Gabriella
The dress they made me wear was cream silk. Not white—because apparently white was "too innocent" for a girl who was being handed over like payment on an old debt. The fabric clung in places I hated, slipped off one shoulder like it was trying to escape me too. I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the guest room of the Trimoon pack house and barely recognised the girl staring back.
My mother had done my makeup. She cried the whole time, mascara running in black rivers down her cheeks, but she still blended concealer under my eyes like nothing was wrong. My father hadn't come in at all. He was downstairs shaking hands with the Blackwood delegation, laughing too loud, pretending this was a celebration instead of a transaction.
I heard the knock before I was ready.
"Five minutes, Gabi," my mother whispered through the door. Her voice cracked on my nickname. She hadn't called me Gabi in years.
I pressed my palms flat against the cool glass, trying to breathe through the corset boning that felt like ribs made of steel. My reflection had big hazel eyes that looked too wide, too scared. Long dark hair pinned up in some elegant twist that made me look older than twenty-one. A stranger in my own skin.
The door opened without waiting for me to answer.
It wasn't my mother.
It was him.
Alpha Aiden Blackwood filled the doorway like he owned the air inside the room too. Tall enough that I had to tip my head back. Black suit tailored so sharp it looked dangerous. Hair a little too long, falling into eyes the colour of frost on metal. He didn't smile. He studied me the way a hunter studies something caught in a snare—curious, patient, already deciding how to finish the kill.
"You clean up nicely, Gabriella Santos."
His voice was low, smooth, the kind that could slide under your skin without you noticing until it was too late. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The click of the latch sounded final.
I forced my spine straight. "It's Gabriella. Not Gabi. Not anything else."
One dark brow lifted. Amused. "Noted."
He walked closer—slow, deliberate. I smelled cedar and smoke and something darker underneath, like the moment right before a storm breaks. My wolf stirred inside me, uneasy, hackles rising even though she'd never met his before.
He stopped just inside my personal space. Close enough I could see the faint scar that ran along his left jaw, thin and silver. Close enough I could feel the heat coming off him.
"They told me you were beautiful," he said quietly. "They lied."
My stomach dropped.
He reached out, slow enough that I could have stepped back. I didn't. His fingers caught the loose strand of hair that had escaped my updo and tucked it behind my ear. The touch was gentle. Too gentle. It made every nerve in my body scream danger.
"They should have said exquisite," he finished. "There's a difference."
I swallowed. "I'm not here to be flattered."
"No." His thumb brushed the edge of my jaw, lingering. "You're here because your parents owed a debt. And I'm the man collecting."
I jerked my head away. "I'm not property."
His hand dropped, but the ghost of his touch stayed on my skin like a brand. "Tonight you are." He tilted his head, studying me again. "Tomorrow… we'll see."
He turned toward the door, then paused. "One thing before we go downstairs and play happy mated couple for the cameras."
I waited, heart hammering against my ribs.
"When we're in public, you smile. You touch my arm. You look at me like I hung the moon. You do not flinch when I touch you. You do not look away when I speak to you." His voice dropped lower. "And when we're alone… you'll learn exactly how much freedom you have left."
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
He smiled then—small, sharp, beautiful in the worst way. "Good girl. You're already listening."
He opened the door.
My mother stood there, eyes red, clutching a tissue. She looked between us like she was waiting for permission to exist.
Aiden didn't even glance at her. "She's ready."
He offered me his arm.
I stared at it like it was a live wire.
Then I took it.
Because what else was I supposed to do?
We walked down the grand staircase together. Flashbulbs popped from the bottom of the steps—pack photographers, council members, distant relatives I barely knew. Everyone smiling. Everyone pretending this was normal.
Aiden leaned down so only I could hear. "Smile, little wolf. The game just started."
I forced my lips to curve.
Inside, something cold and small and furious began to uncoil.
He thought this was a game.
He had no idea how badly I wanted to win.