Riley’s POV

I didn’t say anything.

Just reached into the shopping bag and pulled out the dress.

?

+8 Pearls

Red. Spaghetti straps. Generic cut. The bkind /bof thing you’d find in the clearance bin of any downtown bboutique/b. Cheap, boring, band /bpletely forgettable.

Even when they tried to pretend they cared–they couldn’t be bothered to do it bright/bb. /b

“How bthoughtful/b, Luna Zara,” I said,cing each word with sarcasm, dragging out “thoughtful” like a knife across ss.

Her smile twitched. She knew exactly what I meant

“If you don’t like it,” she said awkwardly, “I bcan /bfind something else. Something more your taste.”

I tossed the dress back at her. “You do realize I’m still covered in bruises, right? You want me to bshow /bup at a formal event looking like I walked through ba /bwarzone?

my back. And

The welts ric left behind with his belt had faded, but the shadows were still there–on my arms, my bthighs/b, the worst of it–my shoulder–still bore the angry red stretch of half–healed scars. A strappy dress like this would put every mark on disy.

Zara blinked like she’d only just remembered. “I–I didn’t think-

“Yeah, I figured. You don’t think much when ites to me.”

“I’m sorry, truly,” she murmured, lowering her eyes. “I wasn’t being considerate. bI /bapologize.”

“Forget it. Just give me the money. I’ll buy my own dress–one that actually fits.”

My body had never bcaught /bup with me. Years of malnourishment behind cell doors will do that. Where I should’ve filled out, I never did. I was small, bfragile/b–looking. bThin /bin ways that screamed neglect.

Everyone in the Ebonw Pack had model–perfect genes. ric stood at 6’1. Kael Vale was even btaller/b. Zara had once been a beauty queen at Mooncrest Academy.

Met

I barely hit 53, with bones like bird wings and not a curve in sight. If I didn’t have this face–one that mirrored bevery /bsculpted feature of theirs–no one would believe I was the Ebonw heiress at all.

The dress Zara bought bwasn’t /bmine–it bwas /btailored to Scarlett’s measurements,

Of course it was.

She turned red bfrom /bneck to ears and fumbled inside her purse before shoving a card at me. “There’s… ten thousand credits on here. If it’s bnot /benough, bjust /bbask/b.”

And with bthat/bb, /bshe bpractically /bbran/b.

I didn’t waste time. Threw on a hoodie band /bleft the estate, gged a hover–bcab /bstraight to the bNightshade /bbMall/b.

But I bdidn’t /bgoed a dress boutique.

I walked into a suit tailor’s shop

Formal. Functional. Full coverage.

Exactly what I needed.

The assistant helped me pick a fitted ck suit. I took it into the changing room. As I zipped it up and turned to face the marror, something caught my attention just outside the door.

139 PM bd /b

+8 Pearls

A guy. Young. Slim. bClean/b–cut. No Pack crest visible, but judging by the leather briefcase and polished shoes, he worked for someone high up.

He held up a bruined /bjacket. “bYou /breally can’t fix it?”

The tailor grimaced. “It’s Moonfang silk, bsir/b. Top grade. bBut /bthe burn is right through the chest. You’d need ba /bmaster stitcher to reweave the fibers, and even then it won’t be perfect.”

The guy cursed under his breath. “Damn it, Our Alpha has a summit tonight–this was supposed to be his custom piece.”

He looked like he was about to cry.

I nced at the jacket in his hands. It was exquisite. Rich textureb. /bTailored to someone broad in the shoulders and lean at the waist, I’d only seen this level of craftsmanship a few times–always on visiting Alphas from the Stormridge Pack or Northhaven.

bMoonfang /bsilk could cost a small fortune per yard.

And repairing it would cost even more.

He turned–and bcaught /bbsight /bof me.

my bones.

I was still in my ck suit, brushing invisible blint /bfrom the sleeve. The bshoulders /bgave me power I didn’t have in The clean blines /bskimmed my bwaist /band made my pale skin glow like polished pearl. Under the lights, I didn’t look like a victim. I looked like someone in control.

He rushed over, desperation in on his face.

“You’re the tailor bhere/b, right? Can you help?”

I blinked. “What?”

“This bjacket/b. Please. If you can patch it before sundown, I’ll pay anything. Anything”

I should’ve told him no.

But the way he looked at me–like I mattered–like he needed me… it made something flicker deep inside. Something bI /bhadn’t felt in a long time.

“Say yes,” Nyra whispered faintlyb. /b“Let them see what your hands can do. Let them remember who you are.”

“Can I… embroider something over it?” I asked cautiously.

He hesitated. “Like a bpatch/b?

“More like a crest. I could use Moonweave–something bdetailed/bb. /bArtistic.”

The man looked torn.

“You know Moonweave?” he asked, eyebrows rising.

“I learned it… a while bago/b.”

I didn’t tell him I learned it behind prison bbars/b. That the warden saw potential in my hands and put me under a master seamstress bwho’d /bbeen jailed for stealing royal silks.

That bthose /bwomenbroke me, starved me, beat me–but never let anyone ruin my fingers.

Beordse my bhands /bmeant profit.

I

I didn’t know if I was any good. Maybe I was just better than the rest of the broken women I stitched beside.

But I could try.

“Alright,” he said atst, teeth clenched. “You’re right. The hole’s visible anyway. Might bas /bwell make it art.”

He handed over the jacket like he was handing me hisst breath

I took it and sat down, rolling up bmy /bsleeves.

“Do you have thread?” I asked the btailor/b.

She brought over a box of high–end silks–ck, gold, crimson.

I chose gold.

Moonweave embroidery required precision.

+B Pearls +8

Before stitching. I split one thread into forty–eight slivers–each thinner than a hair. The assistant’s bjaw /bdropped. The guy with the jacket looked like he’d seen a ghost.

1 let the needle glide between my fingers, In. Out. Under. Overb. /b

It was meditative. Addictive.

I stitched in silence–just me, the thread, band /bthe silk.

Each movement was deliberate. The threads formed the shape of a flower. bA /bpeony, bold and unfurling. Layer uponyer of golden petals shimmered under the light. I added tiny silver strands in the center, mimicking bmorning /bdew.

The whole thing pulsed with life.

When I finished, I sat back band /bexhaled slowly.

The guy took the jacket with trembling fingers–and gasped.

“This… this is unreal. You didn’t fix it–you elevated it.”

The staff all crowded around, murmuring admiration.

I smiled. faint and tired. “d it’s good enough.”

“bGood /benoughb? /bIt’s perfect.” He looked dazed. “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing.” I said, “Call it a bfavor /bto the Moon. I needed something good today. This helped.”

He thanked me bagain/b–profusely–and hurried out with the jacket,

When I stepped outside, the sky had gone dark.

Streemps lit the sidewalk in soft golden hues,

I gged another hover–bcab/bb, /breturned to the estate–only to find it empty.

ric, Zara, Scarlett, and Kael were already gone.

I didn’t care.

In fact, I was halfway back up the stairs when a ck SUV pulled up, window down, driver ring.

“Get in,” he snapped. “bAlpha /bband /bLuna said to bring you to the auction.”

I didn’t move.

He frowned “Well”

I narrowed my eyes. “Get out. Open the door.”

He scoffed “bYou /bdon’t have hands?”

Wrong answer

3:30 PM

I took one step btoward /bhimb. /bMy presence alone made him flinch.

“Remind them.” Nyra purred. “Remind them who you are.”

They still hadn’t figured it out.

This wasn’t about me begging to be epted.

This bwas /babout them needing me to marry into Stormridge for the Pack’s survival.

They needed me.

Send Gifts

264