Claimed by the scarred Alpha

MARGAUX

My mother waited in my bedroom when I emerged. She’d laid out clothes on my bed: a pale blue dress, understated jewelry, and low heels that wouldn’t make me tower over anyone. The outfit screamed respectable daughter, which was exactly what she was going for.

I dressed in silence. My mother watched from the window, occasionally commenting on my posture or how I’d fastened a bracelet. She had a penchant for making a normal routine transform into a performance. I was, however, not mad about it this time around. My mind was weighed with the knowledge that this might be one of the last times she bugged me, before I belonged to Valcourt instead of Beaumont.

The thought still made my stomach turn.

"Ready?" My mother’s voice held no room for argument.

I nodded.

The drive took twenty minutes. I watched familiar streets pass, like the café where Shanelle and I gossiped over expensive lattes, the boutique with the best summer collections, and even the park where I’d learned to ride a bike at six.

All of it felt like someone else’s life now.

Zara Fontaine had been making gowns for Beaumont pack events since before I was born. Every important dress I’d worn had come from her studio. Debutante balls. Charity galas. The coming-of-age ceremony when I’d been presented to pack society as Luna Margaux Beaumont.

Now she’d make my wedding dress.

Zara greeted us with a warm smile that made me want to cry. She was in her sixties, with silver hair pulled into an elegant twist.

"Luna Vivianne. Luna Margaux." She ushered us inside. "I’ve prepared several options."

The studio stretched before us. Bolts of fabric lined the walls. Dress forms displayed half-finished gowns. Sunlight poured through massive windows.

Under different circumstances, I would have loved this. I would have spent hours trying on dresses, debating lace styles, imagining myself walking toward someone I’d chosen and knew... Someone who’d courted me... Someone whose face I’d actually seen.

Instead, I stood frozen while Zara led us to gowns hung in careful rows.

"I’ve selected pieces that highlight traditional elegance," Zara said. "Given the significance of the alliance, I thought classic styling would be most appropriate."

Translation: nothing that might offend Valcourt’s barbarian sensibilities.

There were things that I liked, like white silk, ivory satin, even cream organza. Each looked like it belonged in a museum display, with designs ranging from high necklines to long sleeves to skirts that looked like they required three people to carry the train.

My hand reached for a dress near the end. It was simpler than the others with clean lines and minimal embellishment.

"I’ll do this one."

Zara helped me into it while my mother watched. The fabric settled over my skin. Elegant without being too much. I turned toward the mirror and saw someone who looked almost like herself.

"It’s lovely," Zara said. She smoothed the skirt. "Simple but striking."

My mother stood and walked closer. She studied me. "Too simple. She needs something with more presence."

"I like this one."

"Try the one with the lace overlay." She gestured toward a more elaborate gown. "That would make a better impression."

I turned to face her directly. "Why do I need to make a good impression? The marriage is arranged. The contract is signed. He’s not courting me. I’m being delivered like a package."

Something flickered in my mother’s eyes. She reached up to adjust the neckline. "While he attacked other packs, he did not offer any of their maidens in marriage. But he offered you. Perhaps he did see something."

I stared at her. Because what the heck was she getting at? That I should feel honored?

"You know the rumors," my mother continued. Her voice dropped. "They are mostly true. He was born deformed, from what I heard. If he had come to you properly, your father and I would not have consented. You would not have either."

She was right. If some scarred stranger had approached my father requesting my hand, I would have refused without a second thought.

"But we both know that’s not why." I met her eyes in the mirror. "And I’m not vain. I might have agreed if he weren’t such a tyrant and I got to know him properly."

My mother’s expression softened. She stepped closer and adjusted the dress at my shoulders. "You know Chris well. But you have never thought of marrying him."

"Chris is a friend, Mother. He does not see me that way, and neither do I. This is not the same. Not even remotely. So my point still stands."

"Well... that is the spirit. Believing it can work."

The gentleness broke something in my chest. I watched her hands move across the fabric, fixing invisible flaws.

"I know you do not want this." Her voice barely rose above a whisper. "Honestly, I do not want it either for you. But I cannot let my words give you useless hope. I do not have the power to fix this."

She’d said similar things this morning, but hearing it again while standing in a wedding dress made it feel more real. My mother couldn’t save me. My father wouldn’t. My brothers had already chosen silence.

I was completely alone.

My mother’s hands trembled when she smoothed the dress one final time. The movement was slight, but I’d spent my life learning to read the small gestures she tried to hide. Fear lived in those shaking fingers.

She turned away abruptly and faced Zara. "This. This is the one."

Zara smiled and moved forward with her measuring tape. "Perfect. I’ll begin the alterations—"

"Wait."

My mother’s voice cut through the room. The temperature dropped. I watched her shoulders tense. Her hands curled into fists.

"It should be in red."

The words didn’t register. I stared at her reflection, waiting for clarification. Zara had frozen mid-step. Her measuring tape dangled from her hand. The silence expanded.

"Mother?"

She wouldn’t look at me. She kept her gaze on Zara. Her posture went rigid.

"I am sure you heard me."

Zara bowed her head. "Yes, Luna Vivianne. I just need to measure the Luna."

"Get to it."

The measuring tape circled my waist. I stood perfectly still while Zara worked. Numbers were called out. An assistant scribbled them in a leather-bound notebook. Fabric swatches appeared. Everything proceeded as it was supposed to.

But all I could think about was the color.

Red.

A bride in red meant something specific—an old and barbaric tradition, and one that had supposedly died out generations ago. Alphas used to dress their conquered brides in red to show the world exactly what they were—a prize and a symbol of dominance.

A bride of conquest instead of love.

The tears came without permission while Zara measured my shoulders. I didn’t wipe them away. My mother still wouldn’t look at me. She’d turned toward the window. Her spine was straight, like she was facing an enemy.

"Arms up, please," Zara said softly.

I raised my arms. The measuring tape went around my bust, then my hips, then my inseam.

My mother finally turned when Zara finished. Her face had returned to that perfect Luna Beaumont composure.

"When will it be ready?"

"This evening," Zara replied. "I’ll have it delivered to the estate."

"Excellent."

My mother walked toward the door like we’d finished a routine appointment.

Yet I stood in front of the mirror wearing white while my mind superimposed red over every surface. Red silk announcing to every pack member exactly what I was.

Théo Valcourt’s conquest.

His prize for terrorizing Beaumont into submission.

His trophy bride in a gown the color of blood.

I finally moved. I stepped down and let Zara help me out of the sample dress. My movements felt mechanical.

The drive home passed in complete silence. My mother stared out her window. I stared out mine.

When we pulled up to the estate, she finally spoke.

"The ceremony is tomorrow at dawn. Your father will walk you down the aisle. Valcourt pack members will be in attendance alongside our own." Her voice held no inflection. "You will conduct yourself with dignity and grace. You represent Beaumont until the moment you say your vows."

Then I’d represent Valcourt instead.

Then I’d belong to them.

Then I’d be exactly what that red dress proclaimed me to be.

"Understood."

My mother nodded once and walked inside without another word. I sat in the car for a while longer, watching her disappear through the front doors.

The tears had stopped by the time I went inside. I climbed the stairs to my bedroom and closed the door, shutting out the world for whatever hours I had left.

A bride of conquest in a dress the color of blood.

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