Chapter 1
On the day of my wedding, I was sitting backstage, having my makeup done, when Alpha Logan’s secretary—Sara Harvey—walked in with a thick envelope in her hands.
“Miss Richardson, Alpha Logan asked me to give this to you before the ceremony.”
I took the envelope, expecting maybe a blessing from the pack council.
Instead, what I found inside made my blood run cold.
Clause One: The female party shall not kiss the male party without prior consent.
Clause Two: Depending on the male party’s mood, the female is granted only one mating opportunity per month.
Clause Three: At any time, in any place, if the male party feels uncomfortable, the female must immediately withdraw from his presence.
And it went on.
Over a hundred lines of humiliation disguised as legal language.
By the time I reached Clause 108, my hands were trembling, my wolf growling restlessly beneath my skin. I dialed Alpha Logan’s number with shaking fingers, ignoring the stylist’s nervous glance.
He answered on the second ring.
“Alpha Logan,” I said, forcing my tone to stay steady. “Would you care to explain Clause One Hundred and Eight?”
A pause. Then, with infuriating composure, he replied, “Which one is that?”
“The one that says, ‘Regardless of who bears your future child, I am obligated to fulfill all maternal duties.'”
…
Honestly, it’s embarrassing — this grand, overblown wedding today was nothing more than a childhood arrangement hammered out by our grandfathers back when they were young.
I hadn’t even met my groom, Alpha Logan, in person. All I’d ever heard was that his bloodline was impeccable, that he was one of the richest Alphas in the Los Angeles packs.
What I hadn’t expected was how bizarre their pack customs could be.
“You’re nothing but a trophy wife. Do you actually expect me to sire a pup with you?” Alpha Logan sneered over the phone, his voice thick with contempt.
I drew a slow breath, the steadying edge of my wolf sliding through me. My voice was calm, iron-clad.