The Rejected White Wolf and Her Lycan King

Harper POV:

The ring was heavy, a physical anchor. Two days had passed.

I sat at the desk, staring at the yellow diamond. Bennet thought I was just an artist, but architecture required engineering. I knew how mechanics worked.

I grabbed a pair of fine-point tweezers and a magnifying glass from my drafting kit. I examined the underside of the setting.

There. A small runic inscription. It wasn't just a tracker. It was a transmitter.

"He's listening," I whispered.

But transmitters work on frequencies. And if the receiver channel is open...

I used the tweezers to bridge the tiny gold contacts on the inner band. A burst of static hissed, followed by tinny voices.

"...hate the color, Bennet. It's too drab."

Gianna.

"I'll have it repainted," Bennet replied. "Anything for my queen."

I walked to the balcony. Across the valley, miles away on the opposite cliff, a glint of glass caught the sun.

I grabbed the binoculars. There it was. An identical glass house. But where mine was beige and clinical, that one was filled with gold and crimson.

Gianna was walking on the terrace. Bennet was beside her.

"I want to be announced," Gianna's voice crackled through the ring. "The Anniversary Ball is in two days. I want to stand by your side."

"Not yet," Bennet sighed. "Harper is... necessary. Her family's trust fund unlocks on her 25th birthday next week. I need her signature to transfer the assets to the pack accounts. If I dump her now, the council freezes the money."

"So we wait a week?" Gianna scoffed.

"We wait until the ink is dry. Then... I'll have her committed. Mental instability due to her injury. She'll go to the asylum, and you take your place as Luna."

I lowered the binoculars.

He wasn't just going to leave me. He was going to lock me away in a padded room and steal my inheritance.

My nausea turned into cold resolve.

I went back to the desk. I pushed aside the useless trinkets and pulled out a fresh sheet of drafting paper.

I picked up a charcoal stick with my left hand.

It was awkward. The lines were shaky. But I closed my eyes and imagined the Royal Moon Pack. I imagined a building that didn't trap light, but amplified it.

I began to draw.

Slash. Curve. Shade.

My left hand moved with desperate focus. I drew for hours, ignoring the hunger, ignoring the Wolfsbane fog.

I kept the ring on. I needed him to hear the silence. I needed him to think I was staring at the wall, waiting for him.

"You won't break me, Bennet," I whispered, too soft for the microphone to catch. "You're just sharpening me."