The weight of their stares was suffocating. I wanted distance from Draven, yet my feet betrayed me. I instinctively moved closer to him, letting his large frame serve as a shield against the hostility radiating from the crowd.
I hated myself for it.
Draven said nothing as he led the way toward the castle’s entrance, his long strides confident, commanding. I forced myself to follow, ignoring the murmurs that buzzed like angry wasps behind me.
As we approached the massive doors, a man dressed in a fine suit and with an air of authority stepped forward.
A Gamma, or perhaps the head butler?
Whoever he was, his back was ramrod straight as he dipped into a deep bow before Draven.
“My Alpha,” he greeted smoothly. Then he turned slightly to Jeffery and offered a polite nod. “Beta Jeffery.”
His gaze never flickered toward me. It was as if I didn’t exist.
I clenched my fists, a sharp pang of humiliation shooting through me. The rejection was swift and effortless, as if I wasn’t even worth acknowledging.
“Everything has been prepared,” the man continued, addressing Draven. “Including the room.”
The room?
A prickle of unease ran down my spine. What are they talking about?
Before I could ask, Draven turned and strode inside, his posture relaxed, utterly unfazed by the tension around us.
I hesitated for a moment, then forced myself to follow while looking for an opportunity to speak up.
The grand entrance of the castle swallowed me whole, its high ceilings and intricate stonework making me feel even smaller than I already did. Jeffery and the other man walked behind us, their steps echoing against the polished floors.
The weight on my chest grew heavier with every step. I couldn’t take it anymore.
“I want my own room.” My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t regret it.
Draven stopped mid-step. Slowly, he turned to face me, one dark brow arching.
I lifted my chin, willing my voice to remain steady. “I won’t be sharing your bed.”
His golden eyes gleamed, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips. He studied me for a long moment before speaking. “You assume I want you in my bed, little wolf?” His smirk deepened, but his eyes were unreadable. “You’ll sleep where I decide. Let’s see if you like my generosity.
There was something almost amused in his tone, and it sent a ripple of unease down my spine.
His gaze flickered toward the man beside Jeffery. “Move her to the guest wing.”
I blinked, my heart stuttering. The guest wing?
That was-A small victory. But I wasn’t stupid. A gilded cage was still a cage, and I had no intention of staying in it.
“One more thing!” Draven suddenly halted in his steps and turned to me, seeming to have remembered something. “It would be stupid of you to try to escape from my fortress. My men have a kill-on-sight order on you, so don’t waste your time.”
“What?” The weight of his words settled deep in my bones, cold and inescapable.
I hadn’t even crafted an escape plan, yet he had already placed a bounty on my head.
Draven’s voice cut through my thoughts, adding one last warning. “Be on time for dinner tonight. I don’t like waiting.”
Then he was gone, disappearing down the hall with his Beta as if he hadn’t just upended my world.
I stood there, breath uneven, hands trembling.
Trapped in this place. Under his rule.
Meredith.
“This way,” the butler said, his voice clipped as he gestured toward the left and started walking.
I forced my legs to move. Each step was heavy, and each turn made my head spin.
The Mystic Furs estate was enormous-a labyrinth of cold stone corridors, towering archways, and endless staircases. Unlike the Moonstone Pack, where homes were built for comfort, this place was built to intimidate. The walls loomed over me, lined with gold sconces and dark tapestries, each embroidered with the sigil of the Oatrun family-a black wolf beneath a full moon.
The air smelled of pinewood and something richer beneath-a scent of dominance and power.
By the time we reached the Guest Wing, my body was screaming in protest. My legs wobbled from exhaustion, and my stomach twisted with hunger.
The butler finally stopped in front of a large wooden double door.
He reached for a ring of keys at his belt, flipping through them before unlocking it. The heavy door groaned as it swung open.
“This will be your room from now on,” he said stiffly, stepping aside. His tone was mechanical, void of warmth. “Your belongings will be brought in shortly. Someone will come to attend to you soon.”
I parted my lips, wanting to ask-Who? What am I supposed to do next?
But before I could get a word out, he turned sharply and walked away, disappearing down the hall.
No instructions. No explanations.
I let out a slow breath and stepped inside the room. It was… surprisingly decent, larger than the cramped room I had in my father’s house.
A four-poster bed sat against the far wall, covered in fine sheets. A large wooden wardrobe stood beside it. A simple vanity table rested near the arched window. Minimal, but comfortable.
But it didn’t matter. This wasn’t my home.
A sharp knock sounded at the door. Before I could answer, the door creaked open, and a male servant stepped inside, dragging my luggage behind him. He didn’t speak, didn’t glance at me-just dropped my things by the door and walked out.
I clenched my jaw, wondering if I was invincible.
Shaking off the irritation, I rushed toward my bag, fingers gripping the handle. I pulled it towards the bed and had just sat down to unzip it when the door burst open again.
Four women entered, dressed in matching dark uniforms, led by an older woman with a presence like steel. Her posture was rigid, calculated, and her sharp eyes scanned me with the cold efficiency of someone inspecting a flawed piece of merchandise.
None of them greeted me.
The older woman stepped forward, clasping her hands behind her back as she introduced herself to me. “I am Madame Beatrice. I oversee the running of the Oatrun estate.”
Then, without waiting for my reaction, she turned to the servants and barked orders.
“You two-prepare the bath.” She gestured toward the first pair of maids. “The other two-arrange her belongings.”
They moved instantly, their efficiency unnerving.
I blinked, confusion tightening in my chest. No one had ever attended to me like this-not since the Lunar Curse.
In my father’s house, I had been less than a servant. Now, I was suddenly important enough to warrant maids? I highly doubted that.
Madame Beatrice turned back to me, her face impassive. “It is time for your bath.” Her gaze flickered over me-critical and unimpressed. “Strip.”
I stiffened at her commands. My fingers instinctively clutched the fabric of my ruined dress. “I can wash myself.”
A tense silence followed. Then, with a flick of her gaze, two maids suddenly stepped forward, their grip firm as they grabbed my arms.
Instinct, panic, and rage surged through my bloodstream. “Let me go!” I jerked against them, but they held me in place.
Madame Beatrice simply sighed. “You reek, young lady,” she said bluntly. “And stray dogs are not allowed in the Oatrun estate.”
Stray dog? She just called me a stray dog?
A hot wave of humiliation and fury slammed into me.
Without a care in the world, Madame Beatrice tilted her head toward the vanity mirror.
“See for yourself.”
I didn’t want to look. But I did. And my stomach dropped.
My once-silver hair was tangled and dull. My face smeared with dirt and dried blood. My dress-torn and stained. And my bare feet-caked with dust and filth.
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