Irina’s POV
My head burned like a branding iron.
Mate.
The word pulsed through my skull, drowning out everything else. Pain. Fever. Terror. All of it swallowed by that single, overwhelming truth.
My wolf—barely awake, newborn and screaming—thrashed inside . She clawed at my insides, desperate to reach him.
Him.
I lifted my head toward the scent that had dragged through the house like a fish on a hook.
My mate.
Maxim.
No.
No, this couldn’t be real. This had to be wrong. So cosmic joke. So punishnt worse than anything my father had devised.
My mate couldn’t be him. Couldn’t be the man who’d spent a year turning into a ghost. Couldn’t be my stepsister’s ex-boyfriend. Couldn’t be the monster who promised to—
Maxim’s face confird it.
Shock. Just for a heartbeat. Then rage exploded across his features, twisting them into sothing inhuman.
The room swam into focus around him. My father stood near the desk, frozen mid-sentence. Stepan—Maxim’s father—sat in a leather chair, his mouth hanging open.
All that mattered was the scent burning through my lungs and the bond snapping into place between us like a steel cable.
Every eye in the room locked on .
I wanted to run. Wanted to tear my own skin off to escape this feeling.
Maxim moved first.
His hand fisted in my hair before I could blink. The familiar pain exploded across my scalp as he yanked forward. My legs—still weak, still burning with fever—couldn’t hold . I stumbled, nearly fell.
He dragged toward the door.
"Maxim—" Stepan started.
"Not now."
The hallway stretched ahead of us. Empty. No—not empty. Shadows moved in doorways. Servants who should’ve been asleep, drawn by the commotion.
He shoved forward, hard enough that I hit the wall opposite the door. My shoulder cracked against wood paneling. Stars burst across my vision.
When I looked up, servants lined the hallway. At least a dozen of them. Watching. Waiting.
Maxim’s voice rang out, loud enough for everyone to hear.
"I am the future alpha of this pack."
His hand was still twisted in my hair. He yanked my head back, exposing my throat.
"How could I possibly be mated to you?"
The words hit like physical blows. Each one calculated. Designed to wound.
My newborn wolf whimpered. She didn’t understand. Couldn’t comprehend why our mate was rejecting us before the bond had even settled.
"I, Maxim—" His grip tightened until I felt hair ripping from my scalp. "—reject you, Irina, as my mate."
The bond shattered.
I’d heard about rejections before. Whispered stories. Warnings. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared for this.
It felt like soone had reached into my chest and torn out every vital organ at once. My lungs seized. My heart stuttered, forgot how to beat. Every nerve in my body ignited simultaneously.
I hit the floor without aning to. My knees cracked against hardwood. My hands scrabbled for purchase on nothing.
The pain was everywhere. In my bones. My blood. My soul.
My wolf—so new, so fragile—howled in agony. She’d barely existed for an hour before being ripped apart.
"I..." The word scraped out of my throat, shredded and raw. "I accept... your rejection."
I had to say it. Had to complete the ritual. If I didn’t, the pain would never end. The bond would hang there, broken but not severed, torturing for the rest of my life.
The words tasted like ash.
Maxim’s boot connected with my ribs.
I folded around the impact, gasping. No air. Couldn’t breathe.
When I looked up, he was already turning away. Dismissing . Like I was garbage he’d finished disposing of.
My father appeared in the doorway. His face was carefully blank. No shock. No anger. Nothing.
He’d known. Of course he’d known. That’s why they’d been eting. Why Maxim had been here in the middle of the night.
They’d felt the bond forming and gathered to watch it die.
"Get her out of my sight," Maxim said.
Two servants stepped forward imdiately. I recognized them—ogas who’d worked in the main house for years. They wouldn’t et my eyes as they grabbed my arms.
I didn’t fight. Couldn’t.
My body was shutting down. The pain from the rejection, the fever, the beating earlier—all of it crashed over at once.
They dragged upright. My legs dangled uselessly beneath .
"Wait."
My father’s voice stopped everyone mid-movent.
He walked toward us slowly. Deliberately. His footsteps echoed in the silent hallway.
When he reached , he didn’t look at my face. Just examined like I was livestock. Damaged goods he needed to assess.
"She’s eighteen now," he said. "The contract can be executed imdiately."
The servants’ grips tightened on my arms.
"The buyer is already in the city," my father continued. "I’ll contact them tonight. They can collect her tomorrow."
Tomorrow.
The word should have terrified . Should have sparked so instinct for survival.
Instead, I felt nothing.
Numb. Hollow. Empty.
My father finally looked at then. His eyes—the sa color as mine—held no recognition. No love. No regret.
Just cold calculation.
"Take her back to the oga quarters," he ordered the servants. "Lock her in. I don’t want her causing any more trouble. And send her to the underground trading post after sunrise," my father’s voice hardened. "To work as a sex slave!"
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