The day after the disastrous birthday dinner and the mate-bond revelation. The Alpha Council's decree is imminent, but Elara's father, Alpha Gideon, moves first to secure his "asset."
The summons came not from her father, but from his head of security, a wolf named Vance whose smile never touched his glacier-blue eyes. He stood in her pink doorway, his bulk making the room seem like a dollhouse. "The Alpha has a gift for you. To ensure your… safety and compliance during this unsettled time."
Elara's heart, already a bruised thing, sank. A gift from her father was never a gift. It was a leash.
He led her not to the main garages where Diana's hulking Range Rover Sentinel and the other pack SUVs lived, but to a smaller, sterile bay at the back of the compound. And there it sat: a long, low-slung sedan the color of arctic ice, its lines sharp and silent. The Audi A8 L. It looked like a shard of polished glacier. Beautiful. Soulless.
"Glacier White Metallic," Vance announced, as if presenting a trophy. "Armored. Bulletproof glass. Run-flat tires. It is the safest vehicle on the road for a person of your… profile."
Profile. Meaning: the weak omega who was now a volatile political commodity.
As she approached, two wolves she recognized from the perimeter patrol—Brone and Halvar—detached themselves from the shadows. They wore tailored black suits, but their posture was pure enforcer. They didn't nod. They assessed.
"Your security detail," Vance said smoothly. "They will accompany you anytime you leave the house. For your protection."
The driver's door opened, and a man in a crisp grey uniform emerged. He was older, with a closed-off face and eyes that scanned her, the yard, the sky, in a constant, practiced loop. "This is Silas," Vance said. "Your driver."
"Ma'am," Silas said, his voice devoid of inflection. He didn't offer a hand. He held the rear door open, his posture not of a servant, but of a warden presenting a cell.
Elara peered inside. The interior was a cavern of grey leather and brushed aluminum. It was immaculate, frigidly so. The privacy partition was already up, a solid sheet of dark glass separating her from the front. There were no personal touches. No chargers, no tissues. Just a single, sleek screen embedded in the console.
"It's connected to the pack's security network," Vance said, following her gaze. A remote materialized in his hand. He tapped a button, and the screen lit up with a crisp, top-down map. A pulsating blue dot blinked precisely at their location. "Real-time GPS. So we always know our precious cargo is secure."
There it was. The truth, laid bare in glowing light. She wasn't being given freedom or protection. She was being fitted with the most expensive ankle monitor in existence.
"It's very… generous," Elara forced out, the words ash in her mouth.
"The Alpha thought so," Vance replied, his smile finally appearing, a thin, cold slash. "Consider it a gesture of his commitment to your new role. Given your… connection to the Frostmaw heir, your movements are now of paramount concern to the whole pack." His eyes flicked to Brone and Halvar. "They will ride ahead and behind in a secondary vehicle. Silas will handle your direct transport. Try not to touch the door controls; they're locked from the front for security."
She was to be a passenger in her own life. Coded in, tracked, driven, and guarded.
At that moment, the throaty growl of a powerful engine cut through the quiet. Diana's Carpathian Grey Range Rover Sentinel rolled past the bay entrance, a tank in tailored clothing. The window slid down, and Diana's perfect face appeared, her eyes taking in the scene—the Audi, the guards, Elara's frozen expression.
A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips. "How lovely, Elara," she called, her voice sweet. "You finally have a car that matches your station. So contained." With a quiet purr, the Range Rover glided away, leaving a faint scent of privilege and diesel in its wake.
The contrast was a physical blow. Diana's car was aggressive dominance, a statement of her power and freedom to go anywhere, crush anything. Elara's was a statement of control over her.
"Would you like to go for a brief ride to acclimate?" Vance asked, though it wasn't a question.
Numbly, Elara slid into the back seat. The door closed behind her with a soft, definitive thunk that echoed like a vault sealing. The cabin was tomb-quiet, the outside world muted by layers of glass and armor. She was alone in a silent, moving prison.
Through the tinted glass, she saw Silas watching her in the rearview, his eyes meeting hers for one blank, impersonal moment before focusing back on the road. The GPS screen pulsed steadily on the console. Here you are, it whispered. Here you will always be.
The engine, a distant, efficient hum, engaged. The car began to move, carrying her forward into a future that felt, for all its luxurious padding, more confined than her pink bedroom ever had. The pretence was perfect. The cage was complete.