The panic radiating off Mr. Reed was a
physical thing, thick and suffocating, far more potent than the stale scent of
disappointment that usually clung to him.
"Don't just stand there, Amelia! This is
serious!" he snapped, yanking her arm and dragging her out of her small room.
"Where are we going?" Amelia demanded, her
voice hoarse from the tears she had silently shed moments before. The sheer
audacity of his request—to sell her—was starting to override the shock.
"To the board room. That's where the
representative is waiting," Mrs. Reed replied, gliding alongside them. Her
facade of sophisticated calm had completely shattered. Her makeup was slightly
smeared, and her eyes darted nervously down the hallway. "We need to finalize
the details before Alexander's demands escalate. He is not a patient man."
They didn't head towards the quiet study
where guests were usually entertained. Instead, they took the elevator down to
the administrative wing—a cold, modern expanse of glass and steel that housed
the Reed family's corporate headquarters. This was where money was worshipped,
and where Amelia understood, with chilling clarity, she was now being treated
as a commodity.
The boardroom was vast and intimidating,
designed to make visitors feel small and compliant. The long, polished mahogany
table was normally reserved for hostile takeover negotiations, but tonight, it
was the altar upon which Amelia's freedom was to be sacrificed.
Seated at the head of the table was not
the fearsome War God Alpha himself, but a man who looked like an animated slab
of granite. He was enormous, dressed in a pristine black suit that couldn't
quite conceal the massive, coiled muscles beneath. He had the sharp, alert eyes
of a trained predator, and his sheer physical presence seemed to shrink the
already vast room.
He stood immediately as the Reeds entered,
his movements silent and unnervingly fast.
"Mr. Reed. Mrs. Reed. And this must be the
offering," the man stated, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble that vibrated
through the floor. He didn't introduce himself. He didn't offer a handshake. He
just looked at Amelia—a long, assessing stare that made her feel stripped down
and cataloged.
"Representative," Mr. Reed stammered,
bowing slightly in a gesture Amelia had never seen him use. Her father, the
great, imposing businessman, was utterly cowed. "Yes. This is my daughter,
Amelia."
The man gave a curt nod. "The Alpha has
been clear. The debt must be cleared tonight. There is only one acceptable
currency remaining." He tapped a thick folder on the table. "She."
Amelia stood frozen, realizing that she
was less a person and more a delivery package. The man hadn't even referred to
her as Miss Reed.
Mr. Reed nervously waved Amelia toward a
chair. "Sit down, dear. We need to explain the situation."
Amelia remained standing, crossing her
arms tightly over her chest, not to appear defiant, but to hold herself
together. "Explain? You just told me you're selling me to a man you called a
monster to pay off a forty-million-dollar mistake. What part of that requires
further explanation?"
Her father flinched at the harshness of
her tone.
"It wasn't a mistake," Mr. Reed insisted,
his voice cracking with the strain of justifying his actions. "It was a
necessary, calculated risk. Two years ago, we leveraged most of our liquid
capital into a major timber export deal into the Black Moon territory. It was
guaranteed to triple our wealth."
Mrs. Reed took over, her voice softening,
attempting a practiced tone of maternal concern that only fueled Amelia's cold
fury. "Unfortunately, the regulatory environment changed. Alpha Alexander—he
doesn't play by traditional rules, Amelia. He doesn't use banks or courts. When
the deal soured, the penalty clauses he put in place were activated. We owe him
forty-two million dollars, with compound daily interest, and he has the legal
power to seize our assets—including the house, your trust fund, everything—by
dawn."
"And you think the answer is to sell your
daughter to him?" Amelia finally asked, her voice dangerously quiet.
Mr. Reed walked around the table, putting
distance between himself and the terrifying Black Moon representative.
"It is the only way to save your sister,
Amelia! And our reputation! If the company collapses, Annabeth's engagement to
Liam is worthless! She needs that status. She needs that future. You… you were
the only option left. Annabeth is already the future Luna of Crestwood. You
have no such ties."
The casual cruelty of his assessment—her
worthlessness measured against Annabeth's social value—was a wound deeper than
the betrayal of Liam.
"Why does he want me?" Amelia challenged,
turning her attention to the terrifying man at the table. "The rumors say
Alexander is crippled, scarred, and violent. Why would a man with that much
power not take the money or Annabeth, who is the more socially advantageous
match?"
The representative, who had been observing
the familial drama with cold disinterest, finally spoke, his eyes briefly
meeting Amelia's.
"The Alpha's motivations are his own. But
the terms are clear. Alpha Alexander is the head of one of the oldest,
wealthiest, and most traditional Werewolf Packs. His position requires a
spouse. Not a Luna by birth, as tradition dictates, but a human bride, chosen
for a specific… contract requirement related to ancient pack law."
He reached for the thick folder, opening
it to reveal dense, complicated legal and theological documents.
"The Black Moon Pack requires the Alpha to
publicly wed a human of no discernible social status or Pack
affiliation—someone who is not already claimed or valued by the Werewolf
world—to complete the final clause of the Founding Pact. This action symbolically
severs his dependence on external werewolf politics and affirms his power is
drawn solely from his own Pack."
He paused, a faint, almost pitying look
crossing his face as he summarized her value. "In essence, Miss Reed, you are
the ideal candidate because you are disposable. You are human, unattached, and
entirely lacking in the type of political value that would threaten his
position. The fact that you were publicly discarded by a Beta makes your
candidacy perfect for his purposes."
Amelia felt the floor wobble. Disposable.
Lacking political value. Publicly discarded. The representative had just
delivered the most accurate, devastating character assessment of her entire
life, and it was the very thing that made her suitable for the War God.
"And the rumors?" Amelia pressed, her
voice trembling now. "Is he truly crippled? Why the insistence on secrecy?"
Mr. Reed quickly interjected, eager to
provide the justification for his sacrifice. "Yes, dear. He is. A hunting
accident five years ago. They say he's barely recognizable, his wolf is
unstable, and he's confined to the darkest wing of the manor. The secrecy is
because he is an Alpha who rules through fear; the pack can't see their leader
is a scarred, broken shell of a man."
Mrs. Reed nodded vigorously. "This is why
Annabeth absolutely cannot go. She needs a future, and she deserves a healthy
Alpha. You are merely needed for a temporary, symbolic arrangement. You will be
his wife in name only. You won't be expected to produce heirs or fulfill any
intimate duties, given his condition. You simply exist to satisfy this ancient
clause and save our financial future."
Amelia realized the full, cold horror.
They weren't just selling her; they were selling her to a man they believed was
a grotesque, broken figure, hoping the marriage would be nothing more than a
painful, temporary prison until she was no longer needed.
She finally sat down, the strength
draining out of her legs. She wasn't heartbroken anymore. Heartbreak was a
luxury. This was a slow, crushing realization of her utter powerlessness.
"And if I refuse?" she asked, looking at
her father.
Mr. Reed's eyes narrowed, all pity gone.
"Then I will face financial ruin. Annabeth and Liam will be disgraced, their
engagement will be dissolved, and we will be homeless and bankrupt. You will
have destroyed this family out of spite."
Amelia looked at the granite-faced man,
the Black Moon representative, who silently watched the entire exchange. He
confirmed the threat with a curt, hard look.
There was no choice. Her parents, in their
desperation, had backed her into a corner where her refusal meant destroying
everyone, including herself.
A burning, bitter wave of resentment
washed over her. She would save them. But she would never forgive them.
Amelia lifted her chin, the last vestige
of her soft heart hardening into ice. "Fine," she stated, pushing the word past
the lump in her throat. "Where do I sign?"
The representative produced a marriage
contract from the folder. It was dense, written in complex legal terms that
spanned multiple pages, but the gist was clear: Amelia was signing away her
rights, her freedom, and her name in exchange for the forty-two million dollar
debt clearance.
Amelia snatched the gold pen offered by
her father and signed the document with a furious, illegible flourish. The name
'Amelia Reed' suddenly felt alien. It was the name of a girl who had been
foolishly hopeful, and that girl no longer existed.
"The Alpha requires her presence
immediately," the representative announced, taking the signed contract. He
didn't even glance at Mr. Reed. "The transfer is complete. The debt is
satisfied."
He turned to Amelia. "Pack your
necessities, Miss Reed. You have fifteen minutes. You are leaving the Reed
family home tonight, and you will not be returning."
Amelia stood up, the ruby-red dress
upstairs feeling like a terrible curse. She was no longer Amelia Reed, the
beloved girlfriend, or even Amelia Reed, the placeholder sister. She was
property. She was the unwilling bride of the War God Alpha.
She left her parents standing in the
silent, intimidating boardroom, their forty-two million dollar debt erased,
their future secured, at the cost of her own. She walked back up the stairs, no
longer caring about the noise of the cruel celebration, heading to pack the
meager possessions of the girl who was about to die, and the woman who was
about to be reborn in the shadow of the War God.