"Excuse me," I murmured to the elderly omega woman I'd been politely cornering for twenty minutes. "I need to visit the powder room."
I slipped away through the crowd and pushed through the mahogany doors into the quieter east wing. The noise of the ballroom muffled instantly, replaced by thick silence.
The hallway was wide and empty, lined with centuries-old portraits of Trent's ancestors — a long row of ruthless alphas staring down from gilded frames, silently questioning what a defective bloodline was doing in their halls.
I leaned against the cool wall, pressing a hand flat against my chest. My heart was racing. The preliminary tether — the magical thread forged between us during childhood to secure the arrangement — throbbed with a dull, persistent ache in my sternum. It wasn't the warm hum of a true bond. It was a cold, possessive hook embedded in my core.
It's just stress,I told myself, forcing slow breaths.Once the final bond is sealed, the anxiety stops. Once he claims me, he can't leave. The biological imperative will override his coldness. It has to. The alternative is too horrifying to contemplate.
It was the fragile mantra that got me through the long nights when he looked at me with thinly veiled boredom. Once the ancient magic locked into place, he wouldhaveto care for me.
I smoothed my damp palms against my skirt and went back to the ballroom.
The rest of the evening blurred — forced smiles, shallow conversations, the ache in my feet. By the time the last guests called for their coats, my jaw hurt from the sustained expression and I had nothing left.
Trent remained at the entrance, shaking hands and securing final political pleasantries. I stood two paces behind him and one to the left, as tradition dictated for an unbonded omega.
When the last heavy door clicked shut against the freezing night air, the foyer fell silent.
Trent turned around. The practiced charm he had worn for five hours vanished, replaced by a flat, dead stare that sent ice through my blood.
"Trent?" I asked.
He didn't answer. He raised his hands and slowly loosened his silk tie. The movement felt profoundly violent in the quiet — not a man unwinding after a long night, but a predator stripping away diplomatic armor.
"Come into my father's office," he said. He turned and walked without waiting to see if I followed.
My pulse spiked. I hurried after him, struggling to keep pace in the restrictive dress.
The Alpha's office was a cavernous room smelling of leather, old paper, scotch, and the heavy dominance of two generations of Hawthorne leadership. Trent walked behind the massive mahogany desk but didn't sit. He braced both hands on the polished surface, leaning forward, staring down at a silver letter opener.
I stopped in the center of the Persian rug, afraid to move closer, twisting my cold fingers together.
"Did I do something wrong tonight?" My voice wavered, the facade cracking. I mentally catalogued every conversation of the last five hours. "I spoke to the governor's mate like you asked. I didn't disagree with the councilman about the Southern border?—"
"Stop," Trent said.
The single syllable cracked through the silence like a whip. My mouth snapped shut.
He lifted his head and locked his eyes onto mine. No warmth. No anger, even — nothing that hot. Just cold, calculated finality.I was looking at a man who had already made his decision and was delivering it as a formality.
"The arrangement is over, Wren."
The words hung in the air, impossible and devastating. The room seemed to tilt, the edges blurring as my mind refused the input.
"I don't understand," I whispered. "The wedding is in three months. The invitations have been printed?—"
"They'll be cancelled. Tomorrow morning." He stood up straight, unbothered by the devastation he was inflicting. "You're a lovely girl, Wren, but you are a liability we can no longer carry. The political climate is shifting. My pack needs an alliance with a dynasty that commands military strength and magical reserves. You possess none of those things."
The sociopathic pragmatism of it paralyzed me. He wasn't ending a relationship. He was liquidating a bad investment, using the same detached tone he reserved for supply chain contracts.
"But the arrangement," I said, the terror rising from my stomach to my throat. "We've been promised to each other since childhood. The preliminary tether was forged when we were twelve. I've done everything you asked. I changed my major. I memorized your family's history. I learned the archaic protocols?—"
"And despite all of it, you are still biologically weak," Trent said, walking slowly around the desk to stand in front of me. His proximity didn't bring comfort. It brought the crushing weight of his dominance pressing down on my shoulders, forcing my instincts to fold.
"I watched you tonight," he continued. "You flinched when the governor raised his voice across the room. You submit to anyone with a stronger aura. You have no presence, no spine. I need an Alpha Queen who can command a room of predators.Not a broken bird I have to shield from the politics she's supposed to rule."
The words tore through me like claws, confirming every terrible thing I had ever suspected about myself. Iwasdefective. Iwasultimately unlovable, even by the man magically bound to accept me.
