Crowned by the enemy Alpha

Sold and branded

CHAPTER 3

LYRIA

The whispers follow me everywhere.

In the market, women stop their conversations when I pass, then start them again in hushed tones. At the well, children point and giggle until their mothers shush them with embarrassed looks. Even the pack warriors, men who barely noticed me before, now stare with cruel amusement.

“There goes the fake Luna,” I hear someone say behind me.

“Can you believe she thought she could steal her sister’s mate?”

“Always knew there was something off about that girl.”

The words cut deeper each time. They’re rewriting history, making me the villain in a story where I was nothing but a victim. According to the new version, I seduced Damon. I manipulated him. I tried to use dark magic or trickery to steal what belonged to Selene.

None of it is true, but truth doesn’t matter when people need someone to blame.

My own family has turned cold as winter stone. Father won’t look at me during meals. Mother speaks to me only when necessary, her voice clipped and distant. Even the servants treat me like I’m contagious, setting my food down quickly and backing away.

“You’ve brought shame on this house,” Father tells me one evening, his voice flat. “On our bloodline. On everything we’ve built.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I whisper, but the words sound weak even to me.

“You made us all look like fools,” Mother adds from her chair by the fire. She won’t even turn to face me. “The entire pack is laughing at us. Saying we raised a daughter who didn’t know her place.”

I try to reach out to Damon, desperate for some explanation, some closure. Surely he’ll tell me why he did this. Surely there’s more to the story than what happened at that ceremony.

But the guards at the packhouse won’t let me through the gates.

“Alpha’s orders,” they say, not unkindly but firmly. “You’re not welcome here anymore.”

I catch glimpses of him sometimes, walking with Selene through the pack grounds. They look perfect together, her hand tucked into his arm, both of them glowing with happiness. When I see them, it feels like my chest is being crushed.

Selene never speaks to me again. She acts like I don’t exist, like I’m a ghost haunting the edges of her perfect new life. The few times our paths cross, she looks right through me with those sapphire eyes, as if I’m not even worth acknowledging.

Maybe I’m not.

The isolation grows thicker every day until I can barely breathe under the weight of it. I spend most of my time in my room, staring out the window at a world that no longer wants me. I think about leaving, running away to start over somewhere else, but where would I go? What pack would take in a rejected bride with no skills and no family willing to vouch for her?

Then one morning, Father calls me to his study.

“I’ve arranged work for you,” he says without looking up from his papers. “In the Riverside Pack. They need someone to help with their orphans and elderly. It will give you a chance to make yourself useful again.”

Hope flickers in my chest for the first time in weeks. A fresh start. A chance to rebuild my life somewhere people don’t know my story.

“When do I leave?” I ask.

“Today. There’s a caravan waiting outside.”

I pack quickly, taking only what I can carry. As I walk toward the front door, Mother appears in the hallway. For a moment, I think she might hug me goodbye, might offer some word of comfort or love.

Instead, she hands me a small bag of coins.

“Try not to shame us any further,” she says.

Those are the last words my mother ever speaks to me.

The caravan is larger than I expected, with several covered wagons and armed guards on horseback. The leader, a gruff man with scars across his face, barely glances at me when I approach.

“You’re the Ashford girl?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Get in the back wagon. Keep quiet. Don’t cause trouble.”

Something feels wrong, but I climb into the wagon anyway. Maybe this is just how transport caravans work. Maybe I’m being paranoid.

But as soon as we’re on the road, away from the pack borders, everything changes.

The guards put me in chains.

“What are you doing?” I scream, fighting against the iron shackles as they lock around my wrists. “Let me go! There’s been a mistake!”

The scarred man laughs. “No mistake, girl. Your daddy sold you fair and square. Needed the coin to pay his debts, he said. Lucky for him, there’s always a market for young she-wolves.”

The world tilts around me. Sold. My own father sold me like I was livestock.

“Please,” I beg, pulling against the chains until my wrists bleed. “Please, you don’t understand. I’m supposed to be working with orphans. I’m supposed to—”

“You’re supposed to shut up and accept your fate,” another guard snaps. “Makes this easier for everyone.”

I fight for hours, screaming until my voice gives out, pulling at the chains until my wrists are raw and bleeding. But the wagon keeps moving, carrying me further from everything I’ve ever known.

The slave market is a nightmare of sounds and smells. People crying, guards shouting, the stench of unwashed bodies and fear. I’m dragged from the wagon and shoved into a pen with other captured wolves, all of us chained and filthy.

“Fresh meat!” a trader calls out to the crowd. “Young she-wolf, barely used! Look at that pretty face!”

The humiliation cuts deeper than any physical pain. People walk past our pen like we’re animals, pointing and commenting on our appearance. Some poke at us through the bars, testing our reactions.

“Isn’t that the girl who was supposed to marry Alpha Damon?” someone whispers.

“The fake Luna? What’s she doing here?”

“Guess she wasn’t as special as she thought.”

The laughter that follows makes me want to disappear into the ground.

“She was priced low,” I hear a trader tell a potential buyer. “No one wants damaged goods. But she’s still young, still got some fight in her. Probably good for kitchen work or breeding.”

I close my eyes and try to pretend this isn’t happening. Try to pretend I’m back in my childhood room, safe and loved. But the chains around my wrists are too real, the jeers of the crowd too loud.

Then the market goes quiet.

I open my eyes to see the crowd parting like water, people stepping back with fear and respect. A figure approaches our pen, and even without looking up, I can feel the power radiating from him.

Alpha Kaelan Draven.

He’s everything the stories say he is—tall, dark hair, terrifying. His presence fills the space around him like a storm cloud. When he looks at the slaves in our pen, his gray eyes are cold as winter steel.

The trader scrambles to attention. “Alpha Draven! What an honor! What can I show you today?”

Kaelan doesn’t answer. He walks slowly along the pen, inspecting each of us like we’re merchandise. When his gaze lands on me, I force myself to meet his eyes. I won’t cower. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

He stops in front of me, studying my face with an intensity that makes my skin crawl.

“This one,” he says simply.

“Ah, excellent choice!” the trader babbles. “Though I should mention, she’s got a bit of history. Used to be engaged to Alpha Damon of Moon Strike Pack. Caused quite the scandal when—”

“I know who she is,” Kaelan cuts him off. His voice is quiet, but it carries the weight of absolute authority. “How much?”

“Well, given her… complications… I was asking fifty gold pieces, but for you, Alpha, I could—”

“I’ll pay a hundred.”

The trader’s eyes go wide. “A hundred? But sir, she’s not worth—”

“Are you questioning my judgment?”

The temperature in the market seems to drop ten degrees. The trader backs away, hands raised in surrender.

“Of course not, Alpha! One hundred it is!”

Money changes hands. Papers are signed. Just like that, I belong to someone new.

Kaelan unlocks my chains himself, his touch brief and impersonal. “Come,” he says.

I follow him on shaking legs, the crowd parting before us. His carriage is waiting outside the market, black and imposing like its owner. He opens the door and gestures for me to get in.

For a moment, I hesitate. Once I get in that carriage, there’s no going back. Whatever he has planned for me, it starts now.

But what choice do I have? The alternative is going back to that pen, back to being poked and prodded by strangers until someone else buys me for worse purposes.

I climb into the carriage.

The interior is luxurious—soft leather seats, polished wood, everything expensive and well-maintained. Kaelan settles across from me, and I’m struck by how different this is from the slave wagon. No chains. No guards. Just the two of us in civilized comfort.

“You were his choice once,” Kaelan says as the carriage starts moving. His voice is calm, conversational, like we’re discussing the weather. “I’ll make you mine now.”

Fear claws at my throat. “What do you want from me?”

“Damon Vex and I have been rivals since childhood. He took something from me once. Now I’m returning the favor.”

“I’m not a thing to be taken,” I say, though my voice shakes.

He looks at me with something that might be amusement. “Aren’t you? Your father sold you. The market priced you like livestock. Damon threw you away like garbage.” His eyes are steady on mine. “But I’m going to give you something he never did.”

“What?”

“Respect.”

Before I can ask what he means, he reaches over and removes the iron shackles from my wrists completely. The relief is immediate—no more chafing, no more weight pulling at my arms.

“Move to the seat beside me,” he orders.

I hesitate, but his expression brokers no argument. I slide over to sit next to him, acutely aware of his size and power in the confined space.

“When we reach my territory, you’ll walk in with your head high,” he says. “You’re not a slave. You’re not a captive. You’re my bride.”

“Your bride?” The words come out as a whisper.

“My Luna. My equal. At least in public.” He turns to look out the window as familiar mountains come into view. “Damon had his chance to treat you with honor. Now I’ll show him how it’s done.”