STIGMA

Adella POV

The Great Hall of the Hyde Pack smelled of roasted venison, stale wine, and the suffocating musk of a hundred wolves posturing for dominance. But to me, it smelled like rejection.

I stood in the shadows behind a massive stone pillar, clutching the stem of my empty glass like a lifeline. My dress, a faded grey chiffon that had seen better days, made me invisible among the silks and velvets of the high-ranking she-wolves.

"Watch it, wolfless."

A passing Omega waiter slammed into my shoulder, sending a splash of red wine cascading down my skirt. He didn't apologize. He didn't even pause. Why would he? In a world governed by the strength of one's beast, I was less than nothing. A genetic defect. A charity case kept around only because my parents had died serving the former Alpha.

I bit my lip, fighting the sting of tears. Don't cry. Do not let them see you break.

At the head table, Braydon Hyde stood up. The room fell silent instantly. He was handsome in that rugged, golden-boy way that had made my heart race since we were children. He was my best friend. My protector. He had promised me, under the old oak tree just last week, that my lack of a wolf didn't matter to him.

"Tonight," Braydon's voice boomed, amplified by his Alpha aura, "marks a new era for our Pack."

He turned, extending a hand not to me, but to the woman seated beside him. Katherine Parrish. The daughter of a neighboring Alpha. She was stunning, lethal, and possessed a wolf as vicious as her smile.

"I present to you my choice," Braydon announced, his eyes sweeping over the crowd but deliberately avoiding my dark corner. "Witnessed by the Moon Goddess, my future Luna, Katherine Parrish!"

The applause was thunderous. It crashed over me like a physical blow. I saw Katherine lean in, whispering something in his ear, and Braydon laughed—a sound that shattered the last fragile hope in my chest. He wasn't just choosing a political alliance; he was erasing me.

I couldn't breathe. The air in the hall became too thin, too hot. Turning on my heel, I fled.

I ran through the stone corridors, my wine-stained dress clinging to my legs, until I burst into the sanctuary of the Pack Library. I slammed the heavy oak door shut and collapsed against it, sliding down to the cold floor.

Here, surrounded by the scent of dust and ancient parchment, I finally let the sob escape my throat.

"Pathetic," I whispered to the empty room. "You were a fool to believe him."

"Tears are a waste of hydration, little one."

The voice was deep, vibrating through the floorboards and straight into my bones. I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I looked up. Standing in the shadows of the history section was a man I had only seen in terrifying bedtime stories.

Dallas Marshall. The Alpha King. The Lycan.

He was massive, his tuxedo straining against shoulders that seemed wide enough to carry the world. But it was his eyes that paralyzed me—pitch black, abyssal, and locked onto me with a predatory intensity that made my skin prickle.

The air around him didn't smell like the library anymore. It smelled of a violent thunderstorm and crushed cedar. It was overwhelming. Intoxicating.

"King Marshall," I choked out, scrambling to stand. My knees were shaking so hard I nearly fell again. "I... I didn't know you were in here. I'll leave."

"Stay." It wasn't a request. It was a command that vibrated in the air, though as a wolfless, I shouldn't have felt the weight of an Alpha's Command. Yet, my feet rooted to the spot.

Before I could speak, the muffled sound of Braydon's voice drifted through the door, announcing his engagement feast. The pain in my chest flared again, sharp and agonizing, as if my soul was being torn in half. My legs gave out.

I didn't hit the floor.

In a blur of movement too fast for human eyes, Dallas was there. His arms, hard as iron, caught me.