The chambers reserved for the envoy of the Red Moon Pack gleam with luxury: carved mahogany, silken drapes dyed in crimson, and chandeliers that catch the faint light of the moon like captured stars. Yet tonight, that beauty trembles beneath the weight of Mira’s rage.
She paces before the fireplace, the hem of her scarlet gown sweeping like liquid flame across the marble floor. Her hands tremble, not from fear, but from insult and the humiliation of being chastised by the one man she came to claim. Her reflection in the tall mirror flickers in the firelight: flawless, furious, magnificent.
“How dare he speak to me so before servants, no less!” Her voice cracks through the still air like thunder. “As if I were some insolent child! As if she were worth even a glance of his!
Estella stands
