Chapter 2

Florinda Cooley POV:

I stumbled backward in shock, my worn-out boots slipping on the frosty cobblestones until my back hit the cold, hard stone pillar of the estate's front gates. There was nowhere left to run.

A man with wire-rimmed glasses shoved a digital recorder directly toward my mouth, his lips curling into an ugly, mocking smirk. "Word among the elite packs is that the Third Master's silver injuries left him completely impotent! Did he just cry over his melted face instead of touching you?"

A female reporter with bleached hair pushed past him, her tone dripping with venom. "As a wolfless reject of the Cooley Pack, did your father sell you just to appease a crippled, discarded beast? How does it feel to be a sacrifice?"

Cruel laughter erupted from the crowd.

Their words felt like physical slaps, stinging and humiliating. They were deliberately sent here by rival factions to humiliate Justen and drag the Romero Pack's honor through the mud.

My heart hammered in my chest. I was terrified of Justen's scarred face, yes. But I also remembered how, just minutes ago in that dark room, his massive frame had trembled as he violently suppressed his Alpha instincts just to spare me from pain.

He didn't hurt me. He let me go.

And now, these scavengers were tearing his pride apart while he wasn't here to defend himself.

A sudden, violent heat ignited in my chest, burning away my fear.

I reached out and shoved the male reporter's recorder away with such force that he stumbled back a step. I stood tall, glaring at the crowd with eyes burning with pure fury.

"Keep your venomous tongues off my mate!" I shouted, my voice cutting through the clicking shutters like an icy blade.

The entire street fell dead silent. The cameras stopped flashing for a split second, the reporters staring at me as if a pet rabbit had suddenly grown fangs.

I took a step forward, my chin held high. "Ruined? Impotent? If your eyes are blind, donate them! My Alpha is the most powerful male in this territory. His scars are the marks of a warrior, and his power could crush your spines before you could even blink!"

The bleached-blonde reporter scoffed, though her face flushed. "If he's so great, why did you run out here alone in the middle of the night?"

I didn't miss a beat. I forced a brilliant, almost bashful smile onto my face, ignoring the cold sweat prickling at my hairline. "My mate prefers to keep a low profile. And for the record, his strength is terrifying. The only reason I had to leave the room is because I desperately needed to catch my breath. His stamina is... overwhelming."

The reporters gasped, their eyes widening in sheer disbelief.

"If he is so doting," the man with the glasses sneered, trying to recover his footing, "why didn't he arrange a car for you? Why let his 'beloved mate' walk out here in the freezing cold?"

My spine stiffened. Panic flared in my chest, but I gritted my teeth and bluffed. "Who said he didn't? His private car is pulling up in exactly five minutes to drive me back to my own apartment. I told him not to make a fuss, but he insists on spoiling me."

"Is that so?" the man challenged, crossing his arms. "Then we'll wait five minutes. Let's see if the ruined Alpha really treats you like a Luna."

My stomach plummeted into an abyss of ice.

Five minutes. I didn't even have a phone to call a cab. When the time was up and no car appeared, I would become the biggest joke in the werewolf society.

Four minutes and fifty seconds had passed.

The reporters were already exchanging mocking smirks, preparing to tear me apart. My palms were drenched in cold sweat. I closed my eyes, ready to face the ultimate humiliation.

Suddenly, the blinding glare of high-beam headlights pierced the darkness.

A sleek, midnight-black Rolls-Royce Phantom glided silently out from the massive iron gates, its tires crunching over the frost before stopping precisely in front of me.

The reporters froze, their jaws dropping in unison.

The driver's door opened, and a towering man dressed in an impeccable black suit stepped out. The sheer authority radiating from him immediately silenced the murmuring crowd. He walked around the hood, bowed deeply before me, and pulled the rear passenger door open.

"Luna, I am Axel, Beta of the Romero Pack," his voice was crisp, cold, and carrying easily over the stunned reporters. "Alpha Justen sent me to personally escort you home. Please get in."

My breath caught in my throat. I couldn't believe it. He actually sent his Beta to save me!

I forced a stiff, triumphant smile at the dumbfounded reporters, lifted my chin, and gracefully slid into the luxurious leather backseat.

"See?" I told them right before Axel shut the door. "I told you he spoils me."

Thud.

The heavy door sealed me inside. The moment the Rolls-Royce pulled away, leaving the frustrated reporters eating our dust, I slumped against the seat and let out a massive sigh of relief.

I survived. I was finally going back to my crappy, safe little apartment.

But a few minutes later, as I looked out the tinted window, my heart skipped a beat.

The car hadn't taken the exit toward my dilapidated neighborhood. Instead, it was speeding down the highway, heading straight for the glittering skyline of the central commercial district.

"Wait, Beta Axel," I stammered, gripping the edge of the leather seat. "This isn't the way to my apartment. Where are we going?"

Axel's cold, emotionless eyes met mine through the rearview mirror.

"Orders from the Alpha, Luna," he said flatly. "He is waiting for you at the exclusive rooftop restaurant in the central district to join him for a midnight supper."