My Alpha Chose His Sister Over His Mate

The dress lay on the bed like a pool of midnight water. It was silk, long-sleeved, and high-necked—a garment designed to hide every scar, burn, and bruise Grayson had inflicted on me over the last seven years.

"Put it on," Calvin said from the doorway, his back turned to give me privacy. "Tonight, you are not a slave. You are my guest."

My hands trembled as I shed the hotel robe and slid the silk over my skin. It felt alien. For years, I had known only rough cotton and wool that scratched against my raw skin. The silk was cool, smooth, and forgiving. I looked in the mirror and almost didn't recognize the woman staring back. My cheeks were still hollow, my eyes haunted, but the dress gave me an armor of elegance. I looked like the Luna I was born to be, not the Omega I had been forced to become.

I stepped out into the hallway. Calvin offered me his arm. "Ready to make him squirm?"

"More than anything," I whispered.

We walked down the grand staircase to the dining hall. The scent of roasted venison and rosemary wafted up, a smell I knew intimately because I had cooked this meal a thousand times for the pack. But tonight, I wouldn't be serving it.

The double doors swung open.

Grayson was already seated at the head of the long mahogany table. He was laughing at something Gamma Marcus said, a glass of wine in his hand. But when we entered, the laughter died in his throat.

He stood up slowly, his chair scraping against the floor. His amber eyes locked onto me, widening in shock. He scanned me from head to toe, his gaze lingering on the curve of my waist in the silk dress. For a second, I saw the flash of his wolf—pure, possessive hunger. He took a step toward me, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled my scent, which wasn't masked by mud and blood for the first time in years.

Then he remembered who I was.

His face hardened, the desire replaced by a mask of cold fury. He looked at Calvin’s hand on my arm, and a low growl vibrated in his chest.

"Sit," he barked, gesturing to the far end of the table.

Calvin ignored him, pulling out the chair to Grayson’s immediate right—the seat of honor. "She sits here."

Grayson’s jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. He sat back down, his eyes flicking to the empty chair at the other end of the table. Sage’s chair. It had been set with a full place setting, as if she might wake up and walk in at any moment. It was a macabre shrine to the ghost that haunted us all.

The dinner was suffocating. The clinking of silverware sounded like sword strikes. Grayson downed his wine in one gulp, his eyes never leaving my face. He looked like a man starving, furious that the food he wanted was forbidden.

"The ritual begins at dawn," Calvin said, cutting his steak with precise, surgical movements. "I will need access to the patient's medical history."

"You have it," Grayson grunted. He reached for the wine bottle, but it was out of reach. Without thinking, he snapped his fingers at me.

"Wine. Now."

It was the Alpha Command. It hit me like a physical slap. My body jerked, my muscles contracting to obey before my mind could protest. I reached for the bottle, my hand shaking violently. The old conditioning was too strong; the fear was too deep.

"Stop," Calvin said.

"She is an Omega," Grayson snarled, his voice rising, layering the command with more pressure. "Pour the damn wine, Wrenlee!"

My fingers brushed the cold glass of the bottle. I couldn't breathe. The command was crushing my lungs.

*Smash!*

Grayson’s empty wine glass exploded. Shards of crystal flew across the table, some embedding in the expensive tablecloth. Red wine splattered onto Grayson’s pristine white shirt like a gunshot wound.

Silence fell over the room. Grayson froze, wine dripping from his chin. He looked at his hand, then at Calvin.

Calvin hadn't moved. His hand was resting flat on the table, but the air around him was crackling with raw Lycan energy. It was a warning shot, powerful enough to shatter glass without lifting a finger.

"Wrenlee is under Royal protection," Calvin said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "If you use your Alpha Tone on her again, the next thing to shatter will be your jaw."

Grayson wiped the wine from his face, his face turning a dangerous shade of purple. But he didn't speak. He couldn't. The power gap was too wide.

"I... lost my appetite," Grayson hissed. He threw his napkin onto the table and stormed out of the hall, Gamma Marcus scrambling to follow him.

As soon as the heavy doors slammed shut, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Calvin looked at me, a small, triumphant smile playing on his lips.

"Now," he murmured. "Go."

I nodded. While the pack was distracted by their Alpha’s temper tantrum, the corridors would be empty.

I slipped out the side door, moving like a shadow in my silk dress. I didn't head to the Blue Suite. I headed down, to the basement levels where the hum of cooling fans filled the air.

The server room.

The keypad was old, a model installed ten years ago. Grayson never updated the security; he thought physical strength was the only defense that mattered. He didn't understand the power of data.

I punched in the code: *0-5-0-5*. My birthday. I had set up the admin backdoor when I was thirteen, just a bored kid trying to bypass the parental controls to watch movies. I prayed the account was still active.

*Access Granted.*

The green light blinked in the darkness. I pushed the door open and hurried to the main terminal. My fingers flew across the keyboard.

*Username: Admin_Wren*

*Password: B-u-s-t-e-r-1*

The screen flickered, and then the desktop appeared. I nearly sobbed with relief. I navigated quickly through the folders. *System Logs. Security Archives. Year: 2017.*

There it was. The folder labeled "INCIDENT_FIRE_CORRUPTED". Grayson’s tech team had tried to delete it years ago, but they were incompetent. They had only corrupted the index file. The raw footage was still there, sitting in the backup partition.

I pulled the USB cable from my pocket, connecting my phone to the terminal. I found the file from Camera 04—the hallway outside Sage’s room on the night of the fire.

*Copying... 45%... 78%...*

Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Heavy boots. A guard on patrol.

*99%...*

"Come on," I whispered, sweat beading on my forehead.

*Transfer Complete.*

I yanked the cord out just as the doorknob turned. I ducked behind the server rack, holding my breath. The beam of a flashlight swept over the terminal, then the empty chair. The guard grunted, seemingly satisfied, and the door clicked shut.

I slumped against the warm metal of the server, clutching my phone to my chest. On that screen was a video of Sage Harrison pouring gasoline on her own bedroom floor.

I had the match. Now, all I had to do was wait for the right moment to light the fuse.