Rejected By My Mate; Claimed By Lycan Quadruplets Chapter 26

Irene's pov

If they wouldn't give me power, I would take control in the only way I'd ever been taught—through appearance, grace, and calculated presence.

The moment I left Father's lounge, I summoned my assistant. She arrived breathless, as always, scribbling something in that horrid little notepad of hers. I didn't care what she had planned for me today—it was all irrelevant now. There was only one item on my schedule that mattered.

"I need a dress," I said without breaking stride as I walked past her.

She blinked, almost tripping as she struggled to keep up. "Of course. For the dinner?"

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, mildly impressed. She was sharper than she looked. "Obviously. Something striking. Elegant. Enough to silence a room."

She nodded frantically, already dialing our stylist's number. I paused in the hall, turning to face her. "And cancel all meetings I don't personally approve of. I don't want to hear another whining request from the women's council this week."

"Yes, ma'am," she whispered, lowering her gaze.

The car was already waiting outside, a black luxury sedan that I preferred over the flashier models. Power didn't need to be screamed—it was best when it whispered. As I slid into the backseat, I stared out the tinted window, the rolling scenery of our estate a blur as my thoughts spiraled.

This dinner wasn't just about marriage anymore. It was about winning back control. They could move their chess pieces all they wanted, but I was still the queen on this board.

The stylist met us at the boutique—one of our exclusive private parlors tucked in the quiet side of town. The staff there knew better than to talk too much or ask foolish questions. They brought out gowns by the dozen, laying them out like offerings on the polished marble floors. Silks, velvets, and embroidered pieces that glistened under the soft chandelier lighting. Each one is expensive enough to buy out a small town.

"Which ones did the Fall collection feature?" I asked without looking up.

The stylist motioned to three gowns—one crimson with gold trimming, one obsidian black with hand-beaded details that shimmered like starlight, and another pearl-white gown that flowed like water.

"The black," I said. "It's bold without begging. The others look like they're trying too hard."

As they began tailoring the dress to fit, I sat back and sipped my espresso, watching them fuss over the hem like their lives depended on it. In many ways, they did. That was the difference between women like me and women like her. I didn't need a man's protection or pity to stand tall in a room—I was the room.

Later, I had my nails redone in a deep plum shade, paired with gold rings that made just enough noise when I tapped them against my glass. I didn't want to sparkle—I wanted to gleam like a blade in the dark.

The next morning, I oversaw the packing of our family's ceremonial items and selected the wine pairings for dinner. I didn't trust our servants to handle details as delicate as this. If even one mistake was made, it would reflect on me, not them. The arrangements needed to be flawless. Unforgivingly so.

By the time the weekend arrived, I was ready.

The car ride to Alpha Baron's estate was silent. Father read through a document while I stared ahead, expression blank. Bryan's presence hovered awkwardly at the far end of the backseat, a sulking, ungrateful child barely suppressing his irritation. I didn't speak to him. He didn't deserve my words. Not yet.

We arrived as the sun began to dip behind the trees, casting warm light over the grand columns of the estate's entrance. Their guards bowed as we stepped out, and I held my head high, ignoring the sharp scent of wolf musk that clung to the air. Disgusting. No matter how many silk curtains they hung, the stench of unwashed betas still lingered in this place.

Inside, everything gleamed—polished floors, candles in crystal holders, and large portraits of the Barons of old. They always did like reminding people of their legacy, even if it had gone sour over the years.

Dinner was held in the long hall, a ridiculous space filled with too much gold and not enough taste. I took my place beside Father and offered a tight smile to Baron's wife, who returned it with equal stiffness. We were wolves, yes, but we didn't snarl at dinner tables. Not in public.

Bryan arrived minutes later, looking like he'd been dragged through protocol backward. His suit fit, but his posture didn't. No pride. No discipline. It was as though the title of Alpha was a burden he couldn't wait to shrug off.

I didn't waste a second pretending to admire him.

As food was served, I focused on posture, utensils, and the rhythm of small talk. The usual veiled politics passed across the table—how safe the borders were, which alliance might be shifting, and which rogue movement had been crushed. And then the topic shifted, as it always did, to us.

"To the upcoming union," Alpha Baron toasted, raising his glass.

Everyone clinked politely. I did too, keeping my expression serene.

"May their bond bring strength to both our packs," his wife added.

A few murmurs of approval followed.

Bryan shifted beside me. He didn't speak. He didn't even look at me.

Coward.

After dinner, we moved into the lounge, where drinks were served and chairs were less stiff. Conversations grew louder, warmer. A few alphas shared hunting stories; betas nodded along like well-trained dogs. I found myself standing near one of the tall windows, letting the night air brush against my cheek through the slight crack in the pane.

I wasn't thinking of Bryan. Or the wedding.

I was thinking of Enzo.

On the way he stood between me and that girl like she mattered. On the way he dismissed me, in my presence, like I was the one invading his land.

It wasn't love I wanted from him.

It was an acknowledgment.

Respect.

He didn't have to like me. But he would learn that I wasn't a woman to be ignored. And if that meant becoming Luna and swallowing this moment of shame, then I would do it with a blade between my teeth and a crown of fire.

Let them think I was docile.

Let them believe I had forgotten.

Because when I rose, it would be not as a bride, but as a queen.