Chapter 3
Five years later, Silver Claw Pack sought to expand into Mississippi and proposed a marriage alliance with Eclipse Pack.
At the time, I was preparing to study abroad. My parents refused outright.
But when I learned from my brother that the business partner was the Silver Claw Pack, I thought it was fate.
I gave up my academic plans and convinced my family to agree—on one condition: It had to be Alpha Manfred.
My brother objected.
First, the project didn’t require a marriage alliance.
Second, Silver Claw Pack was rife with uncles and cousins vying for power.
Third, Alpha Manfred’s mother had passed away young, leaving him no backing. Even with talent and ambition, climbing to the top would be an uphill battle.
They didn’t understand why I was so determined to marry him.
Eventually, they gave in. My mother even smiled wistfully and said, “With your charm, your background, your beauty—even in an arranged marriage, he’ll fall for you sooner or later.”
Yeah. I was young. Hopeful. Borderline delusional.
But the night of the engagement party?
It felt like fate was finally throwing me a bone.
I still remember the way Alpha Manfred looked at me across the crowd—his eyes wide, stunned. Or, more accurately, like he’d just found something he didn’t know he’d lost.
“…It’s you?” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
By then, I was eighteen. Taller. Stronger. Still a little reckless. But in that moment, when our eyes met—
My wolf let out a wild, joyful howl in my mind.
“Mate.”
My heart flipped. My skin tingled. The bond crackled to life like lightning under my bones.
I stepped closer, smiled, and echoed his words. “It’s me.” Then added softly, “My mate. My fiancé.”
He smiled the entire night. And not the polite, politician smile. No, this was the kind that reached his eyes. The kind that made me believe—this is real.
And it was. For a while.
After the wedding, we couldn’t stop talking. We stayed up late swapping stories—he had a secret love for 80s werewolf flicks; I admitted I used to sneak into comic conventions in glamor.
I learned to cook his favorite steak-and-potato stew; he braved crowds to hold my hand at anime expos. It was awkward and hilarious and weirdly perfect.
Love bloomed like it was spring inside us.
I believed—truly—that our story would play out like a romance drama. Marriage of alliance becomes love. Alpha and Luna rule side by side, powerful and inseparable.
Then came my birthday.
He missed it. For Jessica.
That was the first crack.
Then came our anniversary. We had an entire overseas trip planned—moonstone beaches, wolf-surfing lessons, a luxury cave spa. Gone. Missed. Again—for Jessica.
Even Harvest Festival. He didn’t show. Because Jessica needed him.
At first, he lied.
I’d ask, “Where were you?”
He’d mumble something vague. “Work. Meeting. Pack emergency.”
Then one day, the media got sloppy. A photo made its way into the headlines. Blurry. Grainy. Just the back of a man’s head walking beside Jessica through a hotel lobby.
But I’d know that head anywhere.
Furious, I stormed home to my parents’ estate. My wolf paced in circles, heartbroken and growling low in my chest.
Alpha Manfred arrived the next day.
Disheveled. Exhausted. Red-eyed.
“Emily,” he rasped, voice cracking, “I love you. Jessica’s nothing more than a sister to me.”
I said nothing.
He stepped closer. “Her father—he saved me once. When I was a pup. Save me out of the Rogue Den. Died from his injuries. On his deathbed, I swore I’d protect her.”
His voice broke.
“You understand, don’t you?”
I did.
And like a fool, I forgave him.
Too easily.
After that, it became routine. Jessica calls, Alpha Manfred runs. I wait. He comes back. Says he loves me. I forgive.
Each time, he leaned on my love like it was a shield for his choices. Each time, I gave in, thinking maybe—just maybe—next time, he’d choose me.
Now, I remember my mother’s warning—the one I brushed aside like it was just old-fashioned advice:
“Emily, love has no room for a third person. Not family. Not debts. You might endure being second once or twice… but can you bear it for a lifetime?”
