Venessa’s POV

The iron grip on my wrists bit deep into my skin as the guards shoved me forward. My breath caught, not from the pain but from the humiliation. My hair was a tangled mess, my dress torn at the sleeve, and my shoes—gods, I couldn’t even remember where I lost one. The marble floors of the pack house blurred beneath me, cold and gleaming, mocking every step I stumbled through.

Beside me, Elena moved with her chin high, like this was nothing, like being paraded through Kael’s halls in chains was some kind of twisted coronation. I wanted to spit at her feet. I wanted to scream. But...