IN MY FATHER-IN-LAW'S BED: HIS TWISTED GAME

FLASHBACK

SUMMER’S POV

The rain had been relentless that afternoon, a torrential downpour that turned the manicured lawns of the Alpha’s estate into a blurred landscape of emerald and grey.

I remember standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows of my father’s study, watching the droplets race down the glass.

At twenty-one, my world was small, protected, and defined by the strength of my father’s shadow.

As an Alpha, he was a mountain of a man, respected and feared, but to me, he was just the person who tucked me in and promised that the world was mine for the taking. I didn't know then that the world was actually a hunting ground.

"Summer, come away from the window," my father had called out, his voice warm but commanding. "Our guests will be here any minute. This is an important merger, sweetheart. The Benedicts are royalty just like us, so we must treat them with utmost respect."

I had smoothed down the skirt of my pale blue dress, feeling the nervous flutter in my stomach. I was the Alpha’s daughter—the pride of our pack—and today was about more than just business. It was about alliances.

When the heavy oak doors finally swung open, two men walked in. The first was Sebastian—even then, he carried himself like a god among mortals, his presence so heavy it felt like a physical weight. But it was the man behind him who caught my breath.

Darius.

He wasn't the hardened, cynical man I had just left at the Benedict estate. Back then, he looked like a prince from a storybook.

His hair was slightly dampened by the rain, clinging to his forehead in dark curls, and his eyes—God, his eyes—were bright with a mischievous, golden light. When our gazes met, the world didn't just tilt; it stopped.

"Alpha Miller," Sebastian had said, his voice a low rumble. "My son, Darius..."

Darius didn't wait for the formalities. He stepped past his father, his eyes never leaving mine. He took my hand, and the moment his skin touched mine, a jolt of pure, unadulterated heat shot up my arm. It was the spark. The legendary lunar circle connection we had all been taught to wait for. At least, that’s what I told myself.

"I didn't realize the Miller estate housed the North Star," he whispered, his voice smooth as silk.

I blushed, a deep crimson that probably made me look as naive as I felt. "And I didn't realize the Benedicts were so prone to flattery."

He laughed—a rich, melodic sound that filled the room.

That afternoon, while our fathers discussed territories and trade routes, Darius and I slipped away to the conservatory. We talked for hours.

He told me about his dreams of expanding the pack’s influence, of traveling, of making a name for himself outside of Sebastian’s towering shadow.

He seemed so vulnerable, yet so ambitious. He looked at me as if I were the only thing in the room that mattered.

"You're different, Summer," he told me as we sat among the blooming jasmine. "Most girls in our circle are just looking for a title. You... you have a fire in you. I can see it."

I fell.

I fell hard and fast, the way only a girl who has been shielded from the world can fall.

The courtship was filled with lots and lots of flowers, late-night phone calls, and secret meetings at the border of our territories. He was the perfect gentleman.

He would bring my father rare vintages of wine and spend hours listening to my stepmother, Lisa, talk about her gardens.

He integrated himself into my life until I couldn't remember what it felt like to not belong to him.

Six months later, under a full moon that felt like an omen of good fortune, he dropped to one knee in the center of my father’s rose garden.

"Summer Miller," he said, the moonlight catching the diamond in his hand. "I don't want to just be your ally. I want to be your life. I want to build an empire with you by my side. Will you marry me?"

I didn't even hesitate. I said yes before he could finish the sentence.

The wedding was the event of the decade. Hundreds of members from both packs gathered at the Benedict estate.

I remember the weight of the white lace, the scent of the lilies, and the way my father’s eyes brimmed with tears as he walked me down the aisle. He was handing his most precious treasure over to the man he thought was a hero.

As I stood at the altar, I looked past Darius for a brief second and saw Sebastian standing behind him. His expression wasn't joyful; it was stern. He looked at me not as a daughter-in-law, but as an acquisition. I should have seen the warning then. I should have realized that in the Benedict family, love was just a currency used to buy loyalty.

But when Darius took my hands and recited his vows—promising to cherish me, to protect me, to be my mate until the moon fell from the sky—I believed every single word. I felt the bond tighten, a golden thread that I thought was fate, but now realized was just a beautifully crafted noose.

The first year was a dream. We lived in the mansion, a gift from Sebastian. We traveled to the coast, we spent long mornings in bed, and for a while, I truly believed I was living a fairy tale. Darius was attentive, passionate, and seemingly devoted.

Then, the cracks began to appear. Slowly. Insidiously.

It started with the late nights at the office. Then it was the sudden coldness, the way he would pull away when I tried to touch him. The golden light in his eyes was replaced by a dull, flickering shadow.

He started comparing me to other women—to Beatrice, who had always stayed close to the family, hovering like a vulture.

"Why can't you be more like her, Summer?" he’d snap after a long day. "She understands the business. She understands ethnics!"

I tried harder.

I changed my hair, I learned the intricacies of the pack’s ledgers, I became the perfect hostess for the Benedict parties. I thought if I could just be more, he would come back to me. I didn't realize that you can't fill a cup that has a hole in the bottom.

The mate bond I had felt so strongly began to feel like a phantom limb—something that should be there, but only throbbed with a dull, aching emptiness and then... I started hearing the rumors.

I saw the way Beatrice looked at him at family dinners—not with sisterly affection, but with a predatory hunger. And I saw the way Darius looked back.

I remember one night, about a year ago, I had prepared a surprise dinner for our anniversary. I had lit candles, opened his favorite wine, and waited. One hour turned into three. Three turned into six.

When he finally stumbled in at four in the morning, smell of feminine perfume clung to his skin, he didn't even look at me.

"You're still up?" he muttered, heading for the shower. "You're suffocating me, Summer. Get a hobby."

Those words didn't mean anything to me even then, until that anonymous sender---or should I say Sebastian--- kept sending those messages. Until I confirmed it in that bar that he was indeed screwing my sister behind my back!

That was the night I realized the man I had met in the rain was a ghost. Or perhaps, he had never existed at all.

Perhaps he was just a mask designed by Sebastian to lure an Alpha’s daughter into the fold, to secure the Miller bloodline and resources for the Benedict empire.

Sitting here now, in my bathrobe, clutching this cold silver frame, the memory of that first meeting felt like it belonged to a different person. A girl who was whole. A girl who believed in the moon and the stars.

I looked at the girl in the photo—the radiant, smiling bride—and felt a wave of pity so strong it nearly choked me. She had no idea that the man holding her was already looking past her. She had no idea that the lunar circle was just a cage.

I traced the line of Darius's jaw in the photo, the same jaw I had seen clenched in lust as he stared at my sister through a phone screen tonight.

The betrayal wasn't just tonight. It was every day of the last three years. Every "I love you" was a lie. Every touch was a theft.