Amara, a wealthy aristocrat's well-bred daughter with a secret to hide, is thrown into despair when her world is suddenly shattered after discovering she isn’t the Caldwells' biological daughter.

It was incredibly convenient for her father to discard years of love, devotion, and family ties, quickly sending her as a marriage tribute to a Werewolf Prince after receiving an invitation that, according to the Peace Treaty between Werewolves and Humans, required one of his daughters.

It no longer mattered that she wasn’t truly a Caldwell, nor that she was already in love with someone else. So, on the night of her planned elopement with her lover, her fate with the monster was ruthlessly sealed.

Forget that the Alpha Prince is a cursed monster—yet, why is he always in her face, treating her like his perfect plaything to pass the time?

But most importantly, if he truly doesn't care about her, why do those who cross her suddenly disappear or get punished?
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Excerpt:

Amara could feel the tension in the way Alexander stood before her—the restraint in his silence, the weight of his attention pressing against her body.

He shouldn’t be this close to her after cornering her against a tree.

“Do you know what happens when I want something?” he asked, his voice dangerously controlled.

Her breath trembled, but she shook her head. “I—I don’t know.”

“I take it.”

Amara inhaled sharply as she lifted her gaze to meet his dark, conflicted eyes, burning with something that made her heart stutter.

“Then why haven’t you?” she whispered.

His gaze dropped briefly to her lips. “Because if I cross that line,” he said, “I won’t stop.”

“Then cross it.” Her voice was barely audible.

Instantly, the restraint in Alexander’s eyes shattered. He lowered his head and claimed her mouth in a desperate, hungry kiss.

Across the palace, in the Queen's quarters, the atmosphere was far less controlled.


"His Majesty summoned all the physicians?" Lysandra's voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet of the room.


Her maid-in-waiting stood before her, head lowered. "Yes, Your Majesty."


Lysandra's fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the table as a flicker of unease crossed her face.


"I… do not know, Your Majesty." The maid hesitated before adding softly, "This servant dares not guess His Majesty's intentions."


Lysandra's eyes narrowed. That answer did nothing to settle her thoughts. If anything, it made things worse. Her mind began to race.


Right then, she stood abruptly. "I will not sit here and wait," she said. "Prepare—I am going to see His Majesty."


By the time Lysandra arrived at the King's receiving hall, she was too late. The physicians were already leaving.


Chapter 62 - Get it Up at His Age