Sold for 30 Days. Now Two Brothers Will Burn the World for Her 🔥

Chapter 1: The Funeral

~ Celeste ~

The scent of fresh earth and grief hangs heavy in the air as they lower Alpha John into the ground.

I should be mourning. We all should be.

But all I can think about is the woman standing across from me, her eyes boring into mine with barely concealed triumph.

Delilah.

John's widow. Tom's fated mate. And the reason my entire world is about to crumble.

My hands tremble as I clutch Tom's arm, feeling the tension radiating through his body. He won't look at me. He hasn't looked at me properly since his brother died three days ago.

Because he's too busy looking at her.

Even now, as we stand at his brother's graveside, his eyes keep drifting toward the widow dressed in black. The widow who should be crying but instead stands there with her head held high.

"Tom," I whisper, but he doesn't respond.

His arm feels stiff under my touch, like he can barely tolerate my presence. Like I'm an obligation he's forced to endure rather than the woman he chose. Except he didn't choose me, did he? He settled. He settled because John got to Delilah first, and I was the consolation prize.

The plus-size omega with the freakish gift.

Zoe, my wolf, whimpers in the back of my mind. She feels it too — the shift in the air, the danger creeping closer. Not just from Delilah's predatory stare, but from something worse.

I can hear the whispers. The pack members murmuring behind cupped hands, thinking I can't hear them. But that's the thing about my gift — I hear everything.

"Poor Celeste. Tom's going to reject her now, isn't he?"

"He never wanted her. Everyone knows that."

"She's not fit to be Luna. Look at her. How can someone like that lead us?"

Each word is a blade, cutting deeper and deeper.

I know what everyone's thinking. What they've always thought.

Why did Tom choose the plus-size omega when he could have had Delilah?

The answer is simple: he didn't choose me. John did — by claiming Delilah first. Tom settled for the omega with the supernatural hearing ability that makes me useful to the pack.

Not loved. Useful.

And God, I've been so useful, haven't I? Warning the pack of approaching enemies, hearing threats from miles away, keeping everyone safe while they looked down on me for not being beautiful like Delilah, not slim like Delilah, not perfect like Delilah.

"It's my fault," I breathe, guilt crushing my chest like a boulder. "John died because of me."

Because Tom was jealous. Tom made me stay behind instead of accompanying John to The Phoenix application meeting. He couldn't stand that his brother — who already had Delilah — also got to have me by his side for protection during the dangerous journey.

I wasn't there to hear the enemy pack approaching, I failed the one duty that makes me valuable.

Tom's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking beneath his skin. "Don't."

But it is my fault. If I had been there, I would have heard them coming. I would have warned John. He'd still be alive, and Tom wouldn't be looking at his widow like she's water in the desert.

And now John is dead, and Tom is Alpha, and Delilah is free.

The perfect storm of my worst nightmare.

My breathing quickens as panic claws at my throat. Tom is going to reject me. I can feel it coming like a shift in the wind. He's going to cast me aside and finally claim his fated mate, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

‘Breathe, Celeste,’ Zoe murmurs. ‘We're stronger than this.’

But are we? Are we really?

The priest's voice drones on, saying beautiful things about John — about his leadership, his strength, his vision for the pack. All the things Tom now has to live up to as the new Alpha.

All the reasons he needs a better Luna than me.

My thoughts shatter as a sound pierces through the funeral silence. A sound no one else can hear.

Cars. Two of them. Still miles away but approaching fast.

The engine rumble is distinct. Expensive. Powerful. Not a pack I recognize.

And then I hear it… crying. Someone's crying, begging…

"Please, I didn't mean to! Please spare me! I'll do anything!"

My blood runs cold.

I know that voice. I'd know it anywhere.

‘Fanny,’ Zoe growls in my mind, bristling with anger and fear.

No. No, no, no.

What has my sister done now?

Fanny has always been trouble. Ever since we were kids, she's been getting into situations that put everyone at risk. Dating rogues, sneaking out of pack territory, ignoring every rule and boundary because she thinks she's invincible.

And I've always been the one cleaning up her messes.

But this… this sounds bad. Really bad.

"Tom!" I grip his arm harder, panic flooding my veins. "Cars approaching. Two of them. They have Fanny."

Tom's entire body goes rigid. Whatever haze Delilah had him under shatters instantly. His alpha instincts kick in, sharp and immediate.

"How far?" he demands, his voice dropping into that command tone that makes every wolf in the vicinity stand at attention.

"Five miles. Maybe less. Moving fast."

"Keith!" Tom barks. "We have incoming. Two vehicles. Unknown pack. Prepare for potential hostility."

Within seconds, the funeral transforms into a battlefield.

Keith, our Gamma, begins organizing the pack members. They spread out, forming a protective circle around the gravesite. The women and children move to the center. The warriors shift to the perimeter, their bodies tense and ready.

My heart hammers against my ribs as I strain my hearing, trying to gather more information.

Multiple heartbeats. At least fifteen, maybe twenty. All strong. All trained fighters.

And Fanny, still crying, still begging.

"What did you do?" I whisper to the wind, knowing she can't hear me. "What the hell did you do, Fanny?"

The rumble of engines grows louder. Loud enough for everyone to hear now.

The pack members shift nervously, casting anxious glances at Tom. He stands tall, projecting confidence, but I can hear his heart racing. He's scared.

We all are.

"Nevermore Pack," Keith announces suddenly, his voice tight with dread. "I can see their insignia."

The words send a ripple of fear through everyone present.

Nevermore. The most powerful pack in the region. Possibly the country.

They have resources we can't even dream of. Military training. Mafia connections. Influence that reaches into every corner of the werewolf world.

What are they doing here?

What could Fanny have possibly done to bring Nevermore to our doorstep?

The sleek black cars screech to a halt — disrespectfully close to John's open grave, dirt spraying across the mourners. It's a calculated insult, and everyone knows it.

My heart hammers as doors open and men in black suits pour out like shadows. They move with military precision, forming a wall of muscle and menace.

These aren't just pack warriors. These are soldiers.

And then he emerges.

Dressed in an impeccable white suit, tall, broad-shouldered. Moving with the kind of predatory grace that speaks of absolute power and zero tolerance for disrespect.

The moment my eyes land on him, Zoe goes absolutely feral.

"MATE!" she howls, throwing herself against the walls of my mind. "MATE! MATE! MATE!"

I stumble backward, shock stealing my breath.

No. That's impossible. I'm already mated to Tom. I already have his mark on my neck — his claim, his scent, his bond.

You can't have two mates. That's not how it works.

But Zoe doesn't care about logic or rules or the mark scarred into my skin. She's pushing forward, desperate, yearning, trying to force a shift so she can run to him.

"Calm down," I hiss internally. "Stop it!"

"He's OURS!" she snarls back. "Our TRUE mate! I can feel it!"

My whole body trembles as I fight for control. This can't be happening.

Not when my entire life is already falling apart.

"That's Stefan Casteel," Keith mutters to Tom, his voice barely above a whisper. "Alpha of Nevermore Pack. Don of the Hamish Mafia Family."

Tom's heart rate spikes so violently I can hear it like drums in my ears. His fear is palpable, rolling off him in waves.

We all are terrified.

Stefan Casteel. Even I've heard the stories. The ruthless Alpha who has politicians in his pocket and enemies in early graves.

The man currently staring directly at me.

Stefan's dark eyes scan the crowd with predatory precision, passing over Tom, over Keith, over Delilah…

And stopping on me.

Everything stops.

My heart. My breath. Time itself.

Those eyes… dark as midnight, pin me in place. I feel naked under that gaze, like he can see through every defense, every wall, straight into my soul.

Why is he looking at me?

Heat crawls up my neck, and I hate myself for it. I should be terrified. I am terrified. But there's something else too, something that makes my skin tingle and Zoe purr with satisfaction.

One of his men drags someone forward, and my sister crashes to the ground in a heap of blood and tears.

"Help me, Celeste!" Fanny sobs, her face swollen and bruised. "Please! Tell them I didn't mean it!"

I close my eyes, anger and despair warring inside me.

This is what Fanny does. Gets into trouble. Makes terrible decisions. Drags everyone down with her.

And I always, always, have to save her.

"I apologize for interrupting your funeral," Stefan says, his voice smooth and cold as ice. Rich and cultured. The kind of voice that's used to being obeyed without question. "But this member of your pack…" he gestures dismissively at Fanny, "...has waged war against mine by killing one of my wolves."

Tom steps forward, trying to project authority even though I can hear how badly he's shaking. "There's no proof…"

Stefan snaps his fingers.

A dead wolf is brought forward on a stretcher. Even from here, I can smell death and blood.

The pack gasps collectively.

"I-I didn't mean to!" Fanny wails, scrambling forward on her knees. "It was an accident! I swear!"

"It was no accident." Stefan's smile is razor-sharp, dangerous. "She was paid by a rogue to assassinate him. A calculated attack on my pack."

Another signal. Another bound man dragged forward, tape over his mouth, terror in his eyes.

I recognize him instantly. The rogue Fanny's been sleeping with for the past two months.

I warned her. I warned her about rogues. Told her they were dangerous, unpredictable, that they'd only bring trouble.

But Fanny never listens.

Tom swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Our pack has nothing to do with this. Let the culprit face the consequences of her actions."

The words hit me like a physical blow.

He's abandoning her. Abandoning my sister to save the pack.

"What?" I whisper, whipping toward him. "He'll kill her!"

Tom's eyes are hard when they finally meet mine. "What can I do, Celeste?" he hisses back. "We're not strong enough to fight Nevermore. We'll all die. The entire pack. Is that what you want?"

"She's my sister…"

"And they're my pack," he cuts me off. "I have to think about everyone, not just your family."

The dismissal in his voice makes me flinch.

"There is," Stefan interrupts, his eyes still fixed on me, "one way to put this behind us."

My stomach drops.

Something about his tone tells me I'm not going to like what comes next.

"I've heard the Fevermore Pack is bankrupt." Stefan's smile widens, showing teeth. "That you're desperate for admission into The Phoenix. That you've applied three times and been rejected each time."

Tom's jaw clenches. It's all true, and everyone knows it.

"I can give you that," Stefan continues, each word deliberate. "Protection. Resources. Everything you need. I can get you admitted into The Phoenix within a month, considering the amount of applications we receive everyday."

Tom's heart races faster. I can practically hear the hope exploding in his chest, the possibilities spinning through his mind.

Admission to The Phoenix means legitimacy. It means alliances with powerful packs. It means protection from enemies and access to resources we desperately need.

It means everything.

"For real?" Tom breathes, and I hate how eager he sounds.

"Yes. But on one condition."

Time slows. The world narrows to Stefan's next words.

His eyes haven't left me.

"I can’t help but notice that omega's gift from here." He points directly at me, and every head turns in my direction. "Her hearing… stretched beyond normal limits. Supernatural. Rare."

My blood turns to ice.

No.

"Give me that omega for thirty days," Stefan says, his voice carrying across the graveyard. "Let her help me win a war against the humans. And I'll spare your pack. I'll grant you admission into the Phoenix. I'll make your pack stronger than it's ever been."

The air leaves my lungs.

No.

He can't be serious.

But Tom's expression — his racing heart, the way he's already looking at me with calculation rather than love — tells me he's actually considering this.

"Tom..." My voice breaks, desperation clawing at my throat.

And across the grave, Delilah smiles.

Chapter 2: The Trade

~ Celeste ~

"It's just thirty days, Celeste," Tom says, gripping my shoulders with hands that should feel comforting but only feel like shackles. "You heard him… just to win a war, and then you'll come back…"

"I'm the Luna of this pack!" My voice cracks, rising with panic. "I need to stay here and protect…"

"This is how you protect the pack!" Tom's fingers dig into my arms, hard enough to bruise. "This is your Luna duty! Don't you understand? This is the opportunity we've been waiting for!"

His words are a knife to my chest.

Because I can hear the lie beneath his words. This isn't about protecting the pack. Not really.

He wants me gone. For thirty days. Long enough to reclaim Delilah without guilt. Long enough to see if she'll have him now that John's dead. Long enough to convince the pack that she'd continue to make a better Luna than the fat omega who couldn't even save the previous Alpha.

"Tom, please…" My voice breaks. "Don't do this."

"Do what?" He has the audacity to look confused. "I'm doing what's best for everyone. For the pack. For our future."

"For our future? Or for yours?"

The words slip out before I can stop them, sharp and accusing.

Tom's eyes flash with anger. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I can hear your heart racing every time you look at Delilah!" I snap, tears burning my eyes. "It means I know you've been waiting for this… waiting for a chance to get rid of me so you can finally have what you really want!"

"That's not…"

"Don't lie to me!" My voice rises, and I don't care that the entire pack is watching. "I can hear your heartbeat, Tom. I always could. And it beats faster for her than it ever has for me."

Silence falls like a guillotine.

Tom's face hardens. "You're being dramatic."

"Am I?" I laugh, but it sounds broken. "Then look me in the eye and tell me you'll reject Delilah while I'm gone. Tell me you won't pursue your fated mate the second I'm out of sight."

He can't. We both know he can't.

His silence is answer enough.

"Celeste!" Fanny's sob cuts through the tension. "Please! I'm sorry! I'll never do it again! I'll be good, I swear! Just please don't let them kill me!"

I look down at my sister, bloody and broken on the ground, and feel the familiar weight of responsibility crushing down on me.

This is what Fanny does. Gets into trouble and I clean up the mess because I'm the responsible one. The good sister. The one who sacrifices everything to keep everyone else safe.

I'm so tired of it.

I'm so tired of all of it.

I look around at the pack members surrounding us. Every single one of them is staring at me with the same expression.

Do it. Save us. It's your duty.

Not one of them looks concerned about me. About what might happen to me in thirty days with a pack as dangerous as Nevermore. About whether I'll even survive the war that I am needed for.

They just want me to fix their problems.

My eyes find Delilah. She's practically glowing with satisfaction, already imagining herself in my place. Already planning how she'll comfort Tom when I'm gone.

If I refuse, I'll be blamed for everything. Every attack. Every failure. Every death.

And Tom will reject me anyway.

I'll lose everything no matter what I choose.

At least this way, Fanny lives. At least this way, the pack survives.

At least this way, I'm useful one last time.

"I promise you, Celeste." Tom's voice softens, "I'll come get you after thirty days. Once we join The Phoenix, we'll have alliances, protection, strength. We'll be powerful again. And you'll come back as my Luna. I swear it."

"Tom..." Tears blur my vision. "You promise? After thirty days, you'll come for me?"

"Yes. As my Luna."

As my Luna.

The words should comfort me. They should be enough.

But when I lean in to kiss him — to seal this terrible bargain, to have one last moment before I'm traded away like livestock — he turns his face away.

My lips brush his cheek instead of his mouth.

The rejection stings worse than anything Stefan could do to me.

I pull back, humiliation burning through my veins. Even now, even as he's sending me away, he can't bring himself to kiss me properly.

A hand touches my shoulder, warm and steady.

Keith, our gamma and my very good friend.

"Don't worry," my friend whispers, his eyes genuinely concerned. "I'll come get you personally. I promise. Thirty days, and I'll bring you home myself."

At least someone cares.

At least someone will miss me.

I squeeze his hand, grateful for this one small kindness in a sea of betrayal.

Then I turn to face Stefan. He's leaning against his car, looking bored, like this entire negotiation is just a minor inconvenience in his otherwise busy day.

Like I'm just a tool he's acquiring.

Maybe that's all I've ever been to anyone.

"Ready, omega?" he drawls, his voice rich with amusement.

Something fierce and angry rises in my chest. I'm so sick of being diminished. So sick of being treated like I'm less than everyone else.

If I'm going to be traded away, I'm going to leave with my dignity intact.

"I'm Luna," I say, lifting my chin. "Not omega. Not anymore."

His eyebrows lift, genuine amusement flickering across his devastatingly handsome face. "Ouch. My bad. Tough one, aren't you?"

He opens the car door with exaggerated politeness, gesturing with a slight bow.

I take one last look at my life.

At Fanny, still sobbing on the ground, relief written across her bruised face.

At Tom, who won't meet my eyes, already mentally moving on.

At Delilah, already calculating her next move, probably planning what dress she'll wear when she takes my place.

At Keith, the only one who looks genuinely sorry to see me go.

At the pack members who watched me grow up, who I've protected countless times, who are now watching me leave without a single protest.

This is what I'm worth to them.

Thirty days of peace.

I slide into the car, the leather seats soft and expensive beneath me. The interior smells like leather and pine, so wild and intoxicating that makes Zoe stir with interest.

Stefan follows, his large frame filling the space, making the spacious car feel suddenly intimate. Confined.

When the door closes, it feels like a trap snapping shut.

The privacy partition rises with a soft hum, sealing us away from the driver.

We're alone.

Silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating. I press myself against the far door, trying to put as much distance between us as possible.

It doesn't help. I can still feel him. Still smell him — pine and smoke that makes Zoe go crazy in my mind.

"Mate," she keeps whispering. "Our mate. Our TRUE mate."

"He's not our mate," I hiss back internally. "Tom is our mate. We're marked."

I close my eyes, fighting for control over my own wolf.

But Zoe is convinced, and the pull I feel toward Stefan is undeniable.

"You wear another Alpha's mark."

Stefan's voice cuts through the silence, low and dangerous and far too close.

My eyes snap open to find him watching me with an intensity that steals my breath.

His gaze is fixed on my neck — on Tom's claiming mark, the bite scar that's supposed to bind us together forever.

"And yet," Stefan continues, leaning closer, his presence overwhelming, "your wolf leans toward mine."

My breath catches.

How can he possibly know that Zoe is going crazy right now? That she's fighting me for control, desperate to get closer to him?

"I don't know what you're talking about," I lie, but my voice wavers.

His smile is predatory and devastating.

He moves with supernatural speed, suddenly right next to me, his hand gripping my chin and forcing me to meet his eyes.

Those dark, endless eyes that seem to see straight through every defense I have.

“Mate.”

Chapter 3: The Alpha's Game

~ Stefan ~

"I don't know what you're talking about," she stutters, but I can hear the lie in her voice.

Her heart is racing. Her pupils are dilated. And that delicious scent of confusion and arousal is rolling off her in waves.

She knows exactly what I'm talking about.

"Don't lie to me, omega," I murmur, my thumb brushes across her jaw, and I feel her shiver beneath my touch. "I can smell it on you. The confusion. The pull. The bond trying to form despite that mark on your neck."

Her heart hammers against her ribs so hard I can practically see it. "That's impossible."

But she doesn't pull away from my touch. Doesn't tell me to stop.

Because she feels it too.

I lean in closer, my lips nearly brushing the shell of her ear. She smells like vanilla and that makes Garet, my wolf, go absolutely feral with possessiveness.

"Your Alpha doesn't deserve you," I whisper, letting my breath ghost across her skin. "He never did. And deep down, your wolf knows it."

"You don't know anything about me," she whispers back, but it sounds weak even to my ears. Defensive.

Which means I've struck a nerve.

Good.

"Don't I?" I pull back slightly, my eyes searching hers. Those beautiful eyes filled with pain and uncertainty. "I know you're underestimated. Undervalued. Treated like a tool instead of a treasure. I know that mark on your neck is a brand of ownership, not love."

I watch the truth of them sink in, breaking through whatever delusions she's been clinging to about her pathetic excuse for a mate.

"And I know," I continue, "that you're my mate. My true mate. And I don't share."

The air leaves her lungs in a rush.

Perfect.

Before she can respond, before she can build up those walls again, I move my hand to the back of her neck. Right over that offensive mark her so-called Alpha left on her.

The mark that shouldn't exist.

The mark that's standing between me and what's mine.

"This," I say, my voice cold with genuine disdain, "is going to be a problem."

She trembles under my touch, and I can't tell if it's fear or desire or both.

Then I pull back, settling into my seat with the casual elegance I've perfected over years of playing the untouchable Alpha. As if I didn't just turn her entire world upside down.

As if having her this close isn't driving me absolutely insane.

The car pulls away from the funeral ground, and satisfaction settles deep in my chest.

Everything is going according to plan.

Better than planned, actually.

It had all been orchestrated by me from the very beginning. Every single piece moved into position like a chess game.

Fanny — the foolish, reckless sister — had approached my men two months ago. She was a merchandizer, always looking to make quick money, and she told them she had something I was looking for.

A werewolf sister with a special hearing gift.

At first, I thought she was lying. Gifts like that are rare. Supernatural hearing beyond even normal werewolf capabilities? Almost unheard of.

But I had my people investigate, and sure enough, it was true.

Celeste. The plus-sized omega Luna that Fevermore Pack kept hidden away like a secret weapon.

I needed that gift. Desperately.

Not to defeat the humans — that was just the story I fed everyone. The humans are a nuisance, nothing more.

No, I need her gift to defeat my brother.

Damon.

Damon has been a thorn in my flesh for years. He refused to take up the name of Alpha as the firstborn son. Refused to lead from the front like tradition demands.

Instead, he insisted that I rule as the face while he handles everything behind the scenes. All the real power, all the real control, hidden in the shadows where he can pull strings like a puppet master.

I hate it.

I hate him.

And the worst part? He's stronger than me. Much stronger.

Damon is a beast in wolf form — bigger, faster, more vicious than any werewolf I've ever encountered. In a fair fight, he'd rip me apart in seconds.

Which is exactly why I need to make sure we never have a fair fight.

I needed someone with supernatural hearing abilities to spy on him. To eavesdrop on his private conversations, his secret meetings, his plans. To find out everything I need to know to finally take him down.

To kill him.

So I orchestrated this entire charade. Had Fanny set up to "accidentally" kill one of my wolves — one who was already dying of cancer, who volunteered for this mission. Had her "boyfriend" rogue play along. Showed up at the funeral with maximum drama to make an offer Tom couldn't refuse.

All to get Celeste.

But then something happened that I didn't plan for.

The moment I laid eyes on her at that funeral, Garet went absolutely insane.

"MATE!" he howled. "MATE! CLAIM HER! SHE'S OURS!"

The plus-sized omega with the supernatural hearing ability isn't just my weapon against Damon.

She's my mate.

My fated mate.

The Moon Goddess gave me exactly what I needed wrapped in exactly what I wanted.

It's almost too perfect.

Almost makes me believe in divine intervention.

"I'm mated already," Celeste says suddenly, breaking the silence. Her voice is sharp, defensive. "So ignore the freaking mate bond and respect an Alpha's claim."

I scoff, unable to help myself.

Respect Tom's claim? That pathetic excuse for an Alpha who couldn't even kiss her goodbye?

"I will have him reject you," I say with absolute confidence. "And I will claim you for myself."

She looks at me with utter disbelief, her mouth falling open slightly. "Why are you so confidently arrogant?"

I let out a genuine laugh at her impressive resilience.

It's refreshing, actually. Most wolves cower in my presence. Most women simper and flirt and try to seduce their way into my bed and my power.

But this one? This one glares at me like she wants to punch me in the face.

I love it.

"Because I'm Stefan Casteel," I say simply, as if that explains everything.

Which it does.

She narrows her eyes, studying me with an intensity that reminds me she's not just beautiful—she's smart too.

"Are you really going to grant my pack admission to The Phoenix?" she asks, her voice deadly serious.

Ah. So she's not just worried about herself. She's still thinking about her pack. About the people who just traded her away like cattle.

Loyal to a fault.

"The Phoenix is run by me," I say, which is technically true. "And I am a man of my word."

She looks at me like I'm bluffing, and it actually hurts.

Why does it hurt?

I never care what people think of me. Never care if they doubt me or fear me or hate me.

But her disbelief stings like a slap.

Yes, The Phoenix is technically run by Damon behind the scenes. He pulls the strings, makes the real decisions, controls who gets in and who gets destroyed.

But I'm the face. I'm the one everyone sees. The one who signs the papers and makes the announcements and sits in the big chair during meetings.

I can get Fevermore into The Phoenix. Easily.

I just can't have her — or anyone else know that Damon is the real power.

I don't want to be seen as weak.

Especially not by my mate.

The car begins to slow, and I realize we're approaching the Casteel family castle.

Home.

And because she is not just a tool and now my mate, I find it very difficult to brief her on what she's actually going to do here.

How do I tell her she's here to spy on my brother? That she'll be posing as a maid to get close to him? That one wrong move could get her — and me — killed?

How do I explain that the man she's about to meet is the most dangerous creature she'll ever encounter?

The car comes to a halt, and I still haven't figured out what to say.

Celeste steps out first, her eyes widening as she takes in the Casteel estate.

The castle is over three hundred years old, with towers that pierce the sky and grounds that stretch for miles. Old money. Old power. Old blood.

This is what it looks like when you're at the top of the werewolf hierarchy.

But then her gaze shifts upward, and I follow it to see what caught her attention.

My blood runs cold.

Damon.

He's standing at his window on the third floor, hands in his pockets, staring down at us.

At her.

My heart starts to race despite my best efforts to control it.

Fuck.

"Why is your heart beating so fast at the sight of him?" Celeste asks suddenly, still maintaining eye contact with Damon from up at the window.

Damn her supernatural hearing.

"Stop looking at him," I snap, more harshly than I intend. "He is the devil."

She turns to me, and to my absolute horror, she bursts out laughing.

"I can't believe you run The Phoenix, yet you're scared of one man," she says, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"Bring your voice down," I hiss, gripping her arm and pulling her toward the entrance. "That man is the one you're supposed to spy on."

Her laughter cuts off immediately. "What?"

But it's too late.

Damon's voice fills the foyer before we even make it through the door, and I know we're fucked.

"Dearest brother," he purrs, and I can hear the amusement in his tone. "You brought in a plus-sized claimed mate. How daring of you."

Chapter 4: The Devil Himself

~ Celeste ~

My heart shudders at the sound of that voice.

It's not just deep or commanding — though it's both of those things.

It's domineering. Dangerous. The kind of voice that crawls under your skin and makes your survival instincts scream at you to run.

I look around the massive foyer, all marble floors and crystal chandeliers and painting, but I can't see anyone.

Yet I can hear someone moving with a speed I've never encountered before. Not even from the strongest Alphas in our region.

It's like teleportation.

One second there's nothing, just the echo of that terrifying voice.

The next second, he's standing right in front of us.

I almost scream at the suddenness of him appearing in my face.

And then I see him and my jaw drops.

He's Lucifer.

He has to be.

No one should be this beautiful and this terrifying at the same time.

His hair is dark as midnight, falling in careless waves that probably cost a fortune to make look that effortless. His features are sharp and aristocratic, all high cheekbones and a jaw that could cut glass.

But it's his eyes that stop my heart.

They're not just dark — they're black. Completely black, like staring into an abyss that stares right back into your soul.

And they're currently fixed on me with an intensity that makes me want to both run away and step closer.

He leans in without warning, invading my personal space completely, and sniffs me like I'm a piece of meat he's considering buying.

Zoe stirs uneasily in my mind. Even she — who was so confident with Stefan — seems uncertain about this man.

This... creature.

He pulls back slightly, turning those unsettling black eyes to Stefan.

"Who is she," he asks, his voice deceptively soft, "and what is she doing here?"

It's not really a question. It's a command wrapped in velvet.

"Damon..." Stefan's voice is tight, strained. "She is one of the new maids."

I turn sharply to Stefan, shock coursing through me.

Maid?

What the hell does he mean by one of the maids?

My supernatural hearing picks up Stefan's heart—it's racing like he just ran a marathon. He's terrified.

And if Stefan is this scared, that means I need to be terrified too.

I swallow hard and force myself to stay quiet. To comply.

Because if I don't, if I blow whatever cover Stefan is trying to maintain, my whole Fevermore pack could be destroyed.

Damon scoffs, a sound that's somehow both amused and dangerous. "We have enough maids, Stefan." He tilts his head, studying his brother with those black eyes. "And since when do you personally escort new maids into the castle in your private car?"

Stefan opens his mouth, probably to come up with some excuse.

But Damon isn't done.

He turns those terrifying eyes back to me, and this time, something shifts in them. Something I can't quite identify.

"I have never seen such a beautiful plus-sized maid," he says slowly, deliberately, his gaze traveling over my body in a way that makes me feel both exposed and oddly... appreciated?

"Damn, you are beautiful," he continues, and there's genuine wonder in his voice now.

I'm frozen in place, completely uncomfortable with the way he's looking at me. With the way he leans in again and takes another deep inhale.

"Intoxicating," he murmurs, so quietly I'm not sure Stefan even hears it.

And then he's gone.

Just... gone.

Vanished into thin air like he was never there at all.

Stefan lets out a long, shaky breath beside me, his whole body sagging with relief.

"What the hell was that?!" I snap at him, my own heart racing now. Fear and adrenaline are coursing through my veins, making my hands shake.

Stefan runs a hand through his hair, suddenly looking exhausted. "If I had told you the truth about Damon, you may not have wanted to come with me, so..."

"So you lied?!" My voice rises despite my best efforts to control it. "You brought me here to spy on that?!"

Because now I understand.

Now I see why Stefan was so scared. Why his heart was racing. Why he needed someone with supernatural abilities.

Damon isn't just dangerous. He's not just powerful.

He's something else entirely.

Something that moves faster than any werewolf should be able to move. Something with eyes like the void and a presence that makes even Alphas cower.

"He's going to kill me," I whisper, panic rising in my chest. "The moment he discovers what I'm really doing here, he's going to kill me."

"No…"

"Don't lie to me!" I grab Stefan's arm, forcing him to look at me. "I can hear your heartbeat, remember? You're terrified of him. If you're terrified of him, and you're one of the most powerful Alphas in the region, what chance do I have?"

Stefan's jaw clenches. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"You can't even protect yourself from him!"

"I can protect you," he insists, gripping my shoulders. "Especially now that I know you're my mate. I will never let him hurt you. I swear it."

I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him so badly.

"This is insane," I mutter, pulling away from him and looking around the opulent foyer. "How the fuck did I end up here?"

Twenty-four hours ago, I was preparing for a funeral. Worrying about whether Tom would reject me and move on with Delilah.

Now I'm standing in a castle, allegedly fated to another Alpha, and expected to spy on what might actually be the devil himself.

"Listen to me," Stefan says, his voice urgent. "You just need to act normal. Be a maid. Clean, serve food, blend in. Use that incredible hearing of yours to listen in on Damon's conversations, get close to him and help me find his weak spot."

"You're asking me to risk my life," I say quietly.

"I'm asking you to help me save the entire werewolf lineage," Stefan counters. "That is my brother and… I know him better than anyone. If I allow him live until the next full moon after this one, he would kill us all."

I could hear the terror in his voice, and I knew he was saying the truth.

Damon was not just a mere werewolf, he reeked of death.

"Fine," I say finally, my voice steady despite the fear coursing through me. "But you don't lie to me again. You tell me everything I need to know about Damon.."

Stefan studies me for a long moment, something like respect flickering in his eyes.

"Deal."

"And one more thing," I add, lifting my chin. "I want it in writing. The admission to The Phoenix for Fevermore Pack. I want a signed contract before I do anything for you."

A slow smile spreads across Stefan's face. "You really are tougher than you look."

"I've had to be."

He extends his hand. "Deal."

I shake it, feeling the spark of the mate bond trying to form between our palms.

Zoe purrs with satisfaction.

I ignore her.

Because right now, I have bigger problems than figuring out my love life.

Right now, I need to figure out how to spy on the devil himself without getting killed.

Chapter 5: The Tyrant's Request

~ Celeste ~

The moment I release Stefan's hand from the handshake, a man approaches with the kind of grace that makes me do a double-take.

He's stunning in an almost theatrical way — perfectly styled hair, subtle makeup, and a confidence that felt deliberately curated. The way he held himself — hands clasped with practiced grace — suggested someone comfortable in his identity, unbothered by convention. Everything about him radiated professionalism, polish, and expensive taste in men.

He bows to Stefan with the kind of reverence reserved for royalty, then lifts his head to look at me. His eyes are assessing, cataloging every detail of my appearance in a single sweep.

I nod in greeting. He returns it with a slight incline of his head.

"Harper," Stefan says, his voice carrying that Alpha command. "This is Celeste. Show her around. Treat her as a guest. She'll be staying in one of the guest rooms, though she'll be working with the staff."

Harper's perfectly groomed eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly disappear into his hairline.

"A guest room?" he repeats, his voice lilting with surprise. His eyes snap back to me, studying me with renewed intensity, clearly trying to figure out why I'm getting special treatment.

Stefan leans closer to me, his voice dropping to a whisper that he probably thinks is private.

But I can hear Harper's heart rate spike with curiosity, hear the other servants in nearby rooms shifting to try to eavesdrop.

"This will all be over soon, mate" Stefan murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. "As soon as we bring down Damon, we can talk about our bond properly. I promise."

He pulls back, gives me what I'm sure he thinks is a reassuring smile, and then he's gone — disappearing down one of the castle's many hallways and leaving me alone with Harper.

The moment Stefan is out of sight, Harper's entire demeanor shifts.

That professional mask cracks, and the judgment I saw in his eyes earlier blooms into full, unconcealed scrutiny.

His gaze lands on my neck — on Tom's mark and his nose wrinkles slightly.

"You're betrothed," he says, and there's something almost relieved in his tone. "Good. I thought you were going to be the new Luna, and that would be very uncomfortable. Working with women is just..." He shudders dramatically. "Women are so bossy. Eww!"

I blink at him, caught somewhere between offense and disbelief.

Is he serious right now?

"So you're just here for..." Harper waves his hand vaguely, his meaning crystal clear. "Alpha Stefan's needs. I get it. You want something in return — money, protection, whatever."

The words hit me like a slap.

He thinks I'm a whore.

He actually thinks Stefan brought me here to be his personal plaything, and I'm just doing this for some kind of payment.

My face burns with humiliation and anger, but before I can correct his assumptions, he is already moving.

"Come on then," he says, gesturing for me to follow. "Let me show you around before you do whatever it is you're here to do."

He starts walking, his hips swaying with each step, and I have no choice but to follow.

‘Harper is going to be one hell of a problem.’ Zoe purrs.

He keeps talking as we walk, his voice high and animated, gesturing wildly with his hands as he points out different rooms and hallways.

"This is the east wing — guests only, very posh, you'll probably never clean here. This is the library — ten thousand books, This hallway leads to the pool, the gym, the sauna — basically everything you'd expect from obscenely wealthy werewolves with too much money and too much time..."

He pauses at a grand staircase that spirals upward, the steps made of white marble.

"And that," Harper says, his voice dropping to something almost reverent — or maybe terrified, "leads to the third floor. Never go up there. Ever."

A chill runs down my spine and I knew he was speaking about Damon, Stefan’s brother.

"What happens if someone goes up there?" I ask quietly.

Harper turns to look at me, and for the first time since we met, his expression is completely serious.

"No one knows," he says. "Because no one who's gone up there uninvited has come back down to tell us."

My stomach twists into knots.

"During full moons," Harper continues, his voice even quieter now, "we all stay in the servants' quarters on the ground floor. All of us. The entire staff. We lock the doors, we don't make a sound, and we pray that he doesn't decide to come downstairs."

"Why? What happens during full moons?"

Harper's face goes pale. "It’s better experienced than told."

Zoe whimpers in the back of my mind, and I don't blame her.

What the hell kind of creature is Damon Casteel?

"Come on," Harper says, shaking off whatever dark thoughts were clouding his expression. "Let me introduce you to the rest of the staff."

We walk through several more hallways before arriving at the servants' quarters — a large, open space that functions as both kitchen and common area.

And it's packed.

There have to be at least two dozen people here—maids in crisp black and white uniforms, cooks in white aprons, groundskeepers in work clothes. All of them moving with practiced efficiency, preparing dinner, cleaning dishes, organizing supplies.

The moment Harper appears in the doorway with me beside him, every single person stops what they're doing and turns to look.

"Harper," they chorus in greeting, bowing their heads respectfully.

He waves his hand in acknowledgment, already opening his mouth to introduce me.

But before he can speak, one of the maids rushes forward.

She leans in close to Harper, her voice dropping to a whisper.

A whisper that I hear as clearly as if she'd shouted it.

"The tyrant refused his food," she hisses urgently. "He specifically requested that the new plus-sized maid serve his course."

My blood runs cold.

Harper's eyes go wide, his perfectly made-up face draining of all color.

He whirls around to face me, and there's genuine shock — maybe even fear — in his expression.

"Who the hell are you?" he demands.

I couldn’t answer or even breathe properly.

Because I know exactly who "the tyrant" is.

Damon.

Damon Casteel just specifically requested that I serve him his dinner.

Why?

Oh God.

Oh no.

He knows.

There's no other explanation for why he'd single me out within minutes of my arrival. No reason for him to request me specifically unless he's already figured out that I'm not just a maid.

That I'm here to spy on him.

Stefan said Damon was dangerous. Stefan said he was the devil.

But Stefan didn't say he was smart.

And clearly, Damon is smart enough to see through Stefan's pathetic cover story.

My heart is racing so fast I'm surprised it doesn't burst out of my chest.

I'm going to die.

I'm actually going to die.

He's going to get me alone, and he's going to kill me, and no one will ever know what happened because Harper just told me that people who go to the third floor don't come back.

Chapter 6: The Tyrant's Request

Chapter 6: The Tyrant's Request

~ Celeste ~

Harper turns to me, his perfectly made-up face a mask of shock and concern. "This has never happened before. Never. He doesn't... he doesn't interact with staff like this."

My heart is hammering so violently I can hear it echoing in my own ears, drowning out the nervous chatter around me.

"I need to find Alpha Stefan," I manage to say, my voice surprisingly steady despite the panic clawing at my throat.

"He's probably…" Harper starts, but he doesn't get to finish.

Because Stefan appears in the doorway of the servants' quarters, his expression tight and urgent.

"Celeste," he says, his Alpha command cutting through all the noise. "Come with me. Now."

The staff falls silent, watching as I follow Stefan out of the kitchen and down a quiet corridor. He leads me to a small alcove tucked away from prying eyes and ears.

Well, most ears.

I can still hear the staff whispering frantically in the kitchen, their hearts racing with gossip and fear.

The moment we're alone, I whirl on Stefan.

"He knows!" I hiss, keeping my voice low but urgent. "Damon knows what I'm doing here. Why else would he specifically request me? I just arrived, Stefan! There's no reason for him to single me out unless he's already figured it out!"

Stefan runs a hand through his hair, and I can hear his heart racing almost as fast as mine.

"He's going to kill me," I continue, panic rising in my chest. "He's going to get me alone up there and…"

"Celeste, stop." Stefan grips my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. "Listen to me. If Damon knew what you were really doing here, we'd both already be dead."

I blink at him. "What?"

"Damon doesn't play games," Stefan says, his voice low and intense. "If he suspected for even a second that I was trying to spy on him, to find a way to kill him, he wouldn't wait. He wouldn't request you for dinner. He would have killed us both instantly. Right there in the foyer when we arrived."

The words sink in slowly, and I realize he's right.

That terrifying creature who moved faster than physics should allow, who made even Stefan cower in fear — if he knew, we'd already be corpses.

"Then why?" I whisper. "Why specifically request me?"

Stefan's jaw clenches, and something flickers across his face. Something uncomfortable.

"He's probably just intrigued that I brought you here myself," he says carefully. "Damon would never think I'm trying to kill him because he knows that I think it's impossible to kill him."

"Isn't it?" I ask, remembering the way Damon moved, the way he appeared and disappeared like smoke.

"The prophecy says he can be killed," Stefan says, and there's something almost desperate in his voice now. "I just have to find out what can kill him. So... please, just act normal. Perhaps he just sees what I see."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

Stefan's eyes soften as they travel over my face, my body. "In as much as my brother may be a tyrant, it turns out that he is still a man. And still... functioning."

The implication hits me like a physical blow.

"Eww!" I step back, my face burning with humiliation and disgust. "You think he's interested in me? Like that?"

Stefan has the audacity to look sheepish. "It's possible…"

"No," I cut him off, wrapping my arms around myself defensively. "No way. I'm marked, he knows that…”

“You think that’d stop Damon if he finds you interesting?” Stefan raises a brow.

“I am plus-sized, Stefan. There's no way Damon Casteel sees me as... as a woman."

The words taste bitter in my mouth because they're true.

Tom never looked at me with desire. The pack members always compared me unfavorably to Delilah. Even my own sister acts like my size is some kind of personal failing.

Why would the most powerful, terrifying, devastatingly beautiful creature I've ever seen be interested in me?

"You don't see yourself clearly," Stefan says quietly.

But I do. I see myself exactly as the world has always shown me I am.

Not enough.

"Okay… okay." I say, straightening my spine and forcing steel into my voice. "I just have to survive thirty days, and then I leave this place and never look back."

Stefan opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but I'm already walking away.

I make my way back to the kitchen, and the moment I appear in the doorway, every single person stops what they're doing to stare at me.

Their eyes track my every movement — taking in the fact that Stefan himself came to find me, that he pulled me aside for a private conversation, that I'm still somehow alive despite being specifically requested by the tyrant.

I can hear their thoughts in their racing heartbeats, in their whispered speculations.

Who is she?

Why is Alpha Stefan treating her so specially?

First he brings her here himself, then the tyrant requests her, now Stefan comes personally to speak with her...

Jealousy. Fear. Suspicion.

If I'm going to survive here for thirty days, I realize with a sinking feeling, it's not just Damon I need to worry about.

It's the staff too.

Jealous, resentful staff who think I'm getting special treatment. Who thinks I'm Stefan’s whore. Who resent my very presence in their carefully ordered world.

Great. Just great.

Harper appears beside me, carrying a silver tray laden with covered dishes.

"Well," he says, his voice tight, "at least you'll die on a full stomach. That's something."

Two other maids step forward, each taking their own trays. They won't look at me directly, but I can hear their hearts racing with fear.

We're all terrified.

"Let's go," Harper says quietly. "Before he gets impatient."

The walk to the third floor feels like a death march.

We climb the narrow, spiral staircase that winds upward in a clockwise direction. The walls close in around us, the air growing colder and heavier with each step.

The atmosphere shifts the higher we climb. It's subtle at first — just a feeling of pressure, of weight settling onto my shoulders. But by the time we reach the third-floor landing, it's undeniable.

This floor feels different. Wrong, somehow.

Ancient and powerful and dangerous.

Harper knocks on the massive wooden door with a trembling hand.

"Enter," comes Damon's voice from within, smooth and cold as black ice.

The door swings open on silent hinges, and my heart nearly stops.

The room is massive — easily the size of the entire ground-floor servants' quarters. But it's in complete disarray.

Books are scattered across the floor, spines broken and pages torn. Furniture is overturned. A chair lies on its side, one leg splintered. Papers are strewn everywhere like someone threw them in a rage.

It looks like a war zone. Like someone had a violent tantrum and destroyed everything within reach.

But that's not what steals my breath.

Against the far wall stands a massive bookshelf that stretches from floor to ceiling, still miraculously intact amid the chaos. Historical artifacts line the shelves between the books — ancient weapons, ceremonial masks, artifacts that look like they belong in a museum.

And then my eyes land on him.

Damon reclines on a throne-like chair positioned in the center of the room like he's holding court. One leg is crossed over the other with effortless dominance, his posture relaxed but somehow commanding. Powerful.

A long black jacket drapes over his broad shoulders, falling open to reveal his bare, sculpted chest beneath the dim candlelight. The fabric is deep and matte, absorbing the shadows around him, while perfectly black trousers complete the sharp, devastating silhouette.

The entire look feels intentional. Elegant. Dark. Unmistakably tyrannical.

Incense smoke hovers above him in slow, curling ribbons, drifting through the air as if drawn to his presence like moths to flame. The haze frames his head like a living crown, thickening the atmosphere and giving the room a ritualistic, almost supernatural tension.

The scent is intoxicating — sandalwood and something darker, something ancient and ceremonial. Almost worshipful.

In one hand, he holds a glass of amber liquid glowing softly against the darkness. He doesn't sip it hurriedly or carelessly. He holds it with quiet control, swirling it gently, as though the drink isn't for pleasure alone but part of his authority. A symbol of indulgence and power.

Between the smoke, the throne, the black attire, and the bourbon in his grasp, he appears less like a man and more like a dark sovereign presiding over his domain.

Patient. Unchallenged. Entirely in command.

My heart flutters traitorously in my chest.

Seeing him like this feels obscene. Like witnessing something I shouldn't. Something private and dangerous and far too intimate.

The maids immediately rush forward, setting their trays on the large dining table positioned near the throne. I follow mechanically, placing my own tray down with trembling hands.

The moment the last tray is set, Damon speaks.

"Leave."

His voice cuts through the silence like a blade.

The maids practically flee, their footsteps echoing frantically down the spiral staircase.

But then his hand lifts, one long finger pointing directly at me.

"Not you."

The door slams shut behind the retreating staff, and the sound echoes like a death knell.

I'm alone.

Alone with the devil himself.