Chapter 2

(Sanya’s POV) The nails shriek as they go into the window frame. I watch from my bed—my childhood bed with its faded purple comforter—as Brandon hammers the boards across the glass. Each strike makes me flinch. Not from the noise. From what it means. I'm a prisoner in my own home. "This is insane." My voice sounds hollow. I've been saying the same thing for hours now, since they dragged me back here last night. "You can't keep me locked up like some—" "Like some what?" Derek leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. There's no warmth in his eyes. Nothing of the brother who used to sneak me extra dessert when I was little. "Like a sister who was about to throw her life away? Bring shame on our entire family?" "I was going to be happy." "You were going to be a fool." Brandon finishes the last nail and steps back, not meeting my eyes. He never does anymore. Not since they brought me home. Not since they told me about the wedding. Seventy-two hours. Three days until I stop being Sanya Light and become... what? Someone's wife. Someone's property. "I need my phone," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "Please. Just let me—" "No." Derek's tone is final. "No phone. No laptop. No contact with the outside world." "What if Aaron's trying to reach me? What if something happened to him?" Something flickers across Brandon's face. Guilt, maybe. But Derek's expression doesn't change. "Aaron's not trying to reach you, Sanya. Accept it." "You don't know that." "I know enough." He pushes off the doorframe. "Get some rest. Tomorrow's a busy day. Dress fitting, meeting with the pack elders, going over the ceremony details—" "I'm not doing any of that." Derek smiles, and it's the cruelest thing I've seen. "Yes. You are." He leaves. Brandon lingers for a moment, his gaze on the boarded-up window. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "Then let me go." He shakes his head and follows Derek out. The lock clicks into place behind them. I sit in the silence, my fingers finding the necklace hidden beneath my shirt. The silver chain is warm from my skin, the crescent moon pendant small and delicate. Aaron gave it to me two months ago, behind the library where we always met. "The moon reminds me of you," he'd said, fastening the clasp at my nape. His fingers had lingered there, gentle. "Beautiful. Constant. Guiding me through darkness." I'd kissed him then, standing on my toes to reach his lips, and he'd held me like I was something precious. Where are you? The question has been circling my mind for hours, wearing grooves into my thoughts. Where was he last night? Why didn't he come? Derek's words echo back: Aaron was using you. "No," I whisper to the empty room. "He wasn't." But the doubt is there now, a splinter working its way deeper. Small. Sharp. Painful. I wait until the house goes quiet. Until the sliver of light under my door goes dark. Then I cross to the window and examine Brandon's handiwork. The boards are solid. Heavy. But there's a gap at the bottom where the wood doesn't quite meet the frame. I work my fingers into the space and pull. The board groans but doesn't give. I pull harder, using my weight, my wolf's strength flooding my muscles— The door slams open. "Seriously?" Brandon stands there, looking more tired than angry. "Sanya, don't." "Let me try." I'm breathing hard, still gripping the board. "Please. Just let me—" He crosses the room in three strides and pulls me away from the window. Not rough, but firm. Final. "You're not leaving," he says. "Stop making this harder than it has to be." "Harder?" The laugh that escapes me is jagged. "You're forcing me to marry a stranger and I'm making it hard?" "You brought this on yourself." There it is. The accusation I've been waiting for. "How?" I demand. "By falling in love? By wanting to choose my own life?" "By choosing a nobody." Derek appears in the doorway, and I wonder if he ever sleeps or if he just waits for me to step out of line. "A rankless wolf with nothing to offer. Did you really think we'd let you throw yourself away on someone like Aaron Knight?" "He's worth more than—" "He's worth nothing." Derek's voice cracks like a whip. "No pack. No father. Just a weak mother and empty promises. What did you think would happen, Sanya? That you'd run away together and live happily ever after in some fantasy?" "We had a plan—" "You had a delusion." He steps into the room, and I have to fight not to back away. "Grow up. You're a Light. We have responsibilities. Honor to uphold. Our parents died leaving us this pack, this legacy, and I will not let you destroy it because you're too naive to see when someone's playing you." "Aaron wasn't—" "Aaron didn't show up." The words land like blows. "He left you standing on that road like an i***t. Doesn't that tell you everything you need to know?" Yes. No. I don't know anymore. "Get some sleep," Derek says, and now he just sounds tired. "You have a long day tomorrow." They leave. This time I hear two locks engage. And through the door, Derek's voice: "Post a guard. Twenty-four hours. She tries anything, you stop her." I sink onto my bed, my fingers finding the moon pendant again. The metal is cool now. Lifeless. Why didn't you come, Aaron? Where are you? The questions circle endlessly, and I have no answers. The second attempt comes on day two. The guard is young. New to the pack. I recognize him from training sessions—always eager, always trying to prove himself. His name is Marcus, and when I ask him for water, he hesitates only a moment before nodding. "Sure. I'll be right back." The second he's gone, I'm at the door. The lock is simple. The kind you can pick with a hairpin if you know what you're doing. I know what I'm doing. The lock clicks. My heart pounds. Freedom is ten steps away, down the hall, through the kitchen, out the back door— "Going somewhere?" Derek stands at the top of the stairs, arms crossed. Behind him, Brandon looks at the floor. "How did you—" "I'm not an i***t, Sanya." He descends slowly, each step deliberate. "You think I don't know how your mind works?" Marcus appears from the kitchen, water glass in hand. He takes one look at the open door, at Derek's expression, and goes pale. "Sir, I just went to get—" "You're dismissed." Derek doesn't even look at him. "Tell Samuel to report for guard duty. And tell him if he leaves his post for any reason, he'll be cleaning the pack house bathrooms for a month." Marcus flees. Derek's hand closes around my arm, dragging me back into the room. This time when the door shuts, I hear three locks. "You really want to make this difficult," he says through the wood. I don't answer. He’s not asking for me to respond. He’s merely making a statement. Through the door, his voice comes quieter. Almost sad. "He's not coming for you, Sanya. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be." But I can't accept it. Won't. Even as the doubt grows. Day three dawns gray and cold. I haven't slept. Haven't eaten. The tray of food outside my door from last night sits untouched, and I know there'll be a new one soon. My brothers treat me like a prisoner but they won't let me starve. Not before the wedding, anyway. The door unlocks and I expect Derek. Brandon. Even the new guard. Instead, I get a woman I've never seen before. She's tall, elegant, carrying a garment bag that looks expensive. "Good morning." Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "I'm Lydia, your brother Derek's mate. We haven't had the pleasure of meeting." Sister-in-law. Right. I'd heard Derek found his mate six months ago, but I'd been so wrapped up in Aaron, in our plans, that I never bothered to meet her. Now she's here, in my prison, carrying what I know without looking is my wedding dress. "I don't want it," I say. "That's unfortunate." She hangs the bag on the closet door with careful precision. "Because you're wearing it tomorrow whether you want to or not." She unzips the bag and I can't help but look. The dress is beautiful. White silk that catches the gray morning light, delicate lace at the bodice, a train that would pool around my feet like water. It's the kind of dress little girls dream about. It looks like a funeral shroud to me. "Stunning, isn't it?" Lydia smooths the fabric with one manicured hand. "Alpha Stone spared no expense. Only the best for his bride." "His prisoner, you mean." "Come now." She turns to face me, and there's something sharp in her expression. "This is a good match. Tyron Stone is powerful, wealthy, respected. You'll want for nothing." "Except freedom. Love. Choice." "Love." She laughs, short and bitter. "You're young. You'll learn. Love is a luxury. Power, security, position—those are what matter." I want to argue. To scream. But I'm so tired, and she's not wrong about one thing. I am young. Too young to understand why the world works this way. Why women are traded like property, married off to secure alliances and honor. Too young, maybe. But not stupid. "Get out," I say quietly. "Fitting is in an hour—" "Get. Out." She goes, taking her knowing smile with her. The dress stays behind, hanging like a ghost. I cross to the mirror—the one that used to reflect a girl who believed in happy endings. Now I see someone else. Hollow eyes. Sharp cheekbones from days of not eating. Hair that hasn't been brushed since they dragged me home. I look haunted. Is this what you wanted, Aaron? Is this what you planned when you promised me forever? No. I can't think that way. Can't let Derek's poison seep into my heart. But the doubt is there, growing roots. The hours blur. Servants come and go, preparing me like a doll. The dress fits perfectly, which somehow makes it worse. My hair is curled, pinned. Makeup applied to hide the shadows under my eyes. I sit through it all in silence, my fingers wrapped around the moon pendant hidden beneath layers of silk. The moon reminds me of you. Tomorrow, I'll stand in front of a stranger and vow to love him. Honor him. Obey him. Tomorrow, Sanya Light dies. The servants are finishing the hem when I hear voices in the hallway. Low, furtive. "Poor thing," one whispers. "Doesn't she know?" "Know what?" My ears prick. I hold very still, barely breathing. "About Alpha Tyron's first wife. The one who disappeared." "Disappeared?" "Vanished without a trace six months ago. Some say she ran away. Others say—" A door closes, cutting off the conversation. I'm on my feet before I realize I'm moving, silk pooling around me as I rush to my own door. Press my ear against it. Silence. First wife. The words echo in my head, each repetition colder than the last. Tyron Stone had a wife. A wife who disappeared. And tomorrow, I'm expected to marry him as his second.