My Fated Mate Poisoned Me for His Mistress

The dress Barrett chose for me was emerald silk. It had a high collar that clamped tight around my throat, hiding the ugly, graying puncture scars on the right side of my neck. He had the pack stylist paint my face with heavy foundation and ruby lipstick until I looked like a living doll.

"Smile," Barrett had whispered in the town car on our way into the city. His fingers had dug hard into my knee, the fabric bunching painfully under his knuckles. "You're my Luna tonight, Cassandra. You look pretty, you nod, and you speak only when an Alpha asks you a question. Understood?"

"Yes, Barrett," I had answered, keeping my eyes fixed on the leather upholstery.

The Iron Veil Cross-Pack Gala was held in a towering glass-and-stone ballroom overlooking the Manhattan skyline. It was the biggest gathering of the year. Over two hundred wolves from seven territories filled the room, their mingled scents creating a heavy cloud of roasted meats, expensive bourbon, rosewater, and musk. Diamonds caught the crystal chandelier light. Soft classical music played in the background, underneath the low, rumbling hum of pack politics.

I stayed half a step behind Barrett's right shoulder, holding an untouched flute of sparkling water. I kept my head slightly lowered, performing the docile, broken Luna everyone expected. Every wolf here had heard the rumors Barrett planted: *Poor Cassandra Reed, her mind shattered after the mating, barely fit to walk among us.* When other wolves glanced at me, I saw pity in some eyes and contempt in others. I let them look. Every glance they gave me was one less glance they gave the exit doors I had already committed to memory.

Then, the air shifted.

It hit me like a splash of glacial water, slicing straight through the thick fog of perfume and whiskey.

Deep cedar and cold rain.

The scent was clean, wild, and ancient. It had no chemical bite, no sourness. It bypassed my dormant senses and struck something buried so deep beneath my ribs that my breath caught in my throat. My feet froze against the polished marble floor. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe.

My head turned before my mind could tell it not to.

Across the crowded hall, cutting through a knot of high-ranking delegates, stood Lycan Prince Connell.

He was taller than any Alpha in the room, his shoulders broad and sharp beneath a tailored black coat bearing the silver crest of the Iron Veil Court. His hair was dark, his jaw cut from granite. And he had stopped dead in his tracks.

Connell’s gray eyes locked onto mine.

Even from twenty yards away, I saw the shock ripple across his face. His chest rose in a sharp, ragged inhale. For a fraction of a second, his pupils flared, glowing with the fierce, molten amber of a Lycan wolf catching a soul-deep scent. *Mate.* The word hit the air between us like thunder, silent but deafening.

Then, his gaze flicked to my neck.

To the high silk collar. To the faint, unnatural stiffness in the way I held my spine. Connell had royal Lycan blood—he could sense the corruption before a normal wolf could even smell it. He looked at me, and I knew what he saw. He didn't see an unstable Luna. He saw the wolfsbane eating away at my flesh. He heard the chemical silence where a she-wolf’s song was supposed to answer his own.

His jaw locked. Pure, cold fury washed over his features.

Before he could take a single step forward, Barrett felt the shift in the room. He turned, catching the Prince’s fixed stare. Barrett's eyes narrowed. His chest puffed out, the ugly, petty insecurity in him flaring up instantly. He didn't know who Connell was looking at, but he hated the attention. He needed to prove I was his property.

Barrett turned his back on Connell, grabbed an empty champagne flute from a passing waiter’s tray, and shoved it toward my chest.

*"Fetch me a drink,"* Barrett commanded.

He used his Alpha tone.

The sound resonated like a cracked whip in the quiet space between the music. The compulsion slammed into the scarred mark on my neck, burning like battery acid. My knees trembled. My hands reached out on pure, degrading instinct to take the glass. My body was moving against my will, puppeted by three years of conditioning.

Then, a shadow fell over us.

Connell stepped between Barrett and me, moving so fast the air cracked behind him.

He didn't raise a fist. He didn't shout.

He simply unleashed his Lycan aura.

The pressure dropped like an iron vault ceiling falling from the sky. It wasn't the petty dominance of a local pack Alpha; it was the raw, suffocating gravity of royalty. The air grew freezing cold. Around us, two nearby Alphas choked on their drinks, their heads bowing down in reflexive terror. Glasses rattled on the tables.

Barrett’s face turned gray. His eyes widened in sheer, naked panic.

His knees buckled.

With a sickening thud, Barrett hit the marble floor. A sharp, pathetic whimper tore out of his throat as his inner wolf cowered beneath the weight of Connell’s presence.

The entire ballroom went dead silent. The music stopped. Every single wolf was watching.

Connell stood over him like a monolith, his dark coat sweeping around his boots. He didn't look down at Barrett's face. He looked at him like he was dirt on the bottom of a shoe.

"You do not command a wolf whose bond reeks of poison," Connell said.

His voice wasn't loud, but it rolled across the silent hall, bouncing off the glass walls and settling into the bones of every Alpha present.

Barrett gasped for air, his hands flat against the cold stone, shaking violently. Connell slowly dialed back the crushing pressure, giving Barrett just enough space to drag air into his lungs.

Barrett scrambled to his feet, his tailored suit rumpled, his face burning crimson with humiliation. He forced a twisted, tight smile toward the room, desperately trying to salvage what was left of his pride.

"My apologies, Prince Connell," Barrett stammered, his voice thin and trembling. "Just... pack business."

Without waiting for an answer, Barrett reached out, seized my wrist in a vice-like grip, and hauled me away toward the terrace doors. His fingers dug into my skin so hard I knew they would leave black bruises tomorrow.

He marched me out into the cold night air, dragging me toward our car as fast as his trembling legs could carry him. But as the heavy glass doors swung shut behind us, I caught the reflection in the dark glass.

Barrett’s empire wasn't untouchable anymore.

Every Alpha in that room had just watched him fall to his knees. The crack in his armor was open for the world to see—and back inside the hall, Connell’s scent of cedar and rain lingered in the air, refusing to wash away.