Athena’s POV
The door slammed hard enough to rattle the windows.
My father’s voice followed, low and biting. “You had the audacity to run from the Alpha King. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for us?”
I stood near the window, arms crossed tightly over my chest, eyes fixed on the floor. “I wasn’t feeling well,” I said, barely above a whisper.
He turned toward me, face sharp with controlled fury. “And you couldn’t keep yourself together for five damn minutes? In front of him?”
At the table, my mother didn’t even look up. She just stirred her tea without drinking it, her jaw locked tight. “Just be grateful he’s giving you another chance.”
They didn’t ask how I felt. They didn’t care. I’d already been cast as the failure. Again.
Now, as the black car rolled to a stop in front of the Royal Pack estate, their voices echoed through my skull like a curse. I sat stiff in the back seat, hands clenched in my lap, the invitation in my clutch feeling heavier than it should’ve. Gilded in silver. Sealed with the royal crest.
My father had thrown it on my bed this morning without a word. Later, over breakfast, he muttered something about a celebration. The King was hosting a gathering for the neighboring packs. A public show of diplomacy and power.
The Royal Packhouse rose before me—massive, glowing, carved from moonlight and polished power. The guards opened my door with the kind of precision that came from training, not kindness. I stepped out, the air biting at my bare shoulders.
The emerald dress shimmered as I moved, the fabric trailing behind me like water. My hair was styled in soft waves, carefully pinned to one side—strategically covering the birthmark beneath my left eye.
Inside, the ballroom was a world of its own—gold pillars, crystal chandeliers, velvet gowns and gleaming uniforms. Music floated through the air, soft but constant, like it was keeping time with every measured step and sharpened glance. The Twelve Packs were here. All of them. Crests and titles and egos wrapped in expensive fabric and layered perfume. Power practically dripped from the walls.
I kept to the edges, careful, quiet, until I saw him.
Varianth.
He stood across the room like gravity itself. Tall, composed, dressed in black with silver threading. A glass of wine sat untouched in his hand. His golden eyes met mine—and the room vanished.
A part of me wanted to run to him—to tell him I was carrying his heir. But before I could move, a laugh cut through the air. Mocking. Familiar. The sound that used to haunt me.
“Athena?”
I turned sharply, already bracing for the impact.
A part of me wanted to run to him—to tell him I was carrying his heir. But before I could move, a laugh cut through the air. Mocking. Familiar. The sound that used to haunt me.
I turned, already knowing who it was.
Alpha Eryndor stood just a few feet away, smirking like he owned the room. Draped on his arm was a girl who looked barely old enough to drink—legs long and bare beneath a thigh-high red dress, neckline cut so low it barely clung to her chest. Everything about her screamed for attention. Glittering heels, glossy lips, and eyes that held nothing behind them but pride in being chosen.
She clung to him like a trophy. He let her.
“Well,” he said, eyes raking over me, “you clean up nice. I see you’ve gone back to hiding the stain, though.”
His gaze lingered on the birthmark I hadn’t completely covered.
“Smart move. No one wants to see that.”
Before I could react, his hand lifted—fingers brushing my cheek, slow and deliberate, like he had the right to touch me.
I flinched. My entire body went rigid. My mouth opened, a thousand things I could’ve said crowding my throat—but before I could get a single one out, a voice cut through the room like a blade.
“Get your filthy hands away from her.”
It wasn’t loud. It didn’t have to be.
Varianth was behind me. Close enough to feel the heat of him. His eyes locked on Eryndor, his tone calm—but lethal.
Eryndor chuckled, raising both hands like he was innocent. “Easy, Your Majesty. Just paying my respects to my ex-wife.”
“Next time,” Varianth said, low and cold, “keep your respect to yourself.”
My breath caught. I turned slightly, the words thank you forming on my lips—and then she arrived.
A woman stepped into the space between us like she owned it. Tall. Flawless. Red silk hugging her curves like a second skin. She slid her arm through Varianth’s and, without hesitation, kissed him full on the mouth.
“Your Majesty,” she purred, lips lingering against his, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Then she looked at me.
Her smile stayed sweet, but her eyes went sharp. “And who might this special little lady be?”
Her tone was sugar-laced venom. I looked at her. Then at him. He said nothing.
I forced myself to stand taller, pretending it didn’t hurt. “A nobody,” I said.
And I walked away. I didn’t stop until I reached the garden. Cold air slapped my skin, but it wasn’t enough to dull the sting burning in my chest. I tried to breathe. It didn’t help.
Behind me, laughter floated through the night.
I turned just enough to see him—Eryndor—out on the terrace, drink in hand, his new girl whispering in his ear.
He was laughing.
At me.
I looked away and kept walking, deeper into the dark, before anyone else could see me break.