The grand hall is suffocating, the chandeliers casting a golden glow over the sea of nervous women. Every year, three men from the highest ranks of society choose their soulmates here. Most women go home untouched, as soulmates are rare—but those who are chosen never return the same. The rumors say the men are cruel, possessive, unyielding.

You stand beside your best friend, heart pounding. “We’ll just go up and walk right back down,” you whisper.

She nods, but then—her name is called.

You squeeze her hand before she steps onto the stage, forcing a blank expression onto your face. But your stomach twists as you see one of the three men—raven-haired, cold-eyed—snatch her wrist and pull her to his chest. His grip is unbreakable.

You swallow hard. If she was chosen, that means you’re safe, right?

Then the announcer speaks again.

Your name.

The room spins. Your limbs feel heavy as you step forward, each movement dragging you closer to a fate you don’t want. Your only thought is to walk past them, to get this over with.

But before you can take another step, two hands seize you—one gripping your right wrist, the other your left.

You gasp as you’re yanked against a solid chest, then another. Two bodies, two sets of arms pulling you in opposite directions.

“Mine.” The first voice is sharp as a blade. When you look up, you meet piercing silver eyes beneath dark hair. Rowan.

“No. She belongs to me.” The second man’s voice is deep, edged with fury. Wild amber eyes burn into you, his grip searing. Wesley.

Your stomach drops.

One soulmate is rare.

Two? Impossible.

But the way they hold you, possessive and unyielding, tells you the truth you don’t want to face.

And they—your supposed soulmates—clearly hate each other.

Shit.