CHLORENDIA
I stared at myself in the mirror, or at least what was left of . My breath hitched as I ran my fingers over the bruise that blood across my cheek, purples and blues painting my once-flawless skin. A shallow cut just beneath my eye caught the light, mocking with every small movent. Blood had dried there, its rust-red streak a permanent reminder of my failure.
Failure.
The word burned in my chest like acid, twisting my stomach into knots.
I had let my guard down.
"Alaric," I hissed, the na spilling from my lips like venom. That bastard. He had claid it was a test, so sick way of "proving my worth." But it wasn’t a test. It was an attack. A deliberate, calculated ambush by a male who had no business leading a pack, let alone ruling one.
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as the anger surged again. That psycho thought he could put in my place? Humiliate ? Teach a lesson?
I’ll teach him a lesson.
Before I could stop myself, I swung. My fist connected with the mirror, and the glass shattered in a cascade of sharp, glittering pieces. Tiny shards rained down around , so catching the light, others biting into my knuckles as I drew back my hand. A thin line of blood started to trail down my fingers, but I didn’t care. Pain was better than humiliation.
A sharp gasp tore through the silence behind .
My maid stood frozen in the doorway, clutching the ointnt she had brought for my wounds. Her eyes were wide, trembling like she might drop the jar at any second. She didn’t say anything, didn’t dare move.
I didn’t bla her. Right now, I probably looked like a lunatic. Bloodied knuckles, disheveled hair, a snarl twisting my lips—hell, I felt like a lunatic.
"Leave it on the dresser," I snapped, not bothering to turn around.
She flinched, her shaky hands fumbling to place the jar on the wood without making a sound. Her fear was like a sour taste in the air, but I didn’t bother to care. She should be afraid. They all should.
I kept my gaze fixed on the shattered reflection in front of , the broken pieces distorting my face into sothing monstrous. Sothing that matched how I felt inside.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
I had plans. The alliance was supposed to be my chance—my escape from my father’s suffocating rule. Being an Alpha’s wife wasn’t glamorous, but it held more power than being an Alpha’s daughter. I had spent years biding my ti, waiting for the right opportunity, and when this match was proposed, I thought maybe, just maybe, it could work.
But Alaric ruined everything.
"What kind of Alpha does that?" I muttered under my breath, my voice trembling with rage. "What kind of psycho thinks attacking his potential mate is a good idea?"
I felt a growl rise in my throat, low and primal, and I knew my wolf agreed. She was just as pissed as I was, her irritation clawing at my mind like an itch I couldn’t scratch.
I reached out, brushing so of the glass shards off the counter, wincing as a few sliced deeper into my hand. My blood sared across the surface, vivid against the dull gray stone.
"Do you need to clean this up, my lady?" My maid’s timid voice broke through the silence, soft and unsure.
I glanced at her over my shoulder. She looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here, her wide eyes flicking nervously between the broken glass and my face.
"No," I said shortly. "Leave."
She didn’t argue. With a small nod, she scurried out of the room like a frightened mouse, the door clicking shut behind her.
Good. I needed to be alone.
I let out a shaky breath, my shoulders slumping as the adrenaline started to fade. The pain in my hand was sharper now, the cuts throbbing with each beat of my heart. But it still didn’t compare to the ache in my chest.
I had hoped this would be different.
I had told myself that Alaric would be better than my father. That he would see my worth, respect my strength, and treat like an equal.
What a joke.
Instead, he had seen as a challenge—a toy to break. And break he did, or at least he thought he could before father intervened.
I straightened, glaring at the fractured remnants of my reflection. My father had tried to make nothing but a breeding mare. Alaric had tried to break . And yet, here I was, still standing.
Well, sort of.
My wolf stirred, her presence a steady hum in the back of my mind. She didn’t like this any more than I did, her irritation flaring every ti I thought about Alaric’s smug, twisted grin. She wanted to rip him apart, to show him what it ant to ss with us.
I grabbed the ointnt my maid had left behind, unscrewing the lid with my uninjured hand. The sharp, dicinal sll filled the air as I sared the cream over my bruised cheek and cut knuckles. The cool sting was a small relief, though it did nothing to soothe the storm inside .
"This isn’t over," I muttered, my voice low and full of promise.
Alaric might think he had won, but he had underestimated . They all did.
I was done being underestimated.
With one last glance at the shattered mirror, I turned on my heel and left my chamber, the glass crunching under my boots as I went. The alliance might be in shambles, but I wasn’t. Not yet.
And if Alaric wanted a fight, he was about to get one.
I clenched my jaw, the bitter taste of humiliation burning in my throat. How pathetic I must have looked in front of Father—fragile, powerless.
Weak.
Not any more.
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