A Seat at the Table

Cerys's POV

The heavy, wrought-iron gates of the Moonglen Pack estate loomed ahead, casting long, twisted shadows over the pristine gravel path. I never wanted to set foot inside this sprawling, heavily guarded territory again. Every single inch of the manicured lawns and towering oak trees reeked of suffocating guilt and bitter, unspoken memories. But when Alpha Tiberius himself issued a formal summons—specifically demanding my presence to discuss the legal ownership of my late Grandmother's mountain cottage—I knew resistance was entirely useless.

That small, secluded house, tucked deep away within the dense woods, was my only remaining sanctuary. It was a modest place, permanently carrying the comforting scent of dried herbs, old parchment, and fresh rain. It was the one desperate refuge I clung to when the pack nearly crushed me under the weight of their relentless blame. They had constantly pointed their accusing fingers at me for my aunt's tragic death, all while systematically showering the fragile, sickly Vespera Kent with their undivided, sickening affection. Grandmother was the only one who saw through the pack's delusions. She had publicly, verbally promised that cottage to me, declaring it mine in front of the elders. But she had tragically died before she could draft a formal, written will, legally leaving the deed trapped in Luna Vivienne's controlling, heavily manicured hands.

I stepped through the massive, carved double doors of the opulent mansion. The familiar, suffocating scents of rich cedar polish and faint, cloying rose perfume immediately assaulted my senses. A young maid dusting the grand hallway froze in her tracks, her feather duster dropping an inch as her wide, nervous eyes locked onto me. She barely recognized Moonglen's true bloodline daughter. I coldly ignored her stare and the hushed, frantic whispers of the other servants that immediately followed me down the corridor. I knew exactly what they saw. I carried the undeniable stamp of the Alpha and Luna in my features—striking golden eyes and dark, heavy hair catching the amber light of the crystal chandeliers overhead. If it were not for the fabricated, "vicious" reputation they had so carefully built around me, my beauty would have been the absolute pride of the entire pack. Instead, they treated me as their permanent cautionary tale.

As I entered the grand dining hall, the delicate clinking of expensive crystal and silver paused. The long mahogany table was practically groaning under the weight of an extravagant feast. Luna Vivienne hastily stood up from her seat near the head of the table, flashing a sickeningly warm, perfectly rehearsed smile that didn't reach her cold eyes.

"Cerys, come," Vivienne cooed, her voice dripping with artificial, sugary sweetness. "We've prepared your favorite—sweet-glazed ribs."

A cold, bitter amusement curled deep in my chest, heavy and dark. I looked dead into my mother's eyes, not bothering to mask my absolute disdain for this little theatrical performance. I stated flatly, my voice cutting through the fake warmth, "You remembered wrong. Vespera's the one who likes sweet food."

My natural preference for intense, biting spice had been systematically erased from the household kitchen the very moment Vespera arrived. Before her, our meals were fiery and rich. My father and brothers used to challenge me with roasted peppers and fiercely spiced meats, laughing as I drank milk to cool the burn. But because the precious, orphaned cousin possessed a delicate stomach, every single family meal was turned painfully bland just to suit her fragile needs. They had literally scrubbed my existence and my tastes from this house, replacing me completely.

Luna Vivienne's artificial smile dramatically faltered, her jaw tightening for a fraction of a second before she nervously smoothed her features. "Well, there are plenty of dishes tonight. If you don't like something, I can have the kitchen staff fix something else for you right away..."

I pulled out a heavy, ornate mahogany chair and sat down, keeping my voice utterly flat and unyielding. "No need. Let's just talk about the cottage."

Before Alpha Tiberius could slam his fist on the table and boom a loud reprimand regarding my blatant impatience, the sound of heavy boots violently echoed from the grand staircase. Silas, my younger brother, bounded down into the hall. He immediately zeroed in on me, his eyes narrowing in absolute hostility as he pointed an accusatory finger.

"Hey, you're in the wrong seat," Silas barked, his voice loud and entitled. "That's sister Vespera's spot."

I slowly leaned back in the expensive chair, crossing my arms over my chest. I openly challenged the picture-perfect, deeply flawed image of their beloved pack dynamics. I raised an eyebrow, my tone dripping with pure, unapologetic sarcasm. "Did we start labeling chairs in this house? What if I decide to sit here anyway?"

Vespera, ever the calculated, manipulative actress, immediately played the understanding saint. She softly waved off the offense, her voice a gentle, breathy whisper of fake grace. "It's fine, Silas. Really. Let her sit there. It's just a chair."

Despite Vespera's feigned forgiveness, Luna Vivienne quickly panicked. She frantically ordered the nearby servants to move Vespera's chair safely to her side, instantly painting me as the bitter, hostile intruder bullying her way into my own home. Unbothered by their pathetic, transparent display, I deliberately shifted my seat anyway. I grabbed the edge of my heavy wood chair and loudly scraped it across the polished floor, sliding far away from Silas's side of the table.

"Just keeping my distance," I murmured with a dark, mocking smirk. "Wouldn't want to catch your stupidity."

Silas's face twisted in instant rage, his jaw clenching as he half-rose from his seat. Luna Vivienne half-heartedly snapped at him to stop instigating, but her reprimand lacked any real heat or authority. With the seating arrangement finally settled, the atmosphere in the dining room aggressively shifted. The brief flash of tension was suddenly swallowed by a nauseating, sickening sweetness that made my skin crawl with discomfort.

They all began to feign deep concern about my recent injuries from the rogue attack. They looked at my barely healed skin with faux sympathy. Tiberius leaned forward, his usually gruff and demanding voice turning unnervingly calm and coaxing.

"You should really move back home, Cerys," Tiberius suggested gently, pouring himself another glass of rich red wine. "It is much safer here within the estate walls. We can properly take care of you. You shouldn't be out there alone."

I stared blankly at the untouched porcelain plate in front of me. It was a manipulative, carefully constructed scene I had endured a hundred times over. It was their favorite, twisted game—a brutal, soul-crushing slap to the face followed swiftly by a giant spoon of sweet honey. They wanted to sweep their recent, horrific abuse under the rug by offering me a 'safe home,' acting as if the past years of isolation meant nothing.

Then Vespera smiled across the long table. Her amber gaze locked onto mine, cutting into me like jagged shards of glass hidden behind a velvet curtain. "Yes, Cerys," she chimed in, her voice echoing perfectly through the hall. "This is your home. We're family—no grudges between us."

I slowly lifted my head. I let the heavy silence stretch for a heartbeat as I met Vespera's calculating, perfectly innocent eyes. Then, I smiled back, my lips pulling wide to bare my teeth in a sharp, feral grin.

"Funny you should mention grudges."

Every single eye at the long, extravagant table snapped toward me instantly. The ambient, soft chatter from the adjacent halls seemed to vanish entirely. The air in the room grew incredibly thin, thick with a suddenly suffocating, dangerous tension.

"Because I don't recall anyone apologizing for trying to brand me a murderer," I stated, my voice ringing out with lethal clarity.

The temperature in the grand hall plummeted to absolute freezing. Silas froze completely, his fork hovering uselessly halfway to his mouth. Tiberius's large hand tightened violently around the stem of his wine glass, his knuckles turning white. Vivienne's breath hitched audibly in the quiet room. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the polished mahogany table, keeping my voice incredibly soft and lethally sweet.

"If I hadn't gone to the Enforcers myself," I continued, my gaze piercing through each of them one by one, "I'd still be carrying that title—'the wolf who killed her aunt.' The very title all of you were perfectly happy to let me hang for." I tilted my head, my golden eyes flashing with raw, unyielding dominance. "Seems worth at least one apology, doesn't it?"

Absolutely no one spoke. The delicate clinking of silverware stopped completely. Even the roaring, crackling fire in the massive stone hearth seemed to quiet under the sheer force of my simmering resentment exploding into calculated dominance. The suffocating, fake peace they had tried to construct tonight was utterly, irreversibly shattered.

I sat there, watching the sheer panic and discomfort flicker in their wide eyes. Let them squirm in their expensive seats, I thought. Let them choke on their own hypocrisy. I had played the silent, enduring scapegoat for far too long, absorbing their blows to keep the peace. But those days were over. If they genuinely believed tonight's dinner would neatly end in a tearful reunion and a sweeping declaration of forgiveness, they were about to violently learn the truth.

I was not the obedient, frightened little cub they had buried all those years ago.