, sharp way. The other, a blonde woman clinging to his arm, her smile polite but calculating.

Cecile's expression tightened. "Hector," she greeted curtly. "Lydia."

"Mother," Hector said, his tone neutral. His eyes flicked toward me, assessing, unimpressed. "So this is her."

"Yes," Cecile said evenly. "Your brother's wife."

His brow lifted. "A wedding without a groom. How modern."

"Hector," Cecile warned.

Lydia laughed softly. "Oh, come now, Cecile. He's only teasing. It's just... unusual, isn't it? Marrying a man in a coma?"

I kept my face blank. "Unusual, yes," I said calmly. "But practical."

Lydia blinked, not expecting me to respond. "Practical?"

"Ross is alive," I said simply. "That's more than I can say for most marriages."

Hector's mouth twitched like he was holding back a smirk, but Cecile cut in smoothly, "That's enough, both of you. Hannah's tired."

As we passed them, Lydia whispered something under her breath. I didn't catch the words, but the disdain in her tone was unmistakable.

I ignored her. People like her thrived on reactions—and I'd learned long ago not to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me break.

Cecile led me down a long hallway, stopping at a pair of double doors near the end. "This is Ross's room," she said softly.

My breath caught.

She turned the handle and pushed the door open. The air inside was cool and faintly scented with antiseptic and pine.

And there he was.

Ross Mercer.

He lay on a massive four-poster bed, pale against the dark sheets. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath the thin blanket, proof of life even in stillness.

He was beautiful. Sharp jawline, dark lashes, and hair that looked almost too perfect for someone who hadn't moved in months. He looked like he could wake at any second—like he was only pretending to sleep.

I stepped closer, my heels sinking softly into the carpet.

"This is where you'll stay," Cecile said quietly. "You don't have to share the bed, of course. There's a smaller room adjoining this one if you prefer privacy. But I thought you might want to... meet him."

Meet him. The man I'd just married.

I nodded numbly. "Thank you, ma'am."

She smiled faintly. "You can call me Cecile." Then, after a moment, "He can't hear us, but his wolf can."

I froze. "His... wolf?"

She gave a small, knowing smile. "You didn't know? The Mercers come from an old line of wolf-blooded descendants. Ross was born with one of the strongest wolves our family's ever seen."

I stared at him again, my pulse beginning to quicken. "But if he's unconscious—"

"The body sleeps," Cecile said softly. "But the wolf never does."

When she left, the silence felt heavier than before.

I approached the bed slowly, every sound amplified—the rustle of fabric, the quiet rhythm of his breathing, the soft tick of a clock somewhere nearby.

I hesitated, then reached out, brushing my fingers lightly against his hand. His skin was warm.

And then—

It hit me.

A pulse. A spark. A surge of something electric that rushed through my veins so fast I almost gasped.

The air shifted. The room seemed to breathe with me.

It couldn't be—

But it was.

The bond.

The unmistakable pull that tied one soul to another. I felt it deep in my chest, wild and alive, like a whisper that wasn't quite sound but spoke all the same.

Mine.

The word wasn't spoken aloud, but I heard it as clearly as if someone had said it beside my ear.

I staggered back, my heart pounding. His hand hadn't moved, but I could feel the faintest hum of energy between us, the echo of something primal and ancient.

He was in a coma, yes—but his wolf wasn't. His wolf had just recognized me.

I pressed a trembling hand to my chest, trying to breathe. I wasn't supposed to feel anything. This marriage was supposed to be strategic, a transaction.

And yet here I was, tethered to a man who wasn't even conscious.

I looked down at him again. His expression hadn't changed, but I could feel him now—his wolf, awake and aware, somewhere deep inside.

A strange calm settled over me then. Maybe this was fate's cruel joke. Or maybe it was her way of telling me I was exactly where I needed to be.

Either way, I wasn't backing down.

I sat beside him, fingers brushing the edge of the sheets. "You don't know me yet," I whispered. "But you will. And when you wake, I hope you're ready—because I'm not the kind of wife who stays silent."

For a moment, I could've sworn the air around us stirred again, soft and deliberate, like the wolf inside him was listening.

I smiled faintly. "Good," I murmured. "At least one of us is awake."

Cecile's voice was soft, but I could hear the curiosity hiding beneath it.

"You went pale back there, dear. Are you all right?"

I blinked, realizing I was still standing too close to Ross's bed. His hand was still warm against my fingers, though I'd pulled away the moment she spoke.

"I'm fine," I said quickly, forcing a small smile. "It's just... strange I guess."

Cecile studied me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded. "It's understandable. No one ever gets used to it."

She moved closer to Ross and brushed a hand gently over his hair, the gesture full of quiet affection. "He was never meant for stillness. Always moving, always doing something reckless."

Something about the way she said it made me wonder what kind of man Ross had been before all this—before the silence, before the coma.

But I didn't ask. I wasn't here to play the grieving wife.

"I'll have someone prepare a bath for you," Cecile said, turning toward me. "You must be exhausted after the ceremony. Dinner will be ready soon."

"That's very kind of you," I murmured, following her toward the door.

We stepped into the hall, our footsteps echoing softly against the marble floor. The manor felt different now—less intimidating, but heavier somehow, like every wall carried a memory.

Before we reached the stairs, Cecile slowed and looked at me again. "There's something you should know about Ross's condition."

I frowned. "His condition?"

She nodded. "You deserve to understand the circumstances, even if... well, even if you don't intend to stay long."

Her tone suggested she already knew my plans, though I'd never voiced them aloud. I forced a polite expression. "Go on."

Cecile exhaled quietly, folding her hands together. "Ross isn't in a typical coma. His vitals are stable, but every full moon, he—wakes."

I stopped walking. "He wakes up?"

"Yes. Briefly. The doctors can't explain it. They've recorded it countless times—his heart rate spikes, his eyes open, and his wolf takes over. It only lasts a few hours before he slips back into unconsciousness."

I stared at her. "His wolf?"

Cecile's lips curved slightly. "Yes. As you know, we're not entirely humans. We're werewolves, descending from a very powerful Alpha bloodline."

"I thought that was just folklore," I said, half-joking, half-hoping she'd laugh and say I'd misunderstood.

But she didn't laugh. "To outsiders, yes. But to us—it's a legacy. Ross's wolf has always been powerful, even volatile at times. Now, with his body trapped between sleep and wakefulness, the wolf has become the only part of him that's still... aware."

I blinked, trying to make sense of it. "So you're saying... he turns into a wolf once a month while he's unconscious?"

"Not physically," she corrected gently. "It's more spiritual than that. The shift doesn't break his body—it manifests through energy. Restlessness. Rage. Sometimes even whispers. The staff knows to stay away from his room during those nights."

I rubbed my arms, uneasy. "Does he hurt anyone?"

"Not intentionally," Cecile said. "But it's best to keep your distance, at least until you understand how he responds to you. The wolf senses things—connections, emotions. And even bonds."

Her words made my pulse skip. I thought back to the spark I'd felt when I'd touched his hand, that strange electric pull that had flooded my chest. I swallowed hard. "Right. I'll keep that in mind."

Cecile smiled, satisfied. "Good. I knew you were a sensible girl."

She continued walking, her heels clicking softly. "You'll have your own quarters beside Ross's suite. If you need anything, ring the bell near your dresser. Someone will attend to you immediately."

"Thank you," I said.

When we reached the guest corridor, she stopped outside a tall door carved with silver vines. "This will be yours."

A maid waiting nearby curtsied and stepped aside as Cecile opened the door. The room inside was elegant—simple yet grand, like everything in this house. A soft cream canopy bed, long curtains, a writing desk, and a single vase of fresh lilies on the nightstand.

I dropped my bag onto the bed. The exhaustion hit me all at once. Between the wedding, the secrets, and now this supernatural revelation, my brain felt fried.

Cecile lingered by the doorway. "Dinner will be in an hour," she said. "You don't need to dress formally tonight. Rest a little first."

"I will," I promised.

She nodded and left, the door closing quietly behind her.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, staring at the window. The sun had already begun to dip, painting the sky in orange and violet streaks. Somewhere in the distance, a bell chimed—soft, melancholic, almost eerie.

Ross wakes up on the full moon.

The thought wouldn't leave my mind.

Part of me wanted to laugh at how ridiculous it sounded, but another part—the one that remembered the jolt I'd felt when I touched him—knew better.

Whatever lived inside Ross Mercer wasn't normal.

And yet, it wasn't my concern. I wasn't here to play nurse or savior. I was here because I needed leverage. Because being Mrs. Mercer opened doors I couldn't reach on my own.

So whatever magic or curse ran through this house, I'd ignore it. I'd stay away from him during the full moon and keep my head down until I got what I wanted.

That was the plan. Simple. Controlled.

At least, it was until the knock came.

"Mrs. Mercer?" a voice called from the other side. "Dinner will be served soon."

I splashed some water on my face, fixed my hair, and changed into a pale blue dress Cecile's maid had laid out for me. It was modest but flattering, the kind of dress that said I belong here, even if I didn't.

By the time I stepped into the hallway, the lights had dimmed, and the manor had taken on a golden hue. My heels clicked softly against the polished floor as I made my way downstairs.

Halfway down the grand staircase, I lost my footing.

It happened fast—my heel slipped against the step, my hand reached for the railing, and I braced myself for impact. But before I could fall, an arm caught me firmly around the waist.

"Easy," a low voice said.

For a long second, we just stared at each other.

Daniel's hand was still around my waist, firm but steady. I could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of my dress, and it made my chest tighten unexpectedly. His eyes held mine — steady, cool, unreadable. The silence between us stretched, almost daring me to speak first.

Then—

A sharp throat-clearing cut through the air.

I jerked back like I'd been burned.

Daniel's hand dropped instantly, but he didn't move away. He just turned his head slightly, completely calm.

I, on the other hand, wanted the floor to swallow me whole.

Standing at the end of the hall was Cecile.

Her posture was perfect, back straight, chin high, an effortless display of authority — but her eyes told another story. They flicked between us with a sharpness that made my pulse skip.

I opened my mouth to explain, but no words came out.

Daniel was the first to speak. "Mrs. Mercer," he said smoothly, his tone polite, unfazed.

Cecile's lips curved into a smile, soft and motherly. "Daniel," she greeted, voice warm as silk. "I see you've already made my daughter-in-law's acquaintance."

His eyebrows raised as he asked, "daughter-in-law? She's the one?"

I could feel her gaze lingering on me.

My palms went clammy. "I—I didn't—"

She raised a hand, cutting me off. "Nonsense, dear. I'm sure it was nothing."

Daniel's mouth quirked slightly — that same half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "She tripped," he said simply, voice low and even.

"Ah," Cecile replied, eyes narrowing just a fraction. "How fortunate you were nearby, then."

There was something layered in her tone, something I couldn't quite name, not anger, exactly, but there was a flash of awareness that seemed to pass through those orbs.

She saw everything, even the things I didn't say.

Cecile took a slow step closer, her heels clicking softly on the marble. "Daniel," she began pleasantly, "Hannah is new here. I imagine she doesn't yet understand how our household works."

Her eyes turned to me, the smile never faltering.

"Allow me to explain."

I forced a small, nervous smile. "That's not necessary—"

"Oh, but it is," she said, still sweetly. "You see, with Ross's condition... some certain things are very important. Like for one, the people around him must be dependable."

Her words made me glance instinctively at Daniel. He didn't react. Just stood there, hands in his pockets, perfectly composed.

Cecile continued, "Daniel here is more than our Beta. He's the one who keeps the Mercer pack running when he is... indisposed. He's been by our family's side for years."

I nodded slowly, unsure what response was expected of me.

Daniel inclined his head respectfully. "Mrs. Mercer exaggerates," he said evenly.

She chuckled softly. "Hardly. You're practically family at this point."

Something about the way she said it made my stomach twist.

"Now then," she said, her smile widening, "I believe the kitchen staff has finished preparing dinner. You must be hungry, Hannah."

"Y-yes," I managed.

Daniel gave a curt nod, murmured, "Mrs. Mercer," and then turned to leave. His gaze flicked to me briefly, an unreadable expression, before he disappeared down the hallway.

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.

I turned to Cecile quickly, my face hot with embarrassment. "Mrs. Mercer, I swear, that wasn't what it looked like. I tripped, and he—"

She waved her hand lightly. "It's quite all right, dear. Really."

Relief flooded through me. I exhaled shakily. "Thank you. I just didn't want you to think—"

"I don't think anything," she interrupted softly, her tone still warm, still deceptively kind. "You're a young woman. Newly married. Adjusting to a new home. I understand."

Her words soothed me—until she took a step closer.

Before I could react, her hand shot out and clasped my arm.

Her fingers were delicate, perfectly manicured... but her grip was iron.

I froze, breath catching.

Cecile's smile didn't waver. "Of course," she said in a voice that barely rose above a whisper, "now that you are married, there are certain expectations."

Her grip tightened. The pain was immediate, a sharp pressure that made my pulse quicken.

"Expectations?" I asked carefully, trying not to flinch.

"Yes, dear." Her tone remained sweet — almost affectionate. "You are a Mercer now. My son's wife. Your life, from this point on, belongs to this family."

My chest tightened. "I understand," I said quietly.

"I'm glad." Her smile grew, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Because in this family, loyalty is everything. My son may not be... conscious all the time, but that doesn't mean your responsibilities waver."

I tried to keep my voice steady. "I wasn't trying to disrespect anyone—"

"I know," she said. "But I believe in being clear."

Her thumb brushed my arm in a mockingly gentle motion that made me shiver. "You're to spend the rest of your life taking care of my son. That's your duty. That's your purpose."

I opened my mouth, but she leaned in slightly, cutting off whatever excuse I'd been about to make.

"Of course," she continued, lowering her voice to a whisper, "there are temptations in every household. The wrong kind of friendship. Misunderstandings."

Her fingers dug into my arm.

"I'm sure you wouldn't want anyone to mistake your behavior for... fraternizing."

My breath hitched. "No, ma'am."

"Good." Her eyes gleamed. "Because if such misunderstandings were ever to occur, I'd be forced to take action. You see, the Mercer family doesn't tolerate disloyalty."

She smiled wider, as if discussing the weather. "We don't keep useless people in this house."

Her words hit me like ice water.

"Useless people?" I echoed weakly.

"Yes," she said, her tone airy, casual. "Those who fail to serve their purpose."

Her hand finally released me. The moment she let go, my skin throbbed from the pressure. I knew there'd be a bruise by morning.

Cecile tilted her head, her voice soft again. "Do we understand each other, Hannah?"

I nodded quickly. "Yes, Mrs. Mercer."

"Wonderful."

And just like that, she was back to her elegant, smiling self — as if the last minute had never happened.

"Now," she said, clapping her hands lightly, "let's not keep the staff waiting any longer. Dinner's getting cold."

I followed her silently down the hallway, every step feeling heavier than the last.

The grand chandelier overhead threw fractured light across the marble floor, and for the first time, this house didn't feel grand. It felt suffocating.

When we entered the dining room, the long table was already set — gleaming silverware, porcelain plates, candles flickering gently. Everything was perfect.

I took my seat quietly, trying to hide the shaking in my hands. My arm still ached where she'd grabbed me. I wanted to rub it, but I didn't dare.

Cecile sat at the head of the table, elegant as ever. She didn't look at me once, but I could feel her presence like a shadow pressed against my back.

Servants entered, serving soup and bread, their eyes cast down. No one spoke.

I stared at the bowl in front of me, the steam curling upward, blurring my reflection.

What had I gotten myself into?

I'd just traded one kind of cage for another.