The icy rain fell in a steady drizzle, drumming a mournful rhythm against the stained windows of "Havenwood Orphanage." The sound mirrored the chill settling deep within Selene's bones.
The worn, guilt-ridden face of Matron Agnes still haunted her vision. The staggering debt that threatened to crush the orphanage lay on her heart like a tombstone. And the proposed solution—to take the place of her twin sister, Elara, and marry the notoriously cruel, non-human Lycan CEO, Lysander Thorne—sent a fresh wave of terror through her.
For the only home she'd ever known, for the children who needed its roof over their heads, she had no other choice.
Now, she stood before the mansion that crouched atop the windswept hill like a great, dark beast. Its gothic spires clawed at the oppressive sky, and the iron gates were woven with patterns like thorns. An invisible weight pressed down on the air, making it hard for a mere human like her to breathe. This place held no warmth; it was the severe and cold territory of a Lycan pack.
She was led by a young man with a severe haircut and an even severer expression. He moved with a predator's silence, his fitted black tactical gear hinting at lethal efficiency.
"Miss Selene. I am Lucian, Head of Security for Mr. Thorne." His introduction was clipped and professional. "Follow me. He is waiting in the study."
Selene nodded silently, falling into step behind him. The hallway walls were adorned with abstract paintings whose violent, slashing colors seemed to scream, like trapped, tormented souls. An unnerving silence choked the manor, broken only by the faint, hurried sound of her own breathing and the click of her shoes on the polished marble.
Lucian soundlessly pushed open the study door. Behind a heavy, dark wood desk, a man sat silhouetted against the window, his form almost merging with the high-backed chair. A pallid flash of lightning from outside briefly illuminated a sharp jawline and a pair of eyes that glinted with a feral, phosphorescent green even in the darkness.
Selene's heart stuttered. This was Lysander Thorne, scion of the most powerful Lycan bloodline, her future... husband.
Lucian withdrew, sealing the door shut behind him. The air in the study凝固了, congealing around them. Selene could hear the frantic pulse of her own blood in her ears.
Lysander rose slowly to his full, imposing height. His shoulders were broad, and the simple black shirt he wore seemed like a form of armor. He closed the distance between them without a sound, yet his presence was that of an apex predator closing in. Selene forced herself to hold her ground, not to retreat, though her nails dug half-moons into her palms.
He stopped a single pace away. His gaze was a physical weight, a cold, assessing sweep over her face, filled with the dispassionate scrutiny one might give to a piece of livestock.
"Selene?" His voice was a low cello's note, laced with shards of ice.
"...Yes." She heard the faint tremor in her own voice.
"Your sister, Elara, fled her obligations," he stated, his tone devoid of anger, containing only a chilling, superior mockery. "And you… you would take her place in this… arrangement?"
Selene lifted her chin, meeting those frighteningly sharp eyes in the shadows. Her own clear gaze held a desperately maintained composure. "Yes. Does Mr. Thorne's promised funding guarantee the orphanage's safety?"
A humorless twist touched the corner of his mouth. "A Thorne's word is bond. Provided you fulfill your… duties."
He deliberately emphasized the word, making Selene's heart clench. She knew this entailed far more than simply becoming "Mrs. Thorne."
Just then, the clouds outside shifted, and a beam of wan, sickly moonlight fell through the glass, striking Lysander's face. Selene saw it clearly: the green of his pupils deepened, a vein throbbed faintly at his temple, and his breathing seemed to grow heavier. He lifted a hand, pressing his fingers hard against his brow, a spasm of tightly controlled pain flashing across his features.
Of course. Tonight was the full moon. The ancient texts said it was when a Lycan's power—and their volatility—peaked.
Selene suddenly recalled a stray comment from Matron Agnes—that the Thorne family's urgency for this union seemed tied to some "instability" within Lysander himself. Could it be…?
Fear and duty warred violently within her. Finally, the memory of the orphanage children's innocent smiles tipped the scales.
She drew a shaky breath, as if mustering the last of her strength, and forced two words from her bloodless lips. "I will."
Lysander watched her, his wolf-like eyes holding no human warmth, only a frozen lake under which dangerous currents swirled. After a moment, he spoke, his voice rougher, grittier than before.
"Good. Remember your choice. And pray… you do not live to regret it."
Before his words had fully faded, the full moon outside broke completely from its cloudy cage. Its cold, unnatural light flooded the earth. Lysander jerked his head away from the lunar radiance, but Selene saw the hand clenched at his side—his knuckles were bleached white with the strain.
A sacrifice woven in the name of salvation, a covenant unveiled under the full moon's gaze. And on that frigid, rain-lashed night, the wheels of fate, with inexorable force, began to turn.