Betrayed and Claimed by the Lycan King Chapter 32

Isolde's POV

 

After the training, I went back alone.

 

I was barely through the door of the Alliance Residence when Greta's sharp voice cut through the lobby chatter.

 

"Miss Blackwood. My office. Now."

 

*Fantastic.* I'd been hoping for a quiet evening to recover from the drama of Ezra and Orion's public sparring match, but apparently the universe had other plans.

 

Greta's office was as sterile and unwelcoming as ever, decorated with motivational posters about "Excellence Through Service" that made my skin crawl. She didn't bother looking up from her paperwork when I entered.

 

"You have executive service tonight," she said without preamble.

 

I stared at her, certain I'd misheard. "I'm sorry, what?"

 

"Executive service. Tonight."

 

*This has to be a mistake.*

 

"I just did executive service three days ago," I said, trying to keep my voice level despite the anger building in my chest. "There's supposed to be at least a week between assignments."

 

"Are you questioning me?" Her eyebrows rose dangerously.

 

"Not... not exactly," I replied, my throat suddenly dry.

 

"So?" Her tone was sharp as a knife.

 

I nervously rubbed the back of my neck. "I just thought there might be a rotation system, that I wouldn't be scheduled again for at least a few weeks."

 

"Corporate executives can request the service of any Moon Alliance participant at any time," she replied with a smirk that didn't reach her eyes. "You have no right to refuse. It's clearly stated in the contract you signed."

 

"I understand." The words tasted bitter on my tongue.

 

"Good. Meet the other girls at the image management center at eight o'clock sharp. Tardiness will not be tolerated. And you'll be joined by Thalia for this evening's event."

 

*Thalia?* My stomach dropped. "This is her first time."

 

"Indeed. Consider it a learning opportunity for both of you."

 

The smugness in her voice made everything click into place. This wasn't about scheduling or special circumstances—this was revenge. Greta was punishing me for Ezra's intervention, and she was dragging Thalia into it as collateral damage.

 

*That vindictive bitch.*

 

As I walked away, I couldn't help but feel this had nothing to do with actual executive requests and everything to do with Greta's animosity toward me. This was a deliberate humiliation, another way to break me down.

 

Passing Alliance girls whispered and smirked, clearly delighting in my predicament.

 

I stormed into my suite, slamming the door behind me. "I HATE this goddamn place!" I shouted, throwing my gym bag onto the floor, workout gear spilling across the polished hardwood.

 

Thalia was staring at the formal notification that had been slipped under her door. Her face was pale, her hands shaking slightly as she held the paper.

 

"Isolde," she said when she saw me, relief evident in her voice. "Tell me this is some kind of mistake."

 

"I wish I could," I said, sinking onto her bed beside her. "Greta just confirmed it. We're both assigned tonight."

 

"But I thought I'd have more time to... to prepare myself mentally." Thalia whispered.

 

*There's no amount of time that makes this easier.*

 

---

 

The preparation room was buzzing with activity when we arrived at five-thirty. A dozen Alliance girls were in various stages of transformation, being styled by professional makeup artists and wardrobe assistants who treated us like dolls to be dressed up.

 

"Oh my god, I'm so excited!" squealed Kelly, one of the girls from our floor. "I heard Alpha is coming tonight too!"

 

I exchanged a look with Thalia.

 

"I hope I can have a chance to talk to him," added another girl, admiring herself in a hand mirror. "This could be my chance to find a real catch."

 

"Ladies, please take your designated chairs," announced the head stylist. "We have a lot of work to do and limited time."

 

I was directed to a chair next to Thalia's, where a stylist immediately began attacking my hair with heated tools. The woman assigned to Thalia was explaining the evening's "look" in tones usually reserved for discussing the weather.

 

"We're going for sophisticated seduction tonight," she chirped. "Something that says 'available but not desperate,' if you know what I mean."

 

*I know exactly what you mean, and I hate every word of it.*

 

"Is the dress supposed to be this short?" Thalia asked nervously as an assistant held up a barely-there black cocktail dress.

 

"Honey, that's the point," Kelly called from across the room.

 

*That's the most depressing thing I've heard all day.*

 

"I feel like a piece of meat," Thalia muttered under her breath as the stylist began applying makeup.

 

"That's because you are," I replied quietly. "We all are."

 

"God, you two are such downers," said Kelly. "This is a privilege! Do you know how many girls would kill for this opportunity?"

 

*Then they can have it.*

 

"I'm just saying," Kelly continued, "instead of complaining, maybe you should be grateful. These men could change our lives if we play our cards right."

 

*Change our lives into what?*

 

"Into mistresses and kept women," I said before I could stop myself.

 

The room went uncomfortably quiet. Several girls turned to stare at me, their expressions ranging from shocked to offended.

 

"That's not fair," Kelly said defensively. "Some of these relationships become real. Some girls find actual love."

 

*And some girls tell themselves fairy tales to make the truth bearable.*

 

"I'm sure you're right," I said diplomatically, not wanting to start a fight. But the damage was done—I could feel the other girls' resentment like a physical weight.

 

*They hate hearing the truth because it forces them to confront what they're really doing,* Lyra observed.

 

As the stylists continued their work, transforming us into whatever fantasy these men had dreamed for, I caught Thalia's eye in the mirror. She looked terrified but determined, like someone preparing for battle.