Talia’s POV
“Follow me,” the butler commanded, his tone sharp as ice while he gestured down the left corridor and began his stride.
My feet felt like lead as I forced them forward.
Every movement sent waves of exhaustion through my body, and the constant turns through this maze made my vision blur with dizziness.
The Vanderbilt estate stretched endlessly before me, a fortress of intimidation rather than comfort.
Cold stone passages twisted in every direction, supported by towering arches that seemed designed to crush the spirit of anyone who dared walk beneath them.
This wasn’t like the warm, welcoming homes back in Moonstone Pack territory.
Every surface here screamed power and dominance.
Flickering golden sconces cast dancing shadows across the walls, illuminating dark tapestries that bore the Vanderbilt family crest—a fierce black wolf silhouetted against a gleaming full moon.
The very air tasted of authority, heavy with the scent of aged pine and something darker underneath that made my wolf instincts recoil.
When we finally reached what he called the Guest Wing, my body trembled from sheer exhaustion.
My knees threatened to buckle, and the gnawing hunger in my stomach had become a constant, painful reminder of how little I’d eaten.
The butler came to an abrupt halt before massive wooden doors that looked like they belonged in a medieval castle.
His fingers worked through a heavy ring of keys with practiced efficiency before finding the right one.
The lock clicked, and the doors groaned open with the weight of ancient hinges.
“Your quarters,” he announced without ceremony, stepping aside with military precision.
His voice carried no warmth, no welcome—just cold duty.
“Your possessions will arrive momentarily.
Someone will attend to your needs shortly.”
I opened my mouth to speak, desperate to ask what came next, what was expected of me, anything that might help me understand this nightmare I’d been thrust into.
But he pivoted on his heel and marched away before I could form a single word, his footsteps echoing down the corridor until silence swallowed them completely.
No guidance.
No comfort.
Nothing.
I drew in a shaky breath and crossed the threshold.
The room surprised me with its size—certainly more spacious than the cramped corner I’d occupied in my father’s house.
An elegant four-poster bed dominated the far wall, draped in luxurious linens that probably cost more than everything I owned.
A substantial wooden armoire stood sentinel beside it, while a delicate vanity table perched near the arched window that overlooked the estate grounds.
Simple yet refined.
Still, none of it mattered.
This would never be home.
A harsh knock shattered the silence.
The door swung wide before I could respond, and a male servant entered without acknowledgment.
He dragged my pitiful luggage behind him like it carried some contagious disease, dropped it near the entrance, and departed without so much as a glance in my direction.
My jaw tightened.
Was I completely invisible to these people?
Pushing aside my frustration, I lunged toward my bag with desperate hands.
I’d barely managed to haul it onto the bed and work the zipper when the door exploded inward again.
Four women marched inside wearing identical dark uniforms, commanded by an older woman whose presence radiated authority like a weapon.
Her spine was rigid as a steel rod, and her calculating eyes studied me with the cold assessment of someone examining damaged goods.
Not one of them bothered with basic courtesy.
The leader stepped forward, clasping her hands behind her back in a gesture that screamed control.
“I am Madame Hildegard,” she announced.
“I manage all operations within the Vanderbilt household.”
Before I could process this introduction, she spun toward her subordinates and barked commands like a general deploying troops.
“You two—draw the bath immediately.” Her finger jabbed toward the first pair.
“The rest—organize her belongings properly.”
They scattered like trained soldiers, their synchronized movements unnervingly precise.
Bewilderment crashed over me in waves.
Nobody had ever provided such service for me—certainly not since the curse had stripped away everything I’d once been.
Back home, I’d ranked lower than the household staff.
Now suddenly I warranted personal maids?
Something about this felt terribly wrong.
Madame Hildegard returned her attention to me with that same clinical coldness.
“Bath time,” she declared, her gaze raking over me with obvious distaste.
“Remove those rags.”
Every muscle in my body went rigid.
My hands instinctively clutched at my torn dress.
“I’m perfectly capable of bathing alone.”
The silence that followed felt dangerous.
Then, with barely a nod from her, two maids surged forward and seized my arms with iron grips.
Panic and rage exploded through my veins.
“Release me!” I struggled against their hold, but they might as well have been carved from stone.
Madame Hildegard released an exaggerated sigh.
“You reek like something that crawled out of a gutter,” she stated with brutal honesty.
“Filthy strays have no place in the Vanderbilt residence.”
Stray?
She’d actually called me a stray?
Humiliation and fury slammed into me like a physical blow.
With calculated cruelty, Madame Hildegard gestured toward the vanity mirror.
“See what we must work with.”
I didn’t want to look.
But some masochistic impulse forced my eyes to the reflection, and my heart plummeted.
My silver hair hung in matted tangles.
Dirt and dried blood painted my face in grotesque patterns.
My dress hung in filthy tatters, and my bare feet looked like I’d walked through a battlefield.
I looked like something that belonged in the streets, not a noble estate.
No wonder their disgust was so obvious.
For one mortifying moment, I wondered how Caspian had endured sitting beside me in that car.
The man must have iron self-control.
Then defiance sparked.
Good.
I hoped I’d made him suffer.
The truth crystallized with painful clarity.
My appearance wasn’t just my personal shame—it reflected on Caspian’s reputation.
And everyone here knew it.
I exhaled slowly.
Fine.
I wouldn’t fight about accepting help with bathing.
Not from agreement, but from sheer exhaustion.
The servants guided me into the bathroom where a copper tub waited, filled with water that steamed invitingly.
This wasn’t kindness.
This was damage control.
When they stripped away my ruined clothing, I ground my teeth and swallowed my humiliation.
When they scrubbed my skin raw with merciless efficiency, I flinched but remained silent.
And when they attacked the knots in my hair with ruthless determination, I bit my lip until it bled rather than cry out.
I was new to this place and needed to endure whatever came until I could find my footing.
Eventually, they wrapped me in a simple white gown from my belongings.
Madame Hildegard observed everything before speaking again.
“You will adapt to our methods,” she declared.
“Whatever customs you learned in Moonstone are irrelevant now.
This is Umbra Wilds territory.”
I held my tongue.
“Wandering the estate unescorted is forbidden.” She moved closer, ensuring her words carried their intended weight.
“You will also demonstrate proper respect toward Alpha Caspian.”
Respect?
Internal laughter bubbled up, bitter and sharp.
That would happen when hell froze over.
Next came measurements for the wedding gown while Madame Hildegard dictated specifications to a servant who scribbled notes frantically.
She also ordered a white hat with a veil to conceal my facial scar, then mentioned bringing a doctor to examine the damage after the ceremony.
I felt no gratitude for her interest in healing my scar.
Whatever treatments they offered, I had no intention of using them.
Finally, Madame Hildegard clapped her hands decisively.
“Dinner service.”
She pressed a small fabric pouch into my palm.
“Carry this constantly,” she ordered.
I was too drained to protest.
But the ultimate insult awaited.
After being dragged through more endless corridors and staircases to reach the dining room, I arrived to find Caspian’s chair conspicuously empty.
Yet protocol demanded I wait.
No one could begin eating until the Alpha graced us with his presence.
Thirty agonizing minutes crawled by before a servant finally informed me he wouldn’t be joining us after all.
No explanation.
No courtesy.
My stomach cramped with hunger while my hands clenched into fists.
This was obviously Caspian’s deliberate punishment, designed to establish his dominance.
Calculating bastard.