The Fierce Consort, The Alpha Prince Surrenders

Aries POV:

"It's her, Alpha."

Silas's voice echoed through the mind-link, sharp and certain. An image materialized in my thoughts: a grainy security photo from the party. A woman with dark hair swept up, her profile turned away. Chloe Carroll.

Next to it, her official file photo. The same face, but sterile, lifeless.

"We ran a bio-scent trace from the fabric sample," Silas continued, his tone clinical. "The residue matches Miss Carroll's profile with 99.9% certainty."

I didn't respond.

The crystal glass in my hand exploded. Red wine and blood dripped from my clenched fist, staining the pristine white rug. Shards embedded themselves in my palm. I felt nothing.

Silas waited. He knew better than to speak.

I turned and looked at the portrait above the mantel. My mother, Grace Livingston. Her hair a cascade of rich brown, her eyes the same shade of emerald green as the woman in the cave.

The woman who had pinned me down while I begged her to stop.

A sound tore from my throat—something between a growl and a snarl. My fist slammed into the mantel. The wood cracked. The portrait shuddered but did not fall.

"Alpha?" Marcus's voice came from the doorway, cautious.

"Get out."

He didn't move. "Sir, your hand—"

"I said get out!"

The door closed.

I stood there, breathing hard, my bleeding fist pressed against the cracked wood. My wolf was howling inside my skull, ecstatic, triumphant, demanding I go to her, claim her, never let her go. I wanted to strangle the beast into silence.

Shut. Up.

The marriage was a humiliation from the start. A tool for my half-brother Brendan to mock me. A symbol of my fall from grace in the royal court. A wolfless bride for a prince who had displeased the King.

Now that humiliation had a face. A body. A scent that clawed at my sanity.

She was my fiancée.

She was my fated mate.

She had taken me while I was too weak to fight back.

And I had to marry her.

There was no way out. If I rejected her now, the Alliance Council would demand answers. The Carroll family would demand compensation. Brendan would have all the ammunition he needed to paint me as unstable, unfit, unworthy. The King would side with him—he always did.

I couldn't kill her. I couldn't cast her aside. I couldn't even tell anyone what she had done, because the story would destroy me. An Alpha prince, too weak to fend off a drugged Omega? The laughter would follow me to my grave.

She had trapped me twice—once in that cave, and once in this cage of politics and honor.

"Silas," I said finally, my voice flat.

"Yes, Alpha."

"Prepare the Boone family's traditional betrothal gifts. The most extravagant we have. Have them delivered to the Carroll estate immediately."

A pause. "Alpha?"

"And spread the word." I turned from the portrait. My mother's green eyes followed me—the same color as hers. I couldn't look at them anymore. "There was an incident last night. An attack on my life. My brave fiancée, Chloe Carroll, found me. She protected me. We spent a dangerous, passionate night together, fending off our enemies."

Silas was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly: "I understand."

He did. He understood exactly what I was doing.

The narrative was perfect. It turned my shame into a heroic romance. It made her a heroine instead of a victim. It made us a united front.

And it protected me.

If anyone ever questioned why I smelled of her, why my clothes were torn, why there were scratches on my back—the answer was already waiting. We were attacked. We fought together. We survived together.

The truth would never see the light of day.

I looked down at my bleeding hand. The glass was still embedded in my knuckles. I pulled a shard out slowly, watching the blood well up fresh.

Publicly, I would make her the most envied woman in the territory. The perfect fiancée. The untouchable future princess.

Privately...

I would make her pay.

Not today. Not tomorrow. But I would make her love me. I would make her depend on me. I would make her believe I had forgiven her.

And then, when she was at her happiest, I would reject her.

Just as she had abandoned me in that cave.

The smile that spread across my face was slow, cold, and perfectly practiced. It reached my eyes the way a blade reaches flesh.

I pressed a handkerchief to my bleeding hand and straightened my collar.

"Marcus," I said aloud, my voice calm and even.

The door opened immediately. My Beta stepped in, his eyes flicking to the broken glass, the cracked mantel, the blood. He said nothing.

"Let's go," I said. "It's time I met my brave little fiancée."

The word dripped from my tongue like venom.

I smiled all the way to the car.