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Harper Alvarado POV:
My husband returned from a year of war, but he didn't come back alone. At the grand victory banquet, he intertwined his fingers with a fierce female warrior and publicly demanded I hand over the Luna ring, demoting me to a lowly concubine.
"Darla is my True Mate. Your family is nothing but a dead, rotting graveyard! Letting you stay as a concubine is my greatest charity!" he announced coldly. His mother, wearing the expensive silk I bought for her, condescendingly told me to learn my place and be grateful.
They seemed to have forgotten that for the past year, it was I who hollowed out my entire dowry to keep their bankrupt Pack from starving. It was I who coughed up blood to drag that old hag back from the gates of hell.
They thought weaponizing the brutal massacre of my entire family would break me, turning me into their obedient, unpaid blood bag forever.
Instead of crying, I calmly took off the ring, gave them a flawless curtsy, and walked away.
The moment I turned my back, I cut off their food, their winter coal, and every single copper coin. Then, carrying the martyred blood and glory of my father and six brothers, I marched straight to the Alpha King's palace.
Fletcher, you thought your little border skirmish merits could secure your true love? Then I will use the seven lives of my martyred family to get a Royal Decree, strip you of your military command, and take back every penny!
I can't wait to see how your 'True Mate' and your glorious Pack survive the harsh winter on 'love' alone. I will watch you crawl to my gates, begging for a moldy scrap of bread.
——
The soft glow of scented candles flickered in Fletcher's chambers. I stood before the mirror, wearing a translucent silk nightgown, my heart pounding with nervous anticipation. Tonight, I was going to give myself to my husband, Alpha Fletcher Terrell, as a welcome-home gift after his year-long absence at the border.
Bang. The heavy oak door was violently pushed open.
"Harper, take off the ancestral silver ring of the Terrell Pack." Fletcher's freezing, ruthless voice shattered the romantic atmosphere I had spent hours meticulously preparing. Next to him stood Darla Hutchinson, a tall, voluptuous female warrior. Fletcher’s arm was wrapped tightly around her waist. His eyes, looking at her, burned with a raw, naked lust he had never, ever shown me.
"From today on, Darla is my True Mate and the Luna of this Pack," Fletcher declared, his gaze shifting to me with absolute zero warmth. "You are stripped of your title. You will step down and serve as my personal maid."
All the blood drained from my face. The romantic setup around me suddenly felt like a grotesque, mocking joke.
For a long moment, my brain simply went blank. My legs went weak, and I could only stare at him, desperately searching his cold eyes for any sign that this was just a cruel prank. But there was nothing. Only naked disgust.
"Fletcher... what are you saying?" I stumbled forward, my voice trembling so violently it barely sounded like my own. Hot tears welled up in my eyes as I reached out a shaking hand, just wanting to touch him, to wake him up from whatever spell he was under. "I waited for you for an entire year... I hollowed out my dowry and coughed up blood for this Pack! You swore under the witness of the Moon Goddess before you left... You swore I would be your only Luna..."
"Don't touch me!" Fletcher snarled, smacking my hand away like I was some kind of contagious disease before my fingertips could even graze his sleeve. He violently shoved my shoulder.
I stumbled backwards, crashing hard against the edge of the bed. Before I could even catch my breath, he closed the distance between us. His large, calloused hand gripped my jaw with bruising force, forcing me to look up into his eyes filled with pure, unadulterated repulsion.
He raked his gaze over my carefully chosen nightgown and let out a vicious sneer. "Did you really think dressing up like a cheap whore would make me want you? Let's be honest! The only reason I married you was because you used your family's wealth to force my hand! Look at yourself—pale, sickly, and utterly unappealing. You're like a lifeless board in bed! Hugging you is like hugging a rotting corpse!"
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