Chapter 4

Caleb announced that I would accompany him to a werewolf clan gathering. The news reached me as I sat in the garden, lost in thought on a stone bench. A maid approached with an extravagant evening gown, her expression neutral as she informed me of the night’s plans. "Sir has instructed that you must attend. And…be presentable," she said, her tone laced with a faint but unmistakable scrutiny. My heart sank. Presentable? How could someone like me—a mere human, a "medicinal catalyst" purchased with money—ever appear presentable among a group of noble-born werewolves? As night fell, I was meticulously dressed, every detail arranged as if I were a carefully packaged item. I found myself on Caleb’s arm, entering a mansion far more opulent than the Old Keep’s grandest halls. The brilliance of crystal chandeliers was blinding, the air thick with the scent of wine and something else—wild, strong, and primal. Countless eyes turned toward me, some curious, others disdainful, still others probing. I could feel the overwhelming pressure radiating from them, far beyond what any ordinary human could withstand. This was the world of the werewolves. Caleb remained expressionless, his powerful aura forming an invisible barrier that kept most at bay. Yet he made no effort to introduce me to anyone, simply leading me through the crowd as if parading an object in his possession. Soon, a tall, strikingly beautiful woman approached us. Her gaze was sharp, her demeanor laced with hostility that she didn’t bother to hide. She ignored me entirely, offering Caleb a flirtatious smile. "Caleb, it’s been too long. And this is…?" she finally turned her attention to me, her eyes sweeping over me like a blade, full of disdain. "My partner, Leah," Caleb replied, his voice cold and clipped. "Partner?" The woman arched a perfectly shaped brow, letting out a mocking laugh. "A human? Caleb, when did your tastes become so…unique? Or does she have something ‘special’—perhaps a way to calm your troublesome bloodline frenzy?" Her words were a deliberate provocation, dripping with insinuation, and those nearby chuckled, their amusement thinly veiled. My cheeks burned with humiliation. I clenched my fists, but I knew I couldn’t speak. Here, I had no voice, no right to defend myself. Caleb stopped walking. He didn’t look at the woman directly, but turned his head slightly, his golden eyes sweeping over her with icy detachment. And then, to everyone’s surprise, he moved. He extended his arm, pulling me closer with a firm grip around my waist. The motion was deliberate, his hold possessive and unyielding. "Isabella," he said, his voice soft but lethally cold, "my wife is not someone you can question." Those few words, paired with the strength of his arm around me, were as sharp and stinging as a slap across Isabella’s face. Her smile faltered, her expression twisting with discomfort. Around her, the other werewolves quickly masked their smirks, their gazes shifting to something more respectful, even reverent. Caleb didn’t spare her another glance. He kept his arm around me and walked past her, his steps steady and unbothered. My heart raced in my chest—not from fear, but from something far more complicated. His defense of me was like being handed a cup of hot tea on a freezing winter night. It was comforting, but it burned all the same. I could feel the warmth of his palm through the fabric of my dress, smell the familiar scent of cedarwood that clung to him. For a fleeting moment, I felt like I truly was his protected, rightful partner. But reality snapped me back. This wasn’t affection or care. It was possessiveness, a beast’s instinct to defend its territory. I was the human "medicinal catalyst" he needed to maintain his public facade. Nothing more. I couldn’t allow myself to fall for this illusion of warmth. And yet, the weight of his arm around my waist, and the words "my wife," planted a small, unwanted ripple in the calm surface of my heart. This double life of mine was growing more complicated—and infinitely more dangerous.