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Chapter 3

Morning arrived swiftly, its arrival feeling sudden and intrusive. It seemed like only moments ago that I had closed my eyes in restless anticipation. Stirring awake with the realization that it was time to prepare for the inevitable departure, I rose and attended to my morning ablutions.

Today marked a significant transition—I was going to the Dekker estate, referred to by some as a mansion though it held the stature of a palace. It was crucial to make a presentable and elegant impression. I chose a navy-blue dress that swept the floor with its hem, hugging my curves appropriately and featuring a tasteful sweetheart neckline. A silver necklace settled around my neck, while matching earrings and a bracelet completed the ensemble. Silver heels added the final touch, and I let my hair cascade freely down my back.

A gentle rap at the door accompanied by the lady's voice, "Miss Sinclair, they have arrived for you," prompted me to inhale sharply before responding, "I'll be right out."

I gave myself a mental pep talk— You can do this, Renée. Deep breaths helped settle my nerves, and soon after, I gathered my belongings, took hold of my car keys, and stepped outside my room. Descending the stairs, I glimpsed my father below. Another breath steadied me against the resurgence of emotion. Although I struggled under the weight of my luggage, he offered no assistance, didn't even spare me a glance. His indifference was palpable as he followed close behind.

Outside, an entourage awaited: a white limousine flanked by two black SUVs. Five men stood at attention, bowing slightly as two rushed forward to relieve me of my bags. One then spoke, "Good morning, Miss Sinclair. I will be your chauffeur to the Dekker residence."

Taken aback and a bit ashamed at the pomp, I blurted out, "This is unnecessary; I plan to drive my own car."

The man appeared startled, then anxious. "I'm sorry, miss, but I've been instructed to escort you personally."

My heart sank; I couldn't be responsible for costing someone their job. But the car—I couldn't abandon it. It was a cherished connection to my mother, and the thought of leaving it behind tightened a knot in my throat.

"Can someone else drive my car there?" I inquired, the plea evident in my voice as I lifted the keys.

My father's dismissive command cut through the air: "Just leave the old, ugly thing."

His words struck me like a physical blow. How could he show such disregard? This wasn't just any car—it was a memento of his late wife, my mother.

"What?!" I exclaimed, hoping I had misheard, but his rolling eyes confirmed his stance. "Leave it."

Refusing to succumb to his callousness, I stood firm. "No." It was a simple word, one that hadn't passed my lips in defiance of him before. His anger was instant, a tempest rising in his eyes, shock etched into his features.

As he seemed on the verge of an outburst, the driver intervened smoothly. "It's okay, sir, we can arrange for the car to be brought along."

A sense of satisfaction eased the tension in my chest as the driver accepted my car key, passing it to one of his colleagues. "May we?" he inquired, gesturing towards the limousine with outstretched arms.

"Sure," I said, striding toward the vehicle. As he held the door for me, I turned to face my father one last time. "Goodbye, father." My voice was steady, my face a mask of bravery, but inside my heart fractured into shards of pain.

He returned my gaze with an emotionless expression before turning away to retreat inside the house. The dismissal stung, although it was not unexpected. I struggled to hold back tears as I took one final look at the home of my childhood, filled once with the love of two caring parents.

Maybe Hera was right; maybe this was a change for the better. Despite the dread of marrying someone described as both cruel and disabled, a fragile hope flickered within me.

Settled into the luxurious interior of the limousine, the door closed behind me, I watched through the rear window as my childhood home faded into the distance. A solitary tear managed its escape, and I hastily wiped it away, careful not to ruin my makeup. A distraction was needed.

The extravagant amenities inside the limousine caught me off guard. Plush black seats contrasted against the white exterior, while a mini counter stocked with wine glasses and bottles promised indulgence. On discovering a compartment full of snacks, my spirits momentarily lifted—sweets had always been my weakness.

Although I had grown up amidst wealth, such opulence was foreign to me. Few knew of Mr. Sinclair's younger daughter—I had always preferred the modesty of my mother's car over family extravagances.

As the mansion's gates loomed closer, my melancholy morphed into anxiety. My legs bounced with nervous energy, and Hera's voice echoed in my mind: Breathe, Renée, breathe. Her rare laughter followed, calling me adorable, which only made my cheeks burn hotter.

Determined to face my new life with resolve, I steeled myself for the moment ahead. The limousine slowed to a stop, and the door opened to reveal the Dekker mansion—a colossal structure of breathtaking beauty, so unlike the ancient austerity of my former home.

I stepped out, trying to maintain poise despite being awestruck by the mansion's grandeur. Led by the driver to an enormous front door, I murmured a thank you before he departed.

Taking a deep breath, I crossed the threshold into a new chapter of my life. Inside, the white walls adorned with intricate designs felt almost too pristine, like stepping into a world where even the air was untainted.

A man soon greeted me with what seemed like barely concealed annoyance. His curt command to follow left no room for pleasantries. As I matched his pace through the halls, I struggled to absorb the surrounding elegance, my thoughts intermittently returning to Gregory and the sting of his rejection.

Hera's reminder that he'd called me 'not his type' only soured the memory further. I pushed the thought aside; he didn't deserve my attention.

Arriving at large double doors guarded by two sentinels, a sense of surreal drama washed over me. The doors swung open, and I straightened my shoulders, bracing myself.

Beyond them lay a vast hall, and my eyes immediately found King Bryan—the fearsome King of all werewolves in Aryndall. My heart raced at the sight; being in the presence of such power was both awe-inspiring and terrifying.

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