Claimed by the scarred Alpha

VIVIANNE

Breakfast at the estate followed the same ritual it always had. The dining room stretched long and formal, filled with morning light that made the silverware gleam and the crystal water glasses throw tiny rainbows across the white tablecloth. I sat in my usual seat, fork in hand, pushing eggs around my plate while pretending I had an appetite.

Lucian sat across from me. His gaze hadn’t left my face since I’d entered the room ten minutes ago. The weight of it pressed against my skin like a physical thing. A reminder and a warning all at once.

I knew what he wanted.

Armand sat at the head of the table, reading through correspondence while he ate. My sons—though calling them that felt like a lie I’d told myself so many times it had almost become true—sat on either side of their father. Bastien had his mother’s—and I guess in many ways, my own sharp features and Rémy had inherited the Beaumont coloring. Both of them belonged to Vivianne. The real Vivianne. My sister, who’d died so I could wear her name like stolen clothes.

I set my fork down carefully. The clink of metal against porcelain sounded too loud in the quiet room.

"I was thinking—"

Armand looked up from his papers. One eyebrow lifted in that expression he always wore when he thought something would amuse him. "That’s not good."

All three men laughed. The sound rolled across the table in waves that made my chest tighten. Bastien’s laugh came out the loudest. Rémy smirked into his coffee cup. Lucian’s chuckle was dark and knowing, his eyes never leaving mine.

I swallowed hard and forced myself to continue. "I’m worried about the pack."

The laughter died.

Armand set down his correspondence. "Go on."

My fingers twisted together in my lap where no one could see them. "Margaux’s marriage was unconventional. People are talking. The packs we’ve kept under our thumb for years are starting to feel brave. It’s only a matter of time before someone challenges us directly."

Bastien shifted in his seat. Rémy’s hand stilled on his coffee cup. I kept my gaze on Armand, refusing to look at Lucian even though I could feel his satisfaction radiating across the table like heat from a fire.

"An acquaintance of mine mentioned something interesting." The lie came out smooth because I’d practiced it in my head all night. "There’s a Luna interested in our son."

Both boys stopped moving completely. Bastien’s fork froze halfway to his mouth. Rémy’s eyes cut sideways to his brother, and some silent communication passed between them that I couldn’t read.

"What do you think?" The question fell into the silence like a stone into water.

Armand leaned back in his chair. He studied me for a long moment, his expression shifting into something that might have been approval if I squinted hard enough. "I appreciate you looking out for the pack."

Relief started to bloom in my chest.

"But you don’t need to concern yourself with such things."

The relief died.

He picked up his coffee and took a slow sip. "Another marriage coming so quickly after Margaux’s will seem desperate. We’d look weak."

Lucian’s gaze sharpened. I felt rather than saw the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers curled slightly against the table. He was angry. I was failing. The familiar fear slithered up my spine and wrapped around my throat.

"It’s to Pack Texier."

The words tumbled out before I could stop them.

I was not even sure what to call that.

Instinct? Self-preservation? The desperate need to appease my brother before his disappointment turned into something worse?

Goddess knew it was all three.

Armand paused with his cup halfway to his lips. "Really?"

I nodded, committing fully now that I’d spoken. "Their first daughter has had her eye on Bastien for some time. She hasn’t made a move because it would be unfeminine to pursue him so openly."

The explanation sounded reasonable even to my own ears. I pressed forward.

"No one would see it as desperate, especially if we don’t rush. We can take our time with the courtship. It would restore dignity to the pack, connecting us with another family of our standing." My voice steadied as I found my rhythm. "Whatever stain Margaux’s situation left on our reputation, this would clean it. Make us look strong again."

Armand set his cup down. His brow furrowed in thought, and I watched him turn the idea over in his mind like a stone he was examining for flaws.

Then he turned to Lucian.

Away from me. Toward my brother. Seeking a man’s opinion to validate what I’d just laid out in perfect clarity.

My brother leaned forward slightly, and I watched him do what he always did. He repackaged my words. Rewrapped them in his voice and presented them as though the thought had originated in his own mind.

"Pack Texier is an excellent strategic move." Lucian’s tone carried the weight of someone delivering fresh insight. "Their standing matches ours. A union would stabilize our position after the Valcourt situation and show the other packs that Beaumont remains a force to be reckoned with."

Armand nodded slowly, his expression shifting into something more receptive.

"The timing would work in our favor, too," Lucian continued, building on the foundation I’d already constructed. "We wouldn’t need to rush. A proper courtship would demonstrate confidence rather than desperation. It sends the message that we’re choosing strength, not scrambling to repair damage."

"I see your point." Armand tapped his fingers against the table. "The Texier girl has good bloodlines. It would be a suitable match."

My chest tightened. Every word Lucian spoke had come from my mouth seconds before, but now they were being received as wisdom because they were filtered through him. Armand looked at my brother with respect while I sat across from them both, invisible despite having started this entire conversation.

Lucian smiled at me then. The expression held layers I’d learned to read over decades of living under his shadow. Approval for playing my part correctly. Satisfaction at taking credit for my work. A reminder that this was how things functioned in our world.

Women could whisper suggestions. Men made decisions.

"My sister does occasionally stumble onto useful information, even though she rarely has bright ideas," Lucian continued, his tone light and teasing in a way that made my stomach clench. "You must be rubbing off on her, Alpha Armand."

Armand’s expression shifted into something pleased.

"I think it’s something we should take seriously." Lucian leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. "I’m sure even you have heard the rumors getting stronger by the hour. It is bad PR for the pack. This is what Valcourt must have settled for instead of casualties on both ends."

"I fucking hate those bastards." Armand’s hand curled into a fist against the tablecloth. "Fine. We’ll send a letter to Pack Texier asking for their daughter’s hand."

Bastien stood so abruptly that his chair scraped against the floor. "What? No!"

Everyone turned to look at him. His face had gone pale except for two spots of color high on his cheeks. His hands pressed flat against the table like he needed the support to stay upright.

"All we need to do is wait. The bad press will pass." His voice came out tight and controlled in a way that told me he was barely holding himself together. "My little sister sacrificed more than enough. What’s the damn rush?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but he wasn’t finished.

"I’m of age, yes. But I’m not Margo." His gaze cut to me, sharp and accusing. The words started coming faster, bleeding together at the edges. "I won’t just take it and let my life waste away for this pack. I’m not marrying some random girl because it’s convenient. I’m not doing it."

His breathing had picked up. The spots of color on his cheeks spread down his neck.

"You want to talk about dignity? About restoring reputation?" He looked between Armand and Lucian, his voice climbing. "We just sold my sister to a monster. We stood there and watched it happen. And now you want to do the same thing to me?"

"Bastien." My voice came out warning and pleading at once.

"No." He shook his head violently. "No, I’m done. I’m done being a piece on your board. I’m done pretending this is normal. Margo gave everything, and what did it get her? What did it get any of us?"

"Sit. Down. Bastien."

Armand’s voice dropped into that register that made the air in the room feel heavy. Each word came out separated and deliberate, weighted with Alpha command that should have driven Bastien back into his chair through sheer instinct. The kind of tone that made Omegas drop their eyes and Betas step back without thinking.

The silence that followed felt sharp enough to draw blood. Rémy had gone completely still beside his brother, his knuckles white where they gripped his coffee cup. Lucian’s expression had shifted into something cold and watchful.

Bastien’s jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists against the table, and I could see the war happening behind his eyes. Every instinct bred into him screamed to submit to his father, while every ounce of his will fought against it.

The latter won.

"No."