4.

Ronnie’s POV

The gown they put me in was suffocating. Layers of silk in a deep crimson that dragged along the floor, heavy jewels clasped around my throat like chains. The maids flitted around me, fussing with pins and fabric, but none of them met my eyes. They didn’t need to. Their silence said enough: You don’t belong here.

I told myself to breathe, to walk steadily as they led me into the great hall. But the moment the massive doors swung open, the air caught sharp in my lungs.

Nobles lined the room, cloaked in finery, their gazes snapping to me as if I were a curiosity on display. A hush fell, followed by the low rustle of whispers.

“There she is…”

“The omega?”

“By the Goddess, what was the Alpha thinking?”

Their sneers cut deeper than blades. I lifted my chin, though it trembled. I had learned long ago not to show weakness, not to give McKenzie the satisfaction of seeing me cower. But here, under the weight of dozens of cold, assessing eyes, my armor cracked.

A woman in a sapphire gown leaned toward her companion, her lips curving into a cruel smile. “She doesn’t even look like a wolf. More like a servant who lost her way.”

Laughter followed, muffled behind jeweled hands.

I forced my feet forward. One step. Then another. The hall seemed endless, each pace echoing like a drumbeat of humiliation.

I had never felt more aware of myself, the roughness of my palms, the plainness of my features, the way my heart hammered against the jewels at my throat. Every flaw they saw, I felt magnified a hundredfold.

Some of them bowed their heads politely when I passed, but even then, I could see the mockery in their eyes. Not respect. Not acceptance. Only the quiet joy of watching a spectacle.

Temporary queen. Placeholder.

That was all I was to them.

I tried to keep my gaze forward, but I caught sight of myself in the gleaming gold of a column. For a moment, I hardly recognized the girl staring back. Dressed like royalty, yes, but her eyes betrayed her. Wide, uncertain, already bruised by words she could not fight.

I wanted to scream, to rip the crown from my head and hurl it at their feet. To ask Damon if this was his idea of cruelty, to parade me before his court as a joke. But his absence spoke louder than any words. He hadn’t even bothered to appear.

Which meant I was alone.

A tremor passed through me, quick and sharp, but I straightened my shoulders. If they wanted me broken, I wouldn’t give them that satisfaction. Not yet.

The whispers grew louder as I neared the dais at the far end of the hall. Some of the nobles’ voices carried, sharp as blades:

“She won’t last the season.”

“A disgrace to the crown.”

“Wait until the Alpha finds his true mate. Then this farce will end.”

Their certainty chilled me more than their mockery. They weren’t wrong. Damon had made it clear himself, I was nothing but a temporary solution.

But as I stood beneath the weight of their gazes, I felt something shift inside me. Not strength, not yet. But something close to defiance.

If this were to be my prison, I would survive it. Even if survival meant biting back tears until my throat ached, until my very bones trembled.

I clasped my hands together so tightly that my knuckles turned white, lifted my chin one final time, and forced myself to endure their stares.

Let them sneer. Let them whisper.

I had endured worse

The moment the nobles were dismissed, I was whisked from the hall by a pair of silent maids. Their steps were brisk, efficient, as if I were just another burden to be dragged back into storage. My hands clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms.

Their whispers still clung to me like smoke. She won’t last the season. She’s a disgrace.

Every step through the glittering corridors made the words burn hotter in my chest. By the time we reached my chamber, my pulse was a storm.

One of the maids tugged at the hem of my gown, muttering, “Hold still, your grace.”

Her voice was flat, detached. But the words your grace, mockery in their own right, struck a match inside me.

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped, jerking away. “None of you mean it anyway.”

The maid blinked, startled, and for once I saw something flicker in her eyes, amusement, maybe even contempt. She pressed her lips into a thin line. “As you wish… temporary queen.”

The other maid stifled a laugh, and my cheeks burned hot.

“Do you think this is funny?” The words tore out of me sharper than I intended. “Do you all enjoy treating me like I’m dirt beneath your shoes?”

The room went quiet, heavy with the weight of my trembling voice.

The maid holding my gown straightened, her expression cooling into something crueler than silence. “You mistake your place. We serve the Alpha. You are… a placeholder. Nothing more.”

My breath caught. The truth in her tone stung worse than the nobles’ laughter had.

“Even omegas in the kitchens know their worth,” she added, voice dipped in venom. “At least they’re useful. You? You’re only here because the Alpha has yet to find the woman truly fit for his side.”

I stumbled back, the gown’s heavy train nearly tripping me. My mouth opened, but no words came. The fight in me crumbled all at once, leaving only raw humiliation in its wake.

The maids didn’t wait for a reply. They stripped the jewels from my throat with brisk hands, their movements rougher than before. My crown was plucked away like it had never belonged there. Piece by piece, they dismantled the fragile illusion of royalty until I was left in only my slip, trembling and small.

When they finally left me, the door closing with a decisive click, the silence rang louder than their words.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, my hands shaking as I clutched the fabric of my skirt. I had lashed out, desperate to claw back a shred of dignity, but instead I had revealed myself, weak, cornered, powerless.

No allies. No safety. No one would even pretend to stand at my side.

Hot tears welled, blurring the gleam of the chamber. I pressed my palms against my eyes, biting back the sob that threatened to break free. I refused to cry where anyone could hear me, refused to let the palace walls echo with my shame.

But the truth carved itself deeper with each breath.

In my stepmother’s house, I had been the servant, the invisible shadow who scrubbed floors and endured cruelty in silence. But here? Here I was something worse.

Here I was the joke dressed in silk.

A temporary queen. A doll to be mocked.

And as I curled beneath the weight of the bed’s heavy blankets, I knew with a sinking certainty: survival here would demand more than silence. It would demand a strength I wasn’t sure I had.