“Sorry, Alpha Logan. I won’t sign a cohabitation contract.”
There was a beat of stunned silence, then his rage boomed down the line. “Diana, I was doing you a favor, you know that? An Alpha of my standing marrying you — you should be grateful. How dare you defy me?”
I froze. That was the image my grandfather had painted — dignified, controlled, an Alpha with the weight of generations behind him. This was the same Alpha?
Before I could answer, the call cut out into a busy tone. Sara, standing at my elbow, looked at me with undisguised scorn and let out a short, scornful laugh.
“Diana, you’d better sign that paper and be grateful. With our Alpha’s temper, you won’t have a good life otherwise.”
They all treated me like I was a trophy wife — young, plainly dressed, and therefore worthless.
I let the weight of their contempt roll off me.
“A degrading contract for a degrading marriage — who would sign that? Not me.” I tried to keep my tone light, but the wolf under my skin bristled.
We’re Ashenclaw Pack — not wealthy like Moonshadow, but not pushovers either. If Alpha Logan thinks he can buy dignity and demand obedience, he’s wrong. Well, I wasn’t about to let them write my life for me.
I shrugged out of the wedding gown and began to turn for the door. Sara stepped forward, blocking me.