Claimed by the scarred Alpha

MARGAUX

Morning arrived without permission. I hadn’t slept, so there was no grogginess to shake off when light crept through my curtains. Just the dull awareness that this was the day my life stopped belonging to me. I stayed in bed anyway, staring at the ceiling while the estate woke around me. Doors opened and closed downstairs. Water ran through pipes. Footsteps moved with purpose I couldn’t share.

Everything had an unnatural order to it. It was as if the entire house understood what was coming and had decided to behave accordingly.

When they finally came for me, the servants moved with careful hands. They avoided my eyes, addressed me as Luna with a stiffness that had never been there before. They took me first to bathe, the water already prepared and scented, their hands efficient as they washed and dried me before wrapping me in fresh linen and guiding me back without a word.

Someone brushed my hair in long, methodical strokes. Someone laid out undergarments on the bed. Someone brought tea that sat untouched on my nightstand while the room filled with bodies performing their assigned tasks.

Their whispers weren’t subtle enough to miss.

"Did you see it? The dress—"

"Red...Goddess."

"It’s Valcourt’s demand. It has to be."

"Poor girl."

The words slipped through half-muted, half-swallowed, just enough to settle under my skin.

I wanted to tell them to shut up. To get out. To leave me alone for five minutes so I could fall apart in private instead of being treated like a doll that needed dressing. But my throat felt too tight for words, and honestly, what difference would it make? They’d keep preparing me whether I wanted them to or not.

The door burst open sometime later.

Shanelle stood in the doorway, breathless and wild-eyed like she’d forced her way past every barrier just to get here. Her hair was a disaster. Her makeup looked rushed. She wore jeans and a sweater instead of anything remotely appropriate for a wedding.

She looked at me, really looked at me, and her eyes filled immediately.

"Don’t," I said.

Too late. The tears spilled over. She tried to smile anyway. It broke halfway, turning into something that looked more like a grimace.

That did almost make me laugh. Then I remembered my situation and felt that swift moment of relief tear in real time.

I didn’t cry when I saw her. Crying would make this real in a way I wasn’t ready to accept. Instead, I let her cross the room and pull me into a hug that felt like drowning and breathing at the same time. She smelled like her vanilla perfume and coffee. Normal things. Things that belonged to a world where my biggest concern was which boutique to hit during our weekend shopping trip.

"I’m so sorry," she whispered against my hair.

"I know."

She pulled back but kept her hands on my shoulders. "This is completely insane. You know that, right? This whole thing is barbaric and wrong and your father should be—"

"Shanelle." I cut her off gently. "It doesn’t matter what it should be. This is what it is."

Her face crumpled. She looked like she wanted to argue, to fight, to do something other than stand here watching me accept the unacceptable. But what could she actually do? Storm the Valcourt house when they came? Challenge an Alpha two times more powerful than Beaumont? Die trying to stop something that was already done?

She settled for hovering instead. Adjusting things that didn’t need adjusting. Touching my hair. Straightening my robe. Moving too close like she was trying to memorize me before I disappeared into someone else’s territory and becamenothing short of a memory.

The servants gave us space. Even they seemed to understand this moment didn’t belong to them.

It was Shanelle who noticed the dress first.

It hung near the far wall, already prepared, already waiting. The morning light caught the fabric and turned it into something that looked almost liquid. Deep, rich and unmistakably red.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The entire room went still.

Then Shanelle’s voice came out sharp and disbelieving. "Is that some kind of mistake?"

I stared at the dress. My mouth felt too dry to answer immediately. The color seemed to intensify the longer I looked at it, becoming more vivid, more deliberate, more impossible to ignore.

"No," I finally said. "It’s not a mistake."

I went back to yesterday and how fresh the humilaition had been when my mother had first mentioned what the color of the dress was going to be.

"Margaux." Shanelle’s voice pulled me back to the present. She was staring at the dress like it might catch fire if she looked hard enough. "You can’t wear that. You know what it means."

"I know exactly what it means."

"Then refuse. Tell them you won’t—"

"And wear what instead?" I turned to face her. "There is no other dress, Shanelle. This is what they prepared and I cannot refuse it with the threat looming over the pack. This is what I’m wearing. It is my duty."

Her hands flew to her mouth. "Oh goddess. Oh goddess, Margaux, this is so fucked up."

Yeah. It was.

Shanelle dragged her hands down her face, pacing once before turning back to me like she’d just made a decision she didn’t fully believe in.

"Then we leave." Her voice came out fast, uneven. "We just... go. Right now. Before any of them can stop us."

I stared at her. "That’s insane."

"I know." She nodded quickly, almost desperately. "I know it is, but it’s better than this. We can figure something out later. Anywhere is better than here, Margaux."

I shook my head, slow, certain.

"My brother said he was going to help," she pushed on, like if she kept talking, she could make it real. "He said he wouldn’t let this happen."

"Did he not travel?" I asked quietly.

"He did. He was already gone, but when he heard what was happening..." She swallowed. "He’s on his way back. As fast as he can manage."

That pulled a small sound out of me, something softer than a laugh but close enough to count. Of course he was. Chris was always too late, but it never did stop him from trying anyway.

He would have defended me and been against this.

"Thank you," I said, and I meant it.

She stepped closer, hope flickering again, fragile and misplaced.

"But I can’t do that," I added.

The hope broke just as quickly.

"I owe Beaumont this," I continued, my voice steadier than I felt. "And..." I hesitated, then let it settle where it had been sitting all morning. "I think, in a way, this is karma for what I did."

Shanelle stilled. Her expression shifted, confusion cutting through the panic.

"Is this about that boy?" she asked carefully. "From the family that ruled before ours? The Beta line?"

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I looked back at the dress, at the way it waited like everything else in this house, patient and inevitable.

"Time is ticking," I said. "I have to go soon."

She wanted to say more but when she saw how far gone I was, she realized she needed to let go.