After I Seduced the Wrong Alpha, He Claimed He Knew Me

The knife hit the table at exactly 7:43 PM, right between my water glass and Yareli's perfectly manicured hand.

I didn't drop it. I set it down, blade first, hard enough that the sound cut through Lorelai's lecture about proper serving etiquette at tomorrow's summit. Hard enough that my father finally looked up from his plate.

"Sophia," Lorelai said, her voice dripping with that false maternal concern that made my skin crawl. "You'll need to be at the reception hall by six AM sharp. The real Alphas arrive at eight, and someone needs to arrange the beverage trays."

Across the table, Yareli didn't even try to hide her smirk. She was practically glowing in the new gown Travis had bought her—midnight blue silk that probably cost more than I'd seen in a year. She held up her phone, angling the screen so I couldn't miss it.

"Travis just sent me his summit registration profile," she announced, her voice sugary and sharp. "Want to hear it, Sophia? 'Alpha Travis Moore, Ashvale Pack, verified near-Lycan bloodline.'" She drew out each word like she was savoring expensive chocolate. "He's been personally invited to the Lycan Prince's reception. Can you imagine?"

I could imagine a lot of things. Most of them involved wiping that smirk off her face.

"How wonderful," I said flatly.

Lorelai's fork paused halfway to her mouth. "You should be grateful we're allowing you to attend at all, given your... condition." The way she said 'condition' made it sound like a disease. "Most wolfless pack members aren't permitted at regional summits. But someone needs to serve refreshments, and the pack needs to present a united front."

United. Right. United like the way they'd united to drive my mother out. United like the way my father sat there every single night, cutting his steak into smaller and smaller pieces while Lorelai picked apart everything I did, everything I was.

My fingers found my mother's locket under the table. The silver was warm against my palm, worn smooth from years of worry. Mom had been a healer. A good one. Strong enough that even the Alphas had respected her, right up until Lorelai's poison campaign destroyed her reputation, her wolf, her life.

I was eleven when they exiled her. Thirteen when we got word she'd died alone, rogue and broken, in some nameless stretch of territory three states over.

Yareli was still talking, reading Travis's messages aloud like they were poetry. "He says the summit is the perfect place to make connections. He's thinking of expanding Ashvale's territory next spring..."

I tuned her out. My decision crystallized with the same cold clarity as the locket's silver.

Tomorrow. The summit. Travis Moore with his verified near-Lycan bloodline and his expensive gifts and his arrogant, parading girlfriend.

I was going to destroy him. Destroy them both.

Not with strength I didn't have. Not with a wolf that had never awakened. But with the only weapon I'd ever been allowed to keep—my face, my body, my ability to make men look twice.

If Yareli wanted to flaunt her Alpha boyfriend, fine. Let's see how smug she stayed when that boyfriend couldn't keep his eyes off her wolfless stepsister.

"May I be excused?" I asked.

Lorelai waved a dismissive hand. My father said nothing. Yareli was too busy texting to notice.

I climbed the stairs to my room—the smallest bedroom, naturally, the one that used to be storage—and locked the door behind me. Then I opened my laptop and started working.

Yareli's social media was a gold mine. She'd posted approximately eight thousand photos of Travis over the past six months, each one tagged with breathless captions about his strength, his lineage, his Alpha aura. I studied every angle. Memorized the set of his shoulders, the way he stood, the dark hair, the build.

Then I opened the encrypted browser I'd installed last year and found what I needed on a black-market pack supplier site. Synthetic Alpha-attractant scent lure. Pheromone-enhanced. The reviews promised it could make any wolf turn his head, mate bond or not.

I paid extra for overnight shipping.

The package arrived at noon the next day, plain brown box with no return address. Inside: a small vial of clear liquid that smelled like fake roses and something sharper, almost chemical. The instructions said to apply it to pulse points and layer it under perfume for maximum effect.

I stood in front of my bathroom mirror for twenty minutes, practicing. Practicing the smile that looked inviting instead of desperate. The laugh that sounded genuine. The way to touch a man's arm that suggested interest without seeming cheap.

This wasn't seduction. This was war.

I tried on three dresses before settling on the red one—fitted, elegant, just low enough to be interesting. I applied the synthetic lure to my wrists and throat, then covered it with the cheapest floral perfume I owned. The combination was cloying, artificial, but it masked my real scent completely.

Good. I didn't want to smell like myself tonight. I wanted to smell like every fantasy Yareli had shoved in my face for the past year.

The summit reception hall was already crowded when I arrived. Alphas and their mates clustered in groups, their auras pressing against each other in invisible territorial displays. I felt the weight of their power like humidity, thick and oppressive.

I scanned the room. There—standing apart from the main crowd, broad-shouldered and commanding, dark-haired and tall. The build matched every photo I'd memorized.

Travis Moore.

My heart kicked against my ribs. Not nerves. Anticipation.

I crossed the room like I had every right to be there. Like I wasn't staff. Like I was exactly the kind of woman an Alpha with a verified near-Lycan bloodline would want.

He turned as I approached, and his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that stole my breath.

I smiled. Leaned close. Let my fingers brush his arm.

"You look like you could use better company," I said softly.

I pulled a cocktail napkin from the bar, wrote my number across it in quick strokes, and pressed it into his palm. His hand was warm. Strong. It trembled slightly around his glass.

Perfect.

"Dinner?" I whispered. "Tomorrow night. Just us."

He pocketed the napkin, and a slow smile crossed his face. "Travis," he said, his voice low and rough.

I smiled back, victory singing through my veins.

"I know exactly who you are."