Clara Snyder POV: My stepsister Jalyn slipped a triple dose of heat inducer into my champagne, then hired thugs to ruin me—all to steal my boyfriend, Ayden, and marry into the Garrison Pack. My father had an even simpler plan: sell me to a fifty-year-old pervert in the badlands in exchange for investment money. But none of them had counted on me stumbling into the first unlocked suite at the hotel—and ending up in the bed of a man no one should ever dare to provoke. The drug had already triggered the Heat—the most primal and agonizing state of physical craving for a werewolf. I braced my trembling palms against the freezing wallpaper of the Grand Ridge Hotel's penthouse corridor, gasping so hard that my vision blurred. At the end of the hall, a sliver of warm light spilled through a half-open mahogany door. Summoning the last of my strength, I threw myself against the heavy door and stumbled onto the Persian rug inside. The hinges groaned. In the dim light, the tall figure on the leather sofa went rigid, his muscles tensing like a predator whose territory had been invaded. I hadn't even seen his face when his scent hit me—winter cedarwood mixed with black pepper. Every werewolf identified others by scent first. The moment his aroma reached me, the last of my rational defenses crumbled. The instant I breathed him in, my blood seemed to boil backward through my veins. My heart slammed against my ribs, my knees turned to water, and a violent physical surge left me trembling uncontrollably on the floor. The man slowly rose from the sofa. His leather shoes made no sound on the carpet as he approached, radiating the suffocating dominance of an apex Alpha. He crouched and gripped my bare shoulder with a broad, calloused palm, pulling me to my feet. The instant our skin touched, a primal electric shock shot straight to my core, forcing a helpless moan from my throat. For one brief moment, the panic quieted, like a boat that had drifted for ages finally reaching harbor. My dormant inner wolf—which hadn't awakened since I turned eighteen, earning me the label of a useless Omega in the Snyder Pack—roared inside my mind. Mine. All five Mate reactions struck me simultaneously. Every adult werewolf knew exactly what that meant. The man's breath caught. His scorching thumb brushed over the pulsing vein in my neck, and his voice came out low, hoarse, and terrifyingly dangerous. "Do you know what it means to break into my room, little wolf?" I couldn't think. The Heat was driving me mad. Acting on instinct, I scrambled up his broad, rock-hard chest, greedily pressing my feverish cheek against his cool skin to ease the burning. A low growl rumbled in his throat. He spun me around and pinned me against the freezing floor-to-ceiling window. His powerful arms trapped me like iron bars, leaving me nowhere to escape. Moonlight broke through the clouds, illuminating his razor-sharp features and icy blue eyes. A barely restrained storm churned in those eyes, along with an absolute, primal possessiveness toward his fated Mate. With my sanity crushed by the drug and the mate-bond, I rose onto my tiptoes and crashed my lips against his tightly pressed mouth. The restraint in his eyes shattered instantly. His large hand gripped the back of my head as he took complete control of the kiss, fiercely and relentlessly stealing my breath. Our clothes were torn off and scattered across the floor as we stumbled toward the king-sized bed. Hours of feverish entanglement followed. Yet even at the height of his frenzy, his sharp canines only grazed my collarbone before stopping short of my nape. He didn't Mark me—the bite that would permanently fuse our souls and open a two-way mind-link between us. Dawn broke. I woke aching all over. The stranger was still asleep beside me, and the healed claw scars beneath his left collarbone sent a chill through my chest. I frantically grabbed my torn dress and pulled it on. If my tyrannical father found out I'd given myself to a nameless rogue, he'd kill me. The man's dark brows furrowed against the pillow. His sleep-roughened voice came from behind me. "Don't run. I'll take responsibility for my Mate. We'll register our bond today." My spine stiffened. Terrified of being used as a bargaining chip by my family, I didn't even dare look back. I yanked open the suite door and fled. I rushed out of the hotel, hailed a cab, and headed back to the Snyder Manor. Slipping through the side entrance before anyone noticed me, I tiptoed upstairs to the second floor, only to freeze outside the partially closed study door. Inside, my stepmother Debra swirled a glass of red wine, her voice dripping with malice. "So that inferior Omega didn't come home last night?" My stepsister Jalyn let out a shrill laugh. "I gave her triple the heat inducer and hired a filthy male escort from the slums to wait for her in the back alley." I clamped a hand over my mouth, digging my fingernails into my palms until the skin broke. Debra took a smug sip of wine. "Once her reputation is ruined, your father will have an excuse to sell her off to that old pervert in the badlands in exchange for investment money." Jalyn tapped her blood-red nails against the desk. "Once she's damaged goods, Ayden will finally give up on her. The marriage alliance with the Garrison Pack will be mine." I stood outside the door, hearing every word. Then something inside me finally went quiet. They thought they'd ruined me last night. They thought I was still that useless Omega who would do nothing but kneel and endure their abuse. I quietly backed away, climbed into my cramped attic room, and locked the door. I placed a hand over my flat stomach—not out of fear this time, but with a cold, fierce determination. They wanted to sell me. They wanted to leave me ruined, with nowhere to turn. I pulled out my phone. Whatever I did next, I would never be their bargaining chip again.

Clara Snyder POV: I locked myself in the attic bathroom and scrubbed my skin with freezing water, trying to wash away the lingering cedarwood scent. Before I could even dry off, my father Gustav's furious roar shook the floorboards downstairs. I rushed downstairs. Gustav was waiting for me in the living room, his gray-brown eyes cold and calculating. In his eyes, his own daughter was no different from a corporate asset. Gustav slammed a thick investment contract onto the glass coffee table. "Pack your bags. Dejuan Puckett is coming to collect you tonight. He agreed to inject fifty million dollars to save our supply chain." I stared at him, my stomach twisting. "Dejuan is a fifty-year-old rogue pervert from the badlands! You're selling your own daughter for cash?" Debra sat beside him, rubbing her belly as she sighed. "Clara, darling, you're just a useless Omega whose wolf hasn't even awakened. Contributing to the Pack's finances is the only value you have." I ignored them and stormed out the front door. My only hope was Ayden Garrison, my university boyfriend of two years. He had lost his memory after a car accident during a territorial conflict. I drove my battered sedan straight to the private hospital owned by the Garrison Pack. The moment I pushed open the door to the VIP recovery suite, I froze. Ayden was sitting up in bed, gently feeding a peeled grape into Jalyn's mouth. The instant he saw me, his expression turned icy, and his smile vanished. "What are you doing here?" My chest tightened, but I forced myself to step forward. "Ayden, my father is forcing me to marry Dejuan tonight. Please, if you would just step in—" Before I could finish, Ayden grabbed his water glass and hurled it at my feet. Glass shattered across the floor, and a shard sliced a bloody gash into my ankle. He pulled Jalyn behind him and glared at me as though I were something filthy. "You shameless social climber! Are you still trying to drag me into your pathetic lies?" Jalyn hid behind him, digging her nails into her palms before squeezing out two tears. "Clara, stop upsetting Ayden! He hasn't fully recovered yet." I pointed at her face, my voice trembling. "She stole my medical journal, Ayden! I was the one who stayed in the ICU for two months, giving up my blood and pheromones to wake you up!" Ayden pressed a hand against his surgical scar, his expression darkening. "Enough! Jalyn is my only savior. You aren't even worth a single strand of her hair." He unleashed his Alpha aura, forcing me backward toward the door. "Security! Throw this lying lunatic out and never let her set foot in here again!" Two burly Beta guards rushed in, roughly twisting my arms behind my back. They dragged me down the corridor and threw me out of the hospital's main entrance. I hit the freezing ground. Through the revolving glass doors, I watched Ayden bow his head and wipe Jalyn's tears. After two seconds, I turned away. The autumn wind dried the tears on my face. I steadied myself against a streetlamp, stood up, brushed the dust off my coat, and pulled out my phone. I logged into the encrypted pan-Pack dark web, bypassed my family's surveillance, and opened the emergency bounty board. My fingers flew across the screen. Offering $4,000 per month. Urgently seeking a background-free male companion for immediate Mate registration. Must be available on call 24/7 and completely obedient. The post went live with a notification chime that echoed across the empty sidewalk. I curled my lips into a faint smile. Carlyle Douglas POV: Miles away, on the top floor of the Apex Zenith Syndicate skyscraper, I sat behind my obsidian desk, tapping my fingers impatiently against its surface. The sweet scent of the little wolf from last night still clung to my skin, leaving my inner wolf restless and difficult to control. My Gamma assistant, Gaston Powell, pushed open the door. With a peculiar expression, he handed me a tablet. "Boss, our dark web crawler just intercepted an unusual marriage bounty." I gave the screen a casual glance, but my eyes immediately locked onto the poster's IP trace and the encrypted white-wolf watermark in the corner. I pushed back my leather chair and stood. "Get the car ready. Take me to this meeting address." Gaston stared at me in surprise. "Sir, the multinational merger video conference starts in ten minutes—" I snatched my dark jacket off the rack and strode toward the private elevator. "Postpone it. I have a job interview to attend."

Clara Snyder POV: I took a cab straight from the hospital to the outskirts of town and entered the dimly lit mating bar I'd chosen as our meeting place. The stench of cheap beer and synthetic cologne was almost unbearable. I sat in the booth farthest from the door, frowning as I looked through the applicants' profiles in front of me. Three rogues at the next table whistled at me, their eyes crawling over my body as though they wanted to strip me bare. My stomach churned. I braced a hand against the table, ready to leave. Just then, the bar's peeling wooden door swung open from outside. The noisy rock music seemed to fall silent. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood in the doorway, backlit and blocking most of the streetlamp's glow. He wore a faded black shirt, the cheap fabric stretched taut over his powerful muscles. His icy blue eyes swept across the room and stopped on me. My heart skipped a beat. It was the man from the penthouse suite last night. He strode toward me. His scent of winter cedarwood mixed with black pepper swept over me, instantly overpowering the foul stench of the bar. I shrank back into the booth, my palms slick with cold sweat. Then Jalyn's words suddenly flashed through my mind—she had paid a filthy male escort from the slums to wait for me in the back alley. It was him. He sat down across from me and tapped his long fingers twice against the tabletop. "I hear you're looking for a husband?" I swallowed my panic and stared at him coldly. "How much did Jalyn pay you to ruin me last night? Whatever she paid, I'll double it." His tapping fingers stopped. A flicker of surprise crossed his icy blue eyes before turning into a dark, amused gleam. He didn't explain. Instead, he leaned toward me, his imposing presence pressing in on me. "Double? Are you sure you can afford my real rate, little wolf?" He was so close that his breath brushed my cheek, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. I pulled a printed contract from my bag and slapped it onto the table. "Four thousand dollars a month. You'll register as my Mate and let me buy your legal identity. That's all." He lowered his eyes to the contract, a mocking smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Four thousand? The eldest daughter of the Snyder Pack is pretty stingy." I gritted my teeth, my voice turning colder. "For a low-ranking male escort scraping by in the slums, four thousand is more than enough. At least you won't have to grovel at the feet of rich old women anymore." A low laugh rumbled in his throat. Before I could blink, he reached across the table, gripped my chin, and forced me to look directly at him. He lowered his voice, his breath brushing against my ear. "If this is an employment contract, does last night's little encounter in bed count as a free trial, or do I charge extra?" My face burned. I slapped his hand away. "That was an accident! Are you signing or not? If not, I'll find someone else!" The amusement vanished from his eyes, leaving behind a possessiveness that sent a chill through me. "Who besides me do you think would dare take this job?" Before I could retort, a burly, drunken man from the next table staggered over and reached his meaty hand toward my face. "Hey, pretty girl, I'll take your four grand! Come with me—" Without even looking up, the man across from me grabbed the drunkard's wrist, pivoted, and threw him over his shoulder with such force that he crashed straight through the bar counter. Wood splinters and glass exploded everywhere. The entire bar fell silent as every rogue stared at him as though they'd seen a ghost. He took a cheap paper napkin, wiped his hand, and swept a cold gaze across the room. "She's mine." I stared at him, stunned. An ordinary wolf-less man or low-ranking male escort couldn't possibly possess that kind of explosive strength. He turned back, pulled the contract closer, and picked up a cheap ballpoint pen. On the final line, he signed a single name: Carlyle. He slid the paper back toward me, his deep blue eyes fixed on mine. "Pleasure doing business with you, Boss Lady."