Kieran's True mate

Chapter 2

Sheryl’s POV

Within moments, Maids burst into my room like a well-trained squadron. Their hands were swift and efficient, showing no regard for my emotional state.

“Stand,” one commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument.

I complied, my body rigid, allowing them to transform me from a desperate runaway to something more…presentable. They stripped me off my torn, bloodied clothing and led me to the bathroom. Hot water stung my wounds as they bathed me, their rough touches making me wince involuntarily. Each accidental brush against my injured side sent a sharp pain radiating through my body.

Their hands worked methodically - washing, drying, styling. They applied minimal makeup, just enough to highlight my features without appearing overly done. The dress they chose was a masterpiece of midnight blue silk, it was so luxurious. They probably got it from Victoria. She’s always wearing the latest trends and fashion, while I lived on my mother’s old clothes. The dress draped perfectly, concealing my injuries while accentuating my curvaceous frame.

When they finished, I barely recognized myself. The wild desperate girl who had tried to escape was gone, replaced by a polished, almost regal-looking young woman.

Two maids flanked me as they led me to the main hall. Their grip was firm. The hallway seemed endless, each step bringing me closer to my horrible fate.

We arrived at the main hall. My father sat rigid on one side, Alexandria looked at me with steel in her eyes, Victoria sat like a princess, with that annoying look of victory on her face. And then there was Sinclair.

He stood up, his movement predatory. With thunderous steps, he approached me. He was massive - not just in height but in pure, raw presence. His body was a landscape of muscle, carefully contained within an impeccably tailored black suit that seemed to struggle against his muscular frame. Dark hair framed a face that looked carved from granite. Impatience radiated through him like heat, as he stood in front of me like a Greek god.

His dark eyes locked onto me. I felt exposed. Stripped.

“What happened here last night?” the question was more a command, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to shake the very foundation of the room.

Silence.

He repeated the question, this time a roar that made everyone - including my father flinch.

Terror clawed at my throat. “I…I tried to escape,” I stammered, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

“You tried to escape.” he said, his voice cold. It was more of a statement than a question.

There was a moment of charged silence.

Suddenly, his nostrils flared, “I smell your blood,”

Before I could react, he tore the beautiful dress from my shoulder down to my side, revealing the dark, healing wound. From where I stood, I heard Victoria’s harsh intake of breath, obviously concerned for her dress than my welfare. She had probably planned on taking it back.

His eyes turned a shocking, terrifying crimson.

“Did she do this?” he demanded, his voice a dangerous growl.

Confusion paralyzed me. How did he know about Victoria?

When I didn’t respond immediately, he growled - a sound so primal it made everyone in the room flinch. In one swift motion, he turned and seized Victoria by her throat, lifting her effortlessly.

Victoria managed to choke out a desperate, “How…?”

But he cut her short with a thunderous slap. The slap echoed like gunshots - her head snapping back with the force of his blow.

“No one,” Sinclair snarled, “touches what belongs to me.”

And just as quickly, he dropped Victoria like a ragdoll.

Turning back to me, he seized my hand, and pulled me towards the door. As we stormed out, I couldn’t help myself. One final look back at Victoria on the floor staring daggers at me, made me smile. For the first time since this nightmare began, I actually smiled. A small victorious curl of my lips that said everything my voice couldn’t.

The car door slammed shut, sealing my fate. Sinclair’s presence filled the luxurious black SUV. The vehicle was clearly custom-built to accommodate his massive body and reflect his status.

Silence stretched between us like a razor-sharp wire. Every breath felt dangerous. Every potential movement seemed like it might trigger some unspoken threat.

I learned quickly that breathing too loudly, shifting too much, or even attempting to speak would result in a glacial stare that froze my very soul. He didn’t even need to look at me, his peripheral vision monitored me constantly.

Hours passed. The landscape transformed from my pack’s familiar forests to increasingly unfamiliar territories. Rolling hills gave way to more dramatic terrain - mountains in the distance surrounded by tall buildings.

When Ravenmoon finally came into view, I understood immediately why they were considered the most powerful pack in all the lands.

The territory was breathtaking. Massive stone walls surrounded a complex that looked more like a medieval castle merged with a modern architectural marvel. Perfectly manicured grounds stretched as far as the eye could see - each blade of grass seemingly positioned with mathematical precision. Ancient trees lined pristine pathways, their branches forming natural archways that spoke of centuries of careful cultivation.

As we approached, lines of staff materialized - literally seeming to appear from nowhere. Maids in crisp black and white uniforms stood perfectly aligned, their postures military-like. Men in tailored black suits stood equally rigid, their faces neutral, displaying absolutely no emotion,

Sinclair existed the vehicle with predatory grace. His commands were sharp, quick-spoken in a tone that brook no argument. Words were exchanged rapidly with the head staff, discussions I couldn’t hear but could feel the weight of.

And then he was gone. Disappeared into the massive building like a ghost.

I remained in the car, paralyzed. The realization was too hard to bear - this was my new home. A beautiful hellhole from which escape seemed not just difficult, but impossible.

The car door opened. Two maids helped me out. They guided me into the house with choreographed grace that suggested years of training.

The interior was a masterpiece of architectural wonder. Marble floors so polished they reflected like mirrors. Crystal chandeliers that looked like they were crafted by angels. Artwork that likely cost more than entire packs were worth adorned walls of rich, deep colors. Every surface spoke of wealth, power and refined elegance.

They led me to a bedroom that defied description. If my previous room was a closet, this was an entire kingdom. Soft blush-colored walls. A bed so large it could comfortably sleep six people. Silk drapes that cascaded from ceiling to floor. A sitting area with plush velvet furniture. Large windows that overlooked meticulously landscaped gardens.

The maids removed my torn clothes and dressed me in a soft, dove-gray lounge wear set - something that felt like liquid silk against my skin. Comfortable. Luxurious. Designed to make me feel both precious and powerless.

The head maid - a woman who looked to be in her fifties, with steel-gray hair pulled into a severe bun - Helen, as she was earlier called, dismissed the others with a single gesture.

“Wait here,” she instructed. Not a request. A command.

Her eyes bore onto me with an intensity that made me feel like a child being prepared for the most important examination of my life.

“You will listen carefully,” she began, her voice crisp and authoritative. “Master Sinclair has very specific expectations.”

She began listing the rules, each word carefully enunciated:

“First, silence is your greatest ally in this house. Master does not tolerate unnecessary noise. When he is in his study, in his private quarters or anywhere in this house, you will move like a ghost. No unnecessary conversations. No loud movements.”

Her fingers tapped against her clipboard, emphasizing each point.

“Second, obedience is not a suggestion - it is a requirement. Master does not like to repeat himself. When he gives an instruction, you will follow it immediately. Hesitation is not tolerated. Questioning is forbidden.”

She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a more serious tone.

“He is precise in everything. Meals must be prepared exactly to his specifications. Rooms must be maintained in perfect order. Your schedule will be dictated by his needs, not your desires. You will wake when he wants you to wake. You will sleep when he permits you to sleep.

The list continued. No unauthorized phone calls. No leaving the house without permission. No communication with anyone outside the pack without explicit consent. Every movement, every breath seemed to be regulated.

“Master is not a patient man,” she warned. “He does not wait. He does not forgive. And he certainly does not tolerate disobedience.”

I couldn’t help myself. The fear bubbling inside demanded an answer.

“What happens if I fail?” the words escaped before I stop them.

Helen’s expression changed. For a moment, something like genuine fear flickered in her eyes.

“You’ll probably end up like his previous wife,” she said flatly. “Dead and forgotten.”