The grand dining hall of the Voss estate shimmered under the glow of three massive crystal chandeliers. Long tables dressed in white linen and gold accents stretched across the room, laden with exquisite dishes—Wagyu beef, fresh oysters, and delicate herb-crusted salmon. Yet the atmosphere was anything but celebratory. Tension crackled in the air like static before a lightning strike.

Elena sat near the middle of the main table, her posture perfect, a mask of elegant indifference firmly in place. Inside, she was unraveling.

Across from her, Nikolai Volkov commanded the head of the table like a conquering king. Lana Reed sat to his right, practically glowing in her bold red dress, her hand resting possessively on his forearm. Nikolai had spent the past twenty minutes openly courting her in front of everyone—refilling her wine glass, leaning in to murmur something that made Lana laugh, and openly praising her “bravery” in saving his life.

Every word felt like a blade twisting deeper into Elena’s chest.

“—and without Lana’s quick thinking,” Nikolai was saying, his deep voice carrying effortlessly across the table, “I would not be sitting here tonight. She is a testament to true courage. The kind this pack needs in its Luna.”

Applause and murmurs of agreement rippled through the Volkov pack members present. Elena’s father, Marcus Voss, sat at the opposite head of the table, his expression carefully neutral, though Elena could see the tightness around his eyes. The subtle undermining had already begun.

Nikolai turned his silver-flecked gaze toward her father. “Voss Industries has been a strong ally for decades. However, I’ve noticed some… vulnerabilities in your eastern shipping routes lately. The Silverfang pack has grown bolder. Perhaps it’s time we reconsidered certain partnerships. For everyone’s protection, of course.”

The threat was veiled in velvet, but Elena heard it clearly. Nikolai was already moving to squeeze the Voss family’s influence—using the alliance dinner as a stage to assert dominance.

Her father inclined his head. “We are always open to strengthening our ties with the Volkov pack.”

Elena’s fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass. She could feel Nikolai’s eyes on her again, heavy and unrelenting. Every time his gaze lingered, the fated mate bond surged like a living flame beneath her skin. Her healing gift hummed restlessly, wanting nothing more than to reach across the table and soothe the faint scars she had sealed with her own hands just nights ago.

But he looked at her like she was nothing.

Worse—he looked at her like an obstacle.

Lana leaned closer to Nikolai, her voice carrying just enough to be heard. “I still can’t believe I was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. The medallion… it felt like destiny, didn’t it?”

Nikolai’s expression softened fractionally as he looked at Lana. “It was fate,” he agreed, though his voice held a strange edge.

Elena’s scent—vanilla, jasmine, and warm sunlight—drifted across the table as a server passed behind her. Nikolai’s entire body stiffened.

His wolf *exploded* inside him.

The beast slammed against his mental barriers, snarling and howling with violent need. *Her. Mine. Claim.* The instinct was so powerful Nikolai had to grip the edge of the table to keep from lunging. His ice-grey eyes flashed silver for a split second. The pull toward Elena was maddening—stronger than anything he had ever felt. Her scent wrapped around his senses like silk bonds, teasing, tormenting, promising everything he suddenly craved.

Yet the woman who had saved him sat at his side.

He forced his gaze back to Lana, jaw clenched so tightly a muscle ticked. Gratitude. He owed her everything. He would not dishonor that.

“Elena,” Nikolai said suddenly, his voice cutting through the conversation like a blade. “You’ve been quiet all evening. Tell me, how does the Voss family plan to contribute to the pack’s future? Beyond the outdated betrothal contract, of course.”

The table fell into uncomfortable silence.

Elena lifted her chin, meeting his cold stare with quiet dignity. Her hazel-green eyes shimmered with restrained emotion, the golden-amber flecks brightening under the chandelier light.

“We have always contributed through healing and stability,” she replied softly, her voice like velvet over steel. “My family’s network has supported the Volkov pack during multiple conflicts. Our healing resources have saved countless lives—yours included, indirectly.”

A subtle challenge.

Nikolai’s eyes narrowed. The fated mate pull flared hotter. He could smell her more clearly now—sweet, warm, *addictive*. His wolf thrashed wildly, demanding he drag her across the table and bury his face in her neck. Mark her. Claim what was his.

Instead, he smiled coldly.

“Indirectly,” he repeated. “Yes. We must always be careful not to overstate our importance. False claims can be… dangerous.”

Lana’s hand tightened on his arm, a silent warning and victory combined.

Elena felt the sting but refused to flinch. “Of course, Alpha. I would never claim credit where it isn’t due.”

The tension between them was palpable. The air grew thick, charged with unspoken words and primal hunger. Several pack members shifted uncomfortably in their seats, sensing the volatile energy rolling off their Alpha.

Nikolai leaned back in his chair, studying Elena with predatory intensity. His wolf was losing control. Every breath brought more of her scent. It was driving him insane—making his body harden, his instincts roar. He wanted to rip that elegant midnight blue gown off her shoulders and replace Lana’s touch with hers.

He hated how badly he wanted it.

“Perhaps it’s time we moved past old arrangements,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “The Volkov pack is entering a new era. One built on loyalty that is *earned*, not inherited.”

The subtle dig at the Voss family landed perfectly. Elena’s father stiffened beside her.

Elena’s heart ached, but she held Nikolai’s gaze. The bond between them screamed in protest. She could feel his wolf reaching for her even as his mind rejected her. The contradiction was torture.

“As you wish, Alpha,” she whispered, the words tasting like ash.

Dinner continued in strained conversation. Nikolai kept Lana close, publicly showering her with attention—feeding her a bite of dessert, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Every gesture was a performance, and every performance was another knife in Elena’s chest.

Yet he couldn’t stop stealing glances at her.

Every time their eyes met, the pull intensified. His wolf grew more feral, clawing at his control. By the end of the evening, Nikolai was gripping his glass so tightly it nearly shattered.

As guests began to leave, Elena rose gracefully. She paused near Nikolai’s chair, close enough that her scent enveloped him like a drug.

“Thank you for the evening, Alpha Volkov,” she said quietly. “I hope your… savior brings you the happiness you deserve.”

For one dangerous second, Nikolai almost reached for her. His hand twitched. The wolf howled in triumph and fury.

Then Lana slid her arm through his, and the moment shattered.

Elena turned and walked away, her silk gown whispering behind her like a farewell.

Nikolai watched her go, his chest tight with conflicting emotions he refused to name.

His wolf, however, had already chosen.

And it was not choosing the woman on his arm.

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