Alpha Rodrigo stood in front of the exquisite mirror as his assistants dressed him.

The air in the room was freezing, the white walls carrying no warmth. The only color came from the black furniture—pieces so dark they seemed to swallow light rather than reflect it.

Three men stood in a straight line behind him, holding his coat, cufflinks, and boots. They looked more like a funeral procession than service staff. No one spoke. The only sound was the pitter-patter of rain against the windowpanes.

Seven, Rodrigo’s Beta and the only man permitted to touch him, stepped forward. He reached for the cufflinks and fastened them onto Rodrigo’s shirt with a precision driven by absolute focus. His fingers were stiff, careful not to brush against Rodrigo’s skin.

Rodrigo despised being touched. Even Seven, after years of service, had only recently been tolerated this close. One wrong move, one accidental graze of skin, and everyone in the room knew what would happen. They had all seen the stains left by the ones who came before.

Rodrigo stood like a statue, eyes shut and body rigid.

"Alpha, I am done," Seven announced softly, retreating three paces.

For several seconds, there was nothing. No movement. No acknowledgment.

Then Rodrigo’s eyes opened.

Grey. Cold. The kind of eyes that made a man forget what he was about to say.

His reflection stared back at him from the floor-to-ceiling mirror—a pale face, a sharp jaw, rigid as stone. He stood six foot four, dwarfing most men, his long black hair cascading past his shoulders.

The servants’ heads dipped lower. Their bodies grew stiffer.

"What are my duties for the day, Seven?"

Seven picked up the leather-bound ledger from the table. With a small nod, he dismissed the other servants. Only when they had all filed out and the heavy doors clicked shut did he begin reading.

"A meeting with the pack council at nine a.m. Attending the vintage celebration at Honay’s Winery." He paused, his throat tightening. "And..."

Rodrigo’s eyes shifted toward him.

"And?"

Seven adjusted his cravat, his voice dropping.

"And dinner with the new Luna’s family."

The air in the room suddenly felt thinner, harder to breathe. A dark glint flickered in Rodrigo’s eyes. His jaw clenched.

"Did I not tell the Matriarch I wasn’t interested in this arrangement?"

"I told her," Seven said, keeping his voice even despite the pressure building in the room. "But she insists it will be different this time. She says the others were mere coincidences and that this time she will make sure—"

Rodrigo didn’t wait for him to finish.

He turned and strode out, his footsteps echoing through the corridor with a weight that made the walls seem smaller. The servants pressed themselves against the walls as he passed, heads bowed, eyes fixed on the floor.

"Grandmother!"

His roar shook the mansion as he stormed toward the Matriarch’s quarters. Without knocking, he shoved the double doors open. The crash of wood against the wall startled the servants inside, sending them scrambling to their feet.

The Matriarch’s eyes opened at the intrusion. A frown crossed her face—until she saw his expression. With a flick of her hand, she dismissed her assistants.

They hurried out, heads bowed, not daring to glance at either of them.

The room fell into silence as Rodrigo and his grandmother locked eyes. Neither blinked. The tension stretched between them like a wire pulled too tight.

The Matriarch was old, but she was not frail. She was one of the very few people who could meet his eyes without flinching.

"What have you done?" Rodrigo asked, his voice low, vibrating with barely contained rage.

The Matriarch lowered her legs from the footstool and reached for the silver pitcher on the side table. She poured herself a glass of water slowly, as if her grandson wasn’t standing there ready to tear the room apart.

She took a sip before speaking.

"What have I done? I should be asking you that, since you stormed into my quarters without warning."

Rodrigo raked a hand through his hair, his fists tight at his sides.

"I do not need another dead wife, Grandmother. Cancel whatever arrangements you have made."

"A pack cannot exist without a Luna, Rodrigo."

Rodrigo’s lips pulled into a bitter sneer.

"And those women should just keep dying?"

"If a thousand must die for you to find the one who will live, then so be it." Her voice didn’t waver. "I would sacrifice a thousand women. I do not care."

Rodrigo stepped closer, his shadow falling completely over her.

"Grandmother," he seethed.

She laughed.

"Oh, Rodrigo, don’t pretend this is about those women. You don’t care about them. You never have. You simply do not want anyone near you. And I will not allow it. Not while I’m still breathing."

His chest rose and fell, fury almost bursting out. His jaw worked, his hands trembled at his sides, but nothing came out.

Then, slowly, he closed his eyes. He steadied his breathing. When he opened them again, his voice was quieter—but sharper.

"Do as you wish, Grandmother. But get the casket ready too."

He turned toward the door.

"You will be needing it in twelve days."

He slammed the door behind him, the sound rattling through the entire wing of the house.

The Matriarch sat still for a moment, staring at the closed door. Then, with a burst of rage, she grabbed the glass from the table and hurled it against the wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

Outside the grand entrance, the black horse-drawn carriage pulled up within seconds. Seven rushed to open the door, his hands tense on the handle. He didn’t let out his breath until Rodrigo stepped inside and the door slammed shut.

"Back to the main estate," Rodrigo commanded through the heavy velvet carriage curtains. "Fast."

The ride back was dead silent. Seven sat rigidly in the front beside the coachman, listening to the heavy thunder rolling over the Vermont hills.

By the time the carriage pulled up to the main estate, the sun was setting, casting long, bloody shadows across the grounds.

Rodrigo didn’t wait for Seven to open the door. He stepped out and walked toward the large entrance doors, his expression darker than it had been all day.

Seven scrambled down to follow, quickening his pace to keep up with the Alpha’s long strides.

"Alpha," he called out, stopping just outside the threshold.

Rodrigo paused, his back to his Beta.

Seven swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a tense whisper.

"The new bride... is here."