{Third Person}
Amara turned slightly. Lila stood a few steps away, her expression calm, though the faint curve of her lips carried something unmistakably satisfied.
Amara wiped at her face, her voice unsteady. "What do you want?"
"To help you understand a fact," Lila said.
Amara let out a hollow laugh. "Understand what? That our father just destroyed my life?"
Lila tilted her head slightly. "That he chose correctly."
A cold unease settled in Amara's chest. "What are you talking about?"
Lila stepped closer, her voice lowering. "You were never meant to stay. You were only ever… convenient," she said.
Amara frowned. "Do I look like I can understand your riddles?"
Lila met her gaze directly. "You are not father's and mother's daughter."
The words struck harder than anything that had come before.
"That's not true," Amara said immediately.
"Isn't it?" Lila replied calmly with a sweet smile. "You can ask them."
Just then, footsteps approached behind Amara. She turned to see her parents standing there. Her heart pounded as she looked between them.
"Lila said you are not my parents. Tell me she's lying," she said.
Matilda hesitated, but Anthony did not. "It is true," he said.
Everything inside Amara went still instantly.
"You were never a Caldwell by blood. We raised you. That is all," he said coldly.
Amara's breath hitched. "So this… this is why?" she whispered.
"You should be grateful," he replied. "You now have the opportunity to repay us."
A hollow laugh escaped her lips. "Repay you?" she repeated, her voice shaking. "By being sent off like some… offering?"
Her eyes burned as she looked at him. "What do you think will happen if people find out that you're sending a fake daughter to the Alpha Prince?" she demanded.
"Watch your words." Anthony's expression hardened instantly.
"No," she snapped. "Answer me!"
His gaze turned cold. "If that information ever leaves your lips, you will be the first to suffer for it," he said quietly.
The threat hung heavy in the air as Amara's fists clenched. "You—"
"Take her," Anthony ordered.
Two guards stepped forward immediately. Amara struggled as they grabbed her arms. "Let go of me!"
But their grip only tightened.
"You will be escorted and prepared for departure before sunrise," Anthony declared calmly.
Amara's chest heaved as she fought against them, her strength meaningless against theirs.
Just then, her gaze lifted and locked with Lila's. The smile on her sister's face was slow, satisfied and victorious.
Amara stopped struggling. No, she didn't accept it. She finally understood that she had no family left. No love. No escape. Only the fate forced upon her.
And this time, no one was coming to save her.
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Amara did not remember when she stopped struggling.
At some point between the Caldwell estate and the long, silent journey that followed, the fight had drained out of her completely.
The guards had not needed to restrain her after that. She had sat still, her hands resting in her lap, her gaze fixed on nothing.
By the time the car came to a halt, the sky was still dark, the world suspended in that fragile moment before dawn.
The guards opened the door without ceremony.
"Amara Caldwell. You have arrived."
She stepped out slowly, her body moving more from habit than intention, and lifted her eyes to the structure before her.
The Werewolf Imperial Palace loomed like something carved out of shadow and stone—vast, imposing, and utterly unwelcoming.
A place meant for power, not for mercy.
Her chest tightened faintly, but no tears came this time. There was nothing left to cry.
Inside, the silence was suffocating. Her footsteps echoed as she was led through long corridors lined with towering pillars and dim torchlight.
The guards did not speak. No servants greeted her. There was no welcome banquet, no court officials, and no ceremonial reception befitting a political bride awaiting her.
Instead, she was led forward without explanation. Even her personal servant was stopped at the palace entrance and asked to wait there.
At the moment, she seemed more like a delivery than a bride.
When they finally stopped, the doors ahead were pushed open without warning.
"Proceed."
Amara stepped inside. The hall was wide, bare, and cold. At the far end, seated on a dark stone throne, was a woman whose presence dominated the room.
Queen Lysandra.
She was striking in a sharp, threatening manner, regal and immaculate. Then, her gaze swept coolly over Amara, like a blade pressed against bare skin.
Amara stopped where indicated and bowed slightly. "Your Majesty."
"The wedding date was moved up rather suddenly," the Queen said lazily. "I must say, I've never seen a human bride so eager to marry into our clan."
Amara's jaw tightened. 'Eager?'
If only the Queen knew the betrayals, the slap, the locked door, and the lies that had dragged her here. But Amara remained silent.
"You should understand this clearly," Queen Lysandra remarked as her gaze sharpened. "This is simply a political marriage. You are not a wife or a mate." Then, she went on. "You are just a consort. An upgraded breeding incubator. That is all."
Amara's breath faltered for the briefest moment before she forced it steady.
"You must have heard the rumours about your dear husband," the Queen said lightly. She paused, then chuckled. "Forgive me, dear monster."
Amara's chest tightened. The Queen noticed, therefore, her gaze brightened with interest.
"What do you think happens to those unfortunate enough to be near him when the curse takes hold?" she continued conversationally, as if discussing the weather.
Fear slid through Amara. She tried to steady herself and school her expression, but her heartbeat was too loud.
The Queen's smile widened with pure satisfaction. At last, she waved a hand dismissively and turned to the servant beside her.
"Looks like the poor girl won't even last a few weeks." She sighed theatrically. "Pour her some tea to patch her dry throat after the long journey."
A servant stepped forward immediately and presented a tray. A wooden cup of tea was placed before Amara.
Slowly, she lifted her head for the first time since entering the hall. Her hands shook as she reached out her fingers to brush the rim of the cup. But just then—
"Didn't your mother teach you anything about accepting gifts from strangers?"
The voice was low and cold. It did not need to be loud to command attention.
Amara recoiled instantly, withdrawing her hands as if burned. She bowed her head deeply, her instinct overriding her thought.
The air in the hall shifted as heavy, unhurried footsteps drew closer from behind her, each one landing softly on the floor with quiet authority.
Around her, movements erupted. Servants rushed aside, then dropped to their knees as one.
"Your Highness!"
They kowtowed deeply, their foreheads pressed to the floor. No one dared to rise or dared to look up.
Even Amara's skin prickled. She didn't need to turn to see who that man was. She knew because every instinct in her screamed the same answer.
Only the Alpha Prince could make the temperature plummet so sharply. Only he could draw such raw, instinctive fear from everyone present. The rumours had never exaggerated this.
Meanwhile, Queen Lysandra's expression twisted with displeasure, flashing across her face as she slightly shifted in her seat.
"Alexander," she said coolly.