Chapter Two

On full-moon night, every light in the castle was blazing. The entire Coyote territory looked like a slab of iron soaked in silver—so cold it gleamed.

Three days passed. Owen behaved as if nothing had happened. He held his usual meetings, signed his usual documents, and slept in his own room at night. I stood at his side as always, taking down every one of his orders.

The only difference was the encrypted message in my phone—a single line in my father’s hand, as curt as ever: [Within three days. Wait for the signal.]

At the banquet, Owen stood before the elders and pack leaders, formally introducing Chaya and promising that Coyote and Ahsoka would share mining rights and votes through this union.

I stood half a step behind his right shoulder, his shadow, just like always.

Norton stood beside me with a glass of wine, watching the “future couple” up on the dais.

“You actually came,” he muttered, keeping his voice low. “You know tonight’s his engagement party. Are you here out of professional devotion or suicidal devotion?”

I couldn’t be bothered to answer that. I only shot him a bland glance.

Norton scratched the back of his neck. His tone softened a little.

“If you don’t want to watch, just head back. I’ll make up some excuse. Worst case, the Alpha chews me out.”

“No need.” My voice was level. “I’m his secretary. My job is wherever he is.”

Norton frowned, clearly dissatisfied with that answer but unable to refute it. He just shrugged and reached up to tug my shawl a bit higher, covering the half-circle of teeth marks.

When he turned his head away like it was nothing, I found myself smiling a little.

“Thanks.”

He froze for half a second, then clicked his tongue. “Don’t thank me too much. I’d like to live a bit longer.”

It wasn’t long before the music started. Ahsoka’s delegation filed in, led by their Alpha and the focus of the night—Omega Chaya.

She was taller than I’d pictured, in a pale gold dress. Her skin was fair, her eyes gentle, but there was a sharpness when she fixed them on someone.

Owen rose from the main seat immediately, meeting her halfway in front of everyone. He offered his arm as if he were welcoming the real person destined to stand at his side.

“Everyone,” Owen said, turning slightly, making the perfect formal gesture of introduction. “This is Chaya of Ahsoka, an Omega. She will be the mistress here in the future.”

Then he handed her a glass.

Applause erupted. Howls echoed around the hall, someone whistled. I stood behind him with a flawless, polite smile.

The feast was lively. Until—

A senior wolf, red-faced from drink, heaved himself to his feet, sloshing wine as he raised his glass.

“What about Coyote’s own mistress, then?”

He laughed, drunk and loud. “Heloise has been with you seven years. Shouldn’t we toast her, too?”

A dozen gazes swung toward me in that instant. I saw Chaya’s expression shift, just for a second, before she smoothed it over, still able to turn with a smile toward Owen.

“Don.” Owen called the elder’s name with a faint smile, but his tone had gone hard. “You’ve had enough.”

The old wolf snorted with laughter. “I’m only saying what’s true—who doesn’t know that kid’s been at your side since she arrived and you two—”

“She is my secretary.” Owen cut him off.

He didn’t raise his voice, but it flattened every murmur nearby.

“A bodyguard,” he said evenly, like he was correcting an error in a report. “Nothing more than that.”

The moment the words left his mouth, the world seemed to still for a heartbeat.

Then came a few knowing raised brows and some half-suppressed chuckles.

My heart was hammering against my throat. In that moment, I saw it clearly—he wasn’t just placating Chaya. He truly didn’t think there was anything between us worth acknowledging.

I took a breath, forced down the sharp sting inside, and smiled my own small smile.

“I’m just a bodyguard and secretary. I have nothing to do with the heir.”

That sent the room into outright laughter. Owen’s brows drew together slightly. But he didn’t say a word.

Around us, some people cheered, some nodded, and most simply watched the show.

In their eyes, I was just an Omega with no backing, smart enough to know when to step back.

Across from us, Norton had clearly gone still—he, who was normally so talkative, didn’t toss out a single joke.

Right then, something tightened around my chest.

Our mental link seized. The half-mark burned like someone had grabbed it—or cut it. After the stabbing pain came a strange, hollow emptiness.

I looked up on instinct.

And met Norton’s gaze.

He was looking right at me, his face momentarily blank—like a soldier on the battlefield suddenly hearing someone call his name.

The moon watched silently above. Second Chance was like a line of light newly ignited, stubbornly tugging between us.

Between me and Norton.