When I arrived at the mate ceremony, Sharon Taylor, a Delta warrior from our pack, stepped out of the crowd. “Lily, don’t be nervous,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “Before a Beta’s mate can officially marry him, they have to pass a test of strength by a Delta warrior. Only a strong werewolf is worthy of standing beside a Beta. Ethan asked me to go easy on you. We’ll just put on a little show for the crowd.” My fated mate, Beta Ethan Miller, stood right beside her. He remained silent, his face blank. I thought it was just a traditional formality, so I didn’t think twice. I walked straight into the cleared center of the hall. But in the next second, Sharon instantly shifted into her wolf form. With a vicious, full-force leap, she pinned me to the ground. Before I could even scream, her fangs sank deep into my throat. My vision went black, and my consciousness slipped into the dark. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. One month before the mate ceremony. I walked straight through the pack’s main residential area and headed to the nursery gardens on the far west side. That was where Old John lived. He was a close friend of my late father, once the strongest warrior in the pack. After retiring, he chose to spend his days as a quiet gardener. “Uncle John,” I called out. He looked up, squinting at me for a few long seconds before recognizing me. “Little Lily? Look at you, all grown up. Looking for your dad? He’s gone, sweetheart.” “I know. I’m here for you.” He put down his shears and wiped the dirt off his hands. “What’s on your mind?” “I want you to teach me how to fight.” He looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on my thin arms and legs. He let out a dry chuckle. “You? You’ve probably never even scratched a rogue wolf.” I didn’t say a word. I pulled a thick envelope of cash out of my bag and placed it on the brick ledge. Ten thousand dollars. My entire savings from working at the pup nursery for two years. He glanced at it but didn’t touch it. “I don’t need your money, kid.” But then, I rolled up my sleeve. When he saw the deep, ugly bruises left on my arm by a drunk Ethan Miller, he went completely silent. He stood up, brushed the dirt off his knees, walked into his tool shed, and tossed a pair of old, worn-out boxing gloves at my feet. “Be here at this exact time tomorrow. If you’re late, don’t bother coming back.” On the first day, he made me stand still. Then, he suddenly struck. Slaps, punches, sweeps—attacks came from every angle. I could only raise my arms in a desperate, instinctive attempt to block. “Too slow,” he grunted. Every time a blow landed, a flash of my past life crossed my mind. I remembered Sharon Taylor’s massive wolf form pinning me down. The feeling of her fangs tearing through my windpipe was as clear as if it had happened yesterday. And Ethan? Not long after my funeral, he officially mated with Sharon Taylor. They took over my inheritance. They lived in my house. Everyone in the pack praised Ethan Miller for being a loyal, grieving man who found love again, and they called Sharon Taylor a sweet, supportive angel. Not a single soul asked if I, the bride murdered by her own fated mate’s accomplice, deserved justice. Thinking of this, I pushed myself up from the dirt and gestured to Old John. “Again.” He nodded, a spark of approval in his eyes. “Get ready.” That night, I lay on the wooden cot inside the nursery garden shed. There wasn’t a single spot on my body that didn’t ache. My phone screen lit up. A message from Ethan Miller on Snapchat. “Babe, I just finished my shift and finally got to eat. I’m taking care of everything with the wedding planners. Just relax and get ready to be the most beautiful bride.” I stared at the word “shift,” then unlocked my phone and opened Instagram. Sharon Taylor had posted an update just three minutes ago. It was a selfie of her trying on a wedding dress. In the background, draped over the arm of the sofa, was a dark blue Hermès tie—the exact birthday gift I had bought for Ethan Miller last month. Her caption read: *“Only the truly cherished get the privilege of a dress fitting first.”* I gripped my phone tight, opened Snapchat, and sent Ethan a voice note. “Thanks, babe. You’re working so hard. I trust you completely with the wedding planning.” Then, I typed out a message. “By the way, babe, I saw a limited-edition designer wedding dress. There are only three in the world. The deposit is twenty thousand dollars. What do you think?” “Isn’t that a bit too expensive? A regular dress would look just as beautiful on you.” “But I only get married once. And didn’t you promise to give me the most lavish wedding in the city?” The other side went silent for nearly two minutes. Finally, he replied with one word: “Okay.” A cold smirk played on my lips. I turned off the phone and rolled over to face the wall. Oh, Ethan Miller. In my past life, you wanted my pack inheritance, my house, and my life. In this life, I’m going to drain you dry first.
During the day, I kept working at the pack’s pup nursery. I fed the toddlers, put them down for naps, and played games with them. A little boy who had just learned to walk clung to my knee, his tiny hand gripping my apron, murmuring, “Lily, Lily.” A coworker smiled nearby. “Lily, you were born for this. These pups absolutely adore you.” I smiled back but said nothing. In my past life, I truly loved this job. I loved these noisy little angels. But back then, I never realized that tenderness meant nothing in a wolf pack—how could a mere nursery worker be worthy of being a Beta’s fated mate? As soon as my shift ended, I walked to the garden on the west side. Old John was already waiting for me. He didn’t teach me fancy moves. He just made me dodge. Punch, kick, sweep—he attacked ruthlessly. “Too slow,” he kept repeating. After a few days, I was covered in blue and purple bruises, but I was slowly learning to react the split second his body moved. One evening, a few kids from the nursery whose parents were late to pick them up followed me to the garden. They ran around the flowerbeds, playing with sticks, while I continued my dodging practice. Old John watched them for a long time, then leaned in. “Don’t you find these little brats annoying?” I shook my head. “I love them.” “Huh. You actually act like a real Luna. Too bad our Alpha still hasn’t found his mysterious fated mate yet.” He shrugged and patted my shoulder. “Up. Keep practicing.” That night, my best friend Sophia Parker came to pick me up. Seeing my bruised arms, her eyes went red instantly. “Lily, are you crazy? Why are you doing this to yourself?” I took off my hand wraps and gulped down some water. “Take a look at this.” I handed her my phone. On the screen were screenshots of embezzled funds sent by a private investigator. Ethan Miller had embezzled twenty thousand dollars of pack public funds. Fifteen thousand of that went toward a Cartier bracelet. The recipient: Sharon Taylor. Sophia’s eyes widened in horror. “Ethan embezzled pack funds to buy that bitch Cartier? What did he ever buy you? A cheap ten-dollar bouquet of supermarket flowers for your birthday! Cancel the wedding, Lily! Do not marry this trash!” I shook my head and took my phone back. “No, I can’t cancel it. I need him to crawl on his knees and spit out every single cent he stole from me.” Sophia looked at me, her expression turning into one of pure awe. “Lily, I don’t know what you’re planning, but whatever it is, I’ve got your back.” I watched her leave, then bent down to continue my training. Three days before the mate ceremony, the investigator sent me one final audio recording. It was recorded inside Ethan’s car. Sharon’s voice was unmistakable. “Ethan, once she’s out of the picture after the ceremony, her house is fully paid off, right? Transfer the deed to your name, and we can move in. It’ll be perfect.” Ethan chuckled. “What’s the rush? Once we get her pack trust fund and empty her savings account, this marriage will be worth every second.” Sharon giggled. “You’re so bad, Ethan.” “Don’t you love it, though?” “I absolutely adore it.” The recording ended. I sat in Old John’s tool shed and listened to it three times on loop. My hands were perfectly steady as I backed up the audio file to three different secure cloud drives. Then, I wired the final payment to the investigator with a note: *Great work. Worth every penny.*
Two days before the ceremony, Ethan’s mother, Helen Miller, showed up at my house. She brought a bag of bruised, discounted apples, sat on my sofa with her legs crossed, and immediately started acting like the boss of the house. “Lily, dear, I need to talk to you about something.” “Your house was fully paid off before the wedding, right? Now that you’re marrying Ethan, you two are one family. It looks so bad if the house is only in your name.” “Add Ethan’s name to the deed. It’ll make you look like a supportive, loving wife to the rest of the pack.” I held my teacup and remained quiet. “Even Sharon said that couples shouldn’t keep secrets. Generosity makes a marriage last.” *“Even Sharon said.”* How lovely. An outsider was deciding how my property should be handled, and my future mother-in-law took it as gospel. I took a deep breath and forced a sweet, innocent smile. “You’re absolutely right. Give me the property papers, and I’ll go take care of the transfer tomorrow.” Helen beamed, pulling the property documents right out of her bag and handing them to me. Unbelievable. She had brought them with her, just waiting for this moment. I took the documents and escorted her out. The second the door closed, my smile vanished. I didn’t go to the registry office to add Ethan’s name. I went straight to the bank. I took out a property equity loan. My house was worth $500,000. I walked out with a $350,000 cash loan. The money cleared that very afternoon. I transferred every single cent into Sophia Parker’s offshore account. In my past life, Ethan had forcefully transferred this house to his name and sold it, leaving me with nothing. In this life, he wouldn’t even get a single brick. When I got home, Ethan was actually in the kitchen. He handed me a cup of dark, strong-smelling herbal tea. “Babe, you look tired lately. I brewed this nighttime wellness tea for you. Drink up, get a good night’s sleep, and be the most beautiful bride the day after tomorrow.” I took the cup. Beneath the heavy herbal scent, I caught a sharp, chemical trace of sleeping pills. He wanted me drugged and unconscious before the ceremony so Sharon would have plenty of time to prepare for the “test.” I brought the cup to my lips, pretending to drink. The moment he turned around, I spat it into a paper towel, balled it up, and stuffed it into my pocket. “Thanks, babe. It’s great.” A flash of smug satisfaction crossed Ethan’s eyes. “Great. Go to sleep early. We have rehearsal tomorrow.” He grabbed his jacket, walked into the guest room, and locked the door to make a call. I pressed my ear against the wall. “Sharon, she drank it. Sleeping like a log. Everything is set for the ceremony.” Sharon’s voice came muffled through the wall. “Ethan, when she gets on the stage, should I bite her left shoulder or her throat first?” Ethan laughed. “Whatever makes you happy. She won’t survive the bite anyway.” I went back to my bedroom and locked the door. I sat at my desk, opened my laptop, and organized all the evidence I had gathered into a clean, timed slideshow presentation. I titled it: **”The Groom’s Chronicles.”** I set the program to auto-play and linked it directly to the ceremony hall’s main projector account. With everything set, I lay back on my bed and closed my eyes. I wasn’t a victim anymore. I was a sharpened blade.
The day of the mate ceremony arrived. At 6:00 AM, Sophia Parker arrived to do my makeup. When she unpacked the twenty-thousand-dollar designer wedding dress and held it against me, her hands began to shake. “Lily Anderson… your arms…” The dress was a strapless, off-the-shoulder gown, leaving my collarbones and arms completely exposed. The lean, hard muscle definition on my forearms was clear. “Don’t worry about it. Just put on some heavy concealer.” Sophia bit her lip and stopped asking. She applied three layers of heavy-duty concealer to hide the fading bruises. Once the gown was on and the veil was set, I turned around in front of the mirror. The woman in the reflection was breathtaking in her white gown. She looked entirely different from the weak, fragile girl who had been slaughtered in my past life. The old Lily Anderson was dead. The one standing here had crawled back from the depths of hell. At 8:00 AM, the wedding car arrived. Ethan Miller, looking sharp in a tailored black tuxedo, stood by the door. His face was cleanly shaved, his shoes polished to a high shine. His eyes lit up when he saw me. I smiled, took his arm, and got into the car. Sharon Taylor was sitting in the front passenger seat. She wore a simple bridesmaid dress, her hair in a low ponytail, with minimal makeup. She turned around, giving me a weak, fragile smile. “Lily, you look so beautiful today.” Then she covered her mouth and let out a soft cough. I reached out and squeezed her hand with a warm smile. “Thank you, Sharon. I know you’ve been feeling under the weather, yet you still came to be my bridesmaid. It means so much.” “Of course. Witnessing your happiness makes it all worth it, Lily.” Ethan glanced at Sharon in the rearview mirror, and Sharon caught his gaze. The look they exchanged lasted less than a second, but I saw it all—the triumph, the thrill, and the sick anticipation. The car drove into the grandest banquet hall in the territory. Flowers lined the entrance, and a red carpet rolled out to the doors. Ethan got out first, opened my door, and offered his hand like a perfect gentleman. “We’re here, babe.” I lifted my skirt, took his arm, and walked in. As we pushed open the heavy double doors of the banquet hall, the crowd erupted into thunderous applause. I scanned the room. The floral arrangements, the lighting, the tables—everything matched the expensive plans. Except for one thing. In the center of the hall, where the champagne tower should have been, a large, empty combat ring had been cleared out. I pretended to be shocked and looked at Ethan. “What is… this?” Ethan patted my hand gently, his voice smooth and reassuring. “Don’t worry, Lily. It’s just pack tradition. A Beta’s mate needs to show her strength to bless the union. It’s for good luck.” He stepped aside, and Sharon walked out from behind him, a sports jacket zipped up over her bridesmaid dress. She still wore that fragile, sickly expression. “Lily, Ethan insisted on this. I tried to say no. Don’t worry, I’m so weak right now, I probably don’t even have half your strength. We’ll just tap each other and call it a day.” The guests, clueless about the scheme, began to cheer and jeer. “Go for it! It’s tradition!” “Don’t be shy, bride! Show us what you got!” “Sharon is basically a twig, Lily! You’ve got nothing to fear!” The cheers grew louder and louder. Everyone was laughing, cheering, thinking it was a harmless game. Just like in my past life. I remained silent for ten seconds, then looked straight into Ethan’s eyes. “I’ll do it.” Ethan blinked, caught off guard. I continued, “But on one condition. In case of any accidents, we sign a blood oath so no one can blame the other.” I took a document from Sophia, who was waiting nearby, and unfolded it in front of Ethan. The terms were spelled out in bold, black ink. *“During the sparring session, any physical injury caused by either party shall be the sole responsibility of the injured party. Neither party shall seek compensation or legal action.”* Ethan looked down at the document, his lips twitching into a smirk. To him, I was signing my own death warrant. Sharon’s eyes lit up, and she snatched the pen to sign her name immediately. Once she signed the blood oath, I handed the paper back to Sophia for safekeeping. Then, under the gaze of three hundred guests waiting for a show, I slowly unzipped and stepped out of my wedding gown, revealing the athletic wear I wore underneath.
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