Author: Momo Chan

I was the female CEO who made Wall Street flinch. But I went blind pulling my daughter out of a kidnapping. Her thank-you? “Can Daddy’s girlfriend be my new mommy?” How did it come to this? Chloe, my little girl who used to hide behind my legs around strangers, became my eyes outside—guiding me through crowds, never letting go of my hand. My husband Adrian stepped into my position and carried that weight for six grueling years. Then comes the day Thorne Group goes public. Our driver brings me to the office, saying Adrian wants me there for the bell-ringing ceremony. But the moment I’m walked out, I don’t hear applause or champagne. Just wind. And then a gasp ripples through the crowd below: “God—look, Adrian’s blind wife is trying to jump off the roof!” “Everyone knows Adrian and Vivienne Sterling are the real power couple—not him and that blind freak.” The wind whips past my ears. Sirens wail in the distance. That’s when I realize—someone lured me up rooftop on purpose. They wanted a show. “Evelyn!” Adrian rushes over and grabs me, yanking me to the ground. His voice is sharp with resentment. “You’re blind—why the hell did you come out here? Haven’t you dragged me and Chloe down enough?” I open my mouth to explain, but my daughter’s tiny voice cuts through first: “Daddy, don’t save Mommy next time, okay? I wanna get a new mommy…” “Can your girlfriend be my new mommy?” I collapse onto the ground. And then—right as the tears are about to fall—I see light. Faint at first, then brighter. Shapes bleed through the darkness. I can see. I see Adrian’s lips move. No sound. But I read them clearly: “Sounds good.” “Yay! I’m finally getting a new mommy!” I can’t breathe. “Even her own kid thinks she’s pathetic!” “Six years with a blind wife? That man’s a saint! I would’ve been gone day one.” The crowd starts sneering. The face I’d imagined a thousand times in the dark—my daughter’s face—is now staring at me with disgust. “Chloe…” I reach out, the way I always used to, wanting to hold her. “Get away from me! Don’t touch me, you blind!” Chloe jerks backward, jumping back like I’m disgusting. “It’s all your fault! My classmates all laugh at me for having a blind mom! Nobody wants to play with me!” Her words hit me like a knife to the gut. Six years ago, she was taken by kidnappers. I showed up with ten million dollars in ransom to get her back. But the moment the money hit their account, they detonated the bomb. I threw my body over hers. That’s the only reason she’s alive. The price was my eyes. I never saw anything again. “Chloe.” Adrian finally speaks up, pinching the space between his brows. “That’s enough. Mommy lost her eyes because of—” “She’s NOT blind because of me! She totally did it on purpose!” My daughter points toward the edge of the rooftop. “Why else would she be standing over there? She just wants people to feel sorry for her!” I try to speak. Nothing comes out. Right then, the media cameras swing toward me like wolves. “Ma’am—are you up here because you’ve lost it? Is this your way of guilting your husband and daughter? Some kind of sick revenge?” The camera flashes sting my eyes. The whispers around me grow uglier and uglier. People shove me from every direction. I fumble helplessly, hoping Adrian will step in. But Adrian is standing right next to me. His lips part slightly—then he looks away. “Adrian, you can’t even handle something this small? And you think you can compete with me?” Vivienne Sterling strolls over, flanked by a wall of bodyguards. The words are a dig at Adrian, but she steps in front of him, blocking every camera with her body. “Everyone.” She turns to face the press, her smile perfectly composed. “Today is a partnership celebration between Sterling Group and Thorne Group. I trust you’ll all know when to put the cameras down.” One sentence. The same reporters suddenly bow and start packing up their gear. She doesn’t even raise her voice. One wave of her hand, and she solves the mess I can’t. I used to be that person. I used to be the one who showed up and made people fall in line. But now— “Miss Viv!” Chloe doesn’t hesitate. She steps right on my hand and throws herself into Vivienne’s arms. “What took you so long?” The same daughter who just looked at me with disgust is now giggling in another woman’s embrace. The pain in my hand is nothing compared to the one in my chest. Adrian watches the scene, something I can’t read on his face. Finally, he says quietly: “Vivienne, thanks again for bailing out Thorne Group. Let me walk you out.” Vivienne scoops up Chloe like it’s second nature, then shoots me a look of contempt. “Adrian, I helped Thorne Group because of you.” She pauses, her fingers hooking under Adrian’s tie, giving it a slow tug. “As for how you’ll repay me—you know exactly what I want.” He catches her hand on his tie, but his thumb strokes slowly across her knuckles. “Behave. We’re just business partners.” But his thumb lingers on her jawline a beat too long. Soft, knowing laughter ripples through the crowd. The three of them walk away together like a family, carried along by whistles and teasing. And I’m still on the ground, eyes stinging, unable to move. “I don’t get Adrian. Why keep that burden around? Just divorce her already.” “Exactly! Vivienne’s been waiting for him for six whole years! And he’s stuck babysitting that burden!” Their words drift into my ears again. Before, I would’ve lost my mind arguing with them. I would’ve clung to Adrian, begging him not to leave. But this time—they’re half-right. It’s time to end this.

After we come down from the rooftop, Adrian insists on taking me to the hospital for a checkup. Dr. Harris examines my eyes carefully. Slowly, excitement creeps across his face. “Mr. Thorne, your wife’s vision—” “Sorry, I need to take this.” Adrian’s phone buzzes. He glances at the caller ID and walks briskly out of the room. The movement is subtle, but I catch it—the name on his screen: Vivienne Sterling. The second he turns away, I raise my hand to stop Dr. Harris. “Dr. Harris, please keep this between us.” I lower my voice. “I want to… tell him the surprise myself.” The lie sits heavy in my throat. Thankfully, Dr. Harris doesn’t notice anything off. He catches on quickly and claps me on the shoulder. “Almost forgot! News this big—of course you should be the one to tell him.” After six years, I’d gotten good with a cane. But now that I can see again, every step feels impossibly heavy. Before I know it, I wander into the middle of the road. A screech of tires—a black sedan speeding straight at me. I see it clearly. Vivienne Sterling behind the wheel. And Adrian sitting right beside her. I stumble and fall. At the last second, brakes scream. The bumper stops inches from my face. “Do you have a death wish?!” Adrian jumps out of the car. His hands won’t stop shaking as he grabs my arms, his grip so tight it bruises. “What happens to me if you die? What happens to Chloe?” He checks me over with bloodshot eyes, searching for injuries. For one second—just one—I almost let myself believe he still cares about me. “Don’t worry.” His jaw clenches. That’s when I notice it—something reddish smeared at the corner of his mouth. “I will find whoever did this to you.” He says it firmly. But his eyes drift involuntarily toward the driver’s seat. Vivienne is still behind the wheel, inspecting her nails without a care in the world. Through the windshield, I see Vivienne press her lips together—the exact same shade that is smeared on Adrian’s mouth. Adrian helps me into the back seat, then pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through work emails. Vivienne leans over, pressing herself against his arm. Her fingers trace slow circles on his thigh. “You’re so boring when you work.” “Cut it out.” He doesn’t look up. But he doesn’t push her away either. She tilts his chin toward her and kisses him. Slow, deep. Her fingers sliding into his hair. Adrian’s hand finds her waist, then her hip, pulling her closer across the center console. They break apart just long enough for him to murmur against her lips: “Tonight. You’ll pay for this.” Vivienne bites her bottom lip and smiles, settling back into her seat like nothing happened. I sit exactly the way I always have. Eyes blank. Staring straight ahead at nothing. “Is there anyone else in the car?” I ask softly. Adrian wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and shifts away from Vivienne. “…No. Just the two of us.” I watch the streets blur past the window. For the first time in six years, one thing is perfectly, painfully clear: The family I almost died for doesn’t have room for me anymore.

Back home, I call out for her. “Nana Ruth?” She’s been with me since I was three years old—more mother to me than anyone. After I went blind, she never left my side. She fed me, dressed me, walked me through the house with her arm locked in mine. No answer. I feel along the wall down the hall. Her slippers aren’t by the door. Her reading glasses aren’t on the side table. Her knitting basket is gone. “Looking for that old woman?” One of the maids side-eyes me, voice dripping with amusement. “Think I saw her near the storage room this morning. Maybe check for yourself?” A bad feeling rises in my gut. I make my way toward the storage room. I’m halfway there when I hear it— “Mommy!” Chloe’s voice echoes from the doorway. She’s standing there, clutching her stuffed bunny. “My bunny fell in there. Can you get it for me?” The moment I push open the door, I see it—hundreds of thumbtacks scattered across the floor, glinting under the dim light. I instinctively step back. “Chloe?” “Please, Mommy! Daddy gave it to me for my birthday last year!” Her eyes go wide. Her lip trembles in that perfect little pout. I take a deep breath and say quietly: “Okay.” I grit my teeth and step forward, one agonizing step at a time. The tacks puncture the soles of my feet instantly. Pain shoots up my legs so hard I nearly collapse. I pick up the stuffed bunny. Turn around. Hand it to her. She takes it, looks down at the blood beneath my feet, and bursts out laughing. “Blind Mommy can’t even see thumbtacks on the floor! So stupid!!” Adrian shows up in the doorway. He looks at the mess and frowns. “You’ve been out all day, you must be tired. Come downstairs. Dinner’s ready.” He doesn’t ask a single question about my feet. At the dinner table, Vivienne sits beside Adrian like she belongs there more than I ever did. “Evelyn, I found a traditional remedy. Bone broth from high-quality meat. Supposed to help with nerve regeneration.” Vivienne pushes a bowl of dark, thick broth across the table toward me. Adrian picks up the spoon and brings it to my lips. “Drink up. Vivienne went through a lot of trouble to get this.” The moment the spoon touches my lips, my blood runs cold. In the broth, half-submerged in the dark liquid, a chunk of meat. And embedded in it—a small, curved piece of titanium. I’ve felt that shape a hundred times. Every night for six years, I massaged Nana Ruth’s bad knee. The titanium plate from her surgery pressed against her skin in a ridge I traced with my fingers so many times I could draw it from memory. I shove the bowl away. It crashes to the floor. My stomach turns inside out. “What the hell is wrong with you now?” Adrian glares at me, annoyed. I point at the bowl. My fingers tremble. The words won’t come. Adrian looks at the soup splattered across the floor, then his jaw sets. “It’s just a high-end remedy! Vivienne went out of her way to find this for you. What are you throwing a fit about?” When I still refuse, his voice turns cold. “Six years! Your eyes are still useless. Are you planning to be a burden to me and Chloe for the rest of our lives?!” He picks up another spoonful and forces it to my lips. I clamp my jaw shut. The broth runs down my chin. The moment a drop hits the back of my throat, I double over and throw up. “Gross! She can’t even eat without making a mess!” Chloe wrinkles her nose. Vivienne dabs her mouth with a napkin, cool and unbothered. She takes Chloe’s hand and stands. “If Evelyn doesn’t appreciate the help, don’t force her.” “Come on, sweetie. Let Miss Viv take you and Daddy out for something nice.” The staff crowd in, cursing under their breath as they clean up. “It’s just soup! Was all that really necessary?!” “How does someone like you even deserve Adrian?” Another one kicks me hard in the side. “Thorne Group is where it is today because of Adrian. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get lost!” I curl up on the floor, absorbing every blow, every insult. And I laugh. “Thorne Group is where it is today because of Adrian?” I almost choke on the words. “That’s not even close.” The staff look at me like I’ve lost my mind. “If not Adrian, then who? You? The blind freak?!” “Trust me—Adrian could keep Thorne Group running just fine without you!” I close my eyes. Fine then. Let’s put that to the test.

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“Another slut trying to spread your legs for my husband? I’m carrying the next Sterling heir!” Me? A slut? I’m Avery Sterling. The only blood heir to this family. Looks like nobody told her. I came home today to surprise my parents, only to find the stranger already in my house. Guess the surprise is on me. She’s wearing my robe and my mother’s jewelry, pointing in my face, cussing me out. “Have you been sanitized? I’m carrying the Don’s grandchild—trash like you isn’t worthy of breathing near me!” “Someone get the disinfectant—spray this bitch and whatever she dragged in with her!” I stare at her. It takes me a while to find my voice. “This is the Sterling compound. The Don’s house. Am I wrong?” Her eyes bulge. She cracks me across the face. “Another whore who heard the name and came sniffing around my husband. Throw her out!” They throw me out onto the street. I almost laugh from how insane this woman is. On a normal day? These fuckers would be bleeding out on the marble. But I discharged myself early—still healing from two bullets I ate last month taking down a rival capo. Without a word, I pull out my phone and call my mother. “Mom. Get home now. Dad’s been cheating. He’s got a secret son—and that son just knocked someone up. You’re about to be a fucking grandma.” I hang up. Walk back through those gates. Grab that woman by her hair, and despite her thrashing, kick her out the front door. “You keep saying you’re carrying the next Sterling heir? Let me make this clear.” “The Don, Richard Sterling has no son. Only me—Avery Sterling. His one and only daughter.” “And last I checked, I don’t have a dick to knock you up, sweetheart.” She swings at me. “Bullshit!” “Everyone knows the Don and his wife have been solid for years. And he swore everything to his one and only son—my darling husband, Caleb Sterling.” “The Don even got a vasectomy to prove it!” “The heir has to be a man. That’s how it’s always been. The heir is my sweet Caleb. You? You’re nothing.” I roll my eyes at this lunatic. Funny. The heir has to be a man? Even Richard didn’t earn his seat as Don—my mother put him there. Every ounce of power he has, my mother gave him. “Fine. Call him. Call your husband and tell him to face me. I want to see who the hell has the balls to take my place.” “And upstairs, second floor, sunroom—my bedroom. Walk-in closet, hidden vault. Code’s ten-eleven. My birthday. You’ll find every record of me since the day I was born.” “Still don’t buy it? Bring out every person in this house—let’s see who they recognize. The real Sterling heir, or the fool who got scammed into a fake marriage.”

Tiffany looks shaken for half a second. Then she pulls herself together. “Caleb and I had our engagement with both parents present. The wedding’s today. Papa Richard personally handed me a black card with eight million on it. How could that be fake?” She snaps her fingers. “Everyone—out here! Does anyone know this woman?” The soldiers file out. Look at me. Every one shakes their head. “Sorry, ma’am. Never seen her.” I look at each face. Every soldier, every housekeeper, every driver who watched me grow up—gone. All strangers. Only one person could pull that off. Tiffany lights up. “Nobody knows you. Breaking and entering plus slander. Get her!” They swarm me. Fists, boots—everywhere. Too many. Blood runs into my eyes. The front door swings open. A panicked voice. “I heard there’s an intruder—Tiffany, baby, you okay?” I look at the man. Never seen him in my life. His face twists in fury. “You’ve got a fucking death wish. I’m Richard Sterling’s only son. You attacked my pregnant wife in my father’s house. You’re done.” I stay calm. “You say you’re his son. Prove it. This is my house. You broke in and stole my place—” “I’m the one who should be asking, who the hell gave you the nerve?” That throws him for a second. Then he laughs in my face. “Lady, is there a limit to your delusions? You? Richard’s daughter?” “I get it—you’re desperate for me to fuck you. But these cheap stunts to get my attention? End here.” “My wife has gone through hell to carry the future heir. No one’s taking her place.” Tiffany clings to him. “Baby, you’re so good to me.” I watch these two putting on their little love show. My blood boils. “I said—I’m the only Sterling heir.” Caleb shoves her aside and smacks me across the face. “My father kept me hidden to protect me—not so some rabid bitch could steal my name!” “I’m calling him. Right now.” Caleb pulls out his phone. Puts it on speaker. Dials. I see the familiar number on the screen. My stomach drops. The next second, Richard’s voice fills the room. “My boy! I’m at the venue setting up for your wedding—what’s up?” Caleb smirks at me. “Dad. Do I have any siblings?” Richard chuckles, half-scolding. “What kind of nonsense is that, kid? I got the vasectomy for you. No one else. Relax, son. When I’m gone, all of this is yours.” Something in me snaps. Hatred crashes over me. I open my mouth to scream his name— Caleb already hung up. Backhands me across the jaw. “Oh, I see it now. You’re not here trying to ride me. You want my old man’s cock” “My parents—twenty years together. Some slut like you thinks she can get between them?” “She’s been spewing lies and slander. Hold her down. Cut out her tongue.” No point dying stupid. I run. But Tiffany grabs my hair from behind and yanks me back. Everyone pile on. Someone smacks my face. Hands around my throat forcing my mouth open. They’re really going to do it. I push back—boots slam into my gut. “Mess with the only Sterling heir? Let’s see how many lives you got.” Tears burn my eyes. Someone’s got my tongue pinched tight—then agony rips through my mouth. Blood floods my throat. Choking. Almost gone. Then—the doorbell rings.

It has to be Mom! She’s coming to save me. I shove them off and lunge for the door. Caleb goes pale. “Who shows up now? Everyone’s at the venue.” My tongue is split open. I glare at the two of them through the blood. They look stunned. “Someone who’s going to end you!” I yank the door open— My heart drops. Not my mother. He takes one look at my bloody face and flinches.Then, cautiously, testing the water: “Miss Avery? What happened to you?” I grab his arm and drag him inside, facing Caleb and Tiffany. My tongue is on fire but I force the words out through the pain: “You don’t know me? Fine. But you know him—he’s the Family’s Consigliere.” “Arthur—tell them who I am.” Caleb rolls his eyes, arms crossed, and steps forward. “Well, Arthur? You know her?” Arthur glances at me. Then at the giant wedding portrait in the middle of the living room. Then he smiles. “Nope. Who’s this supposed to be?” Tiffany shrieks. “I knew it—you’re a liar!” Caleb smirks. “My parents have been by my side since day one. Never missed a thing—not one moment of my life. He loves me so much. You? Claiming to be his kid? The joke of the century.” I stare at Arthur, too shocked to feel the pain. “You watched me grow up. How can you not know me? I’m Avery Sterling. Richard’s daughter.” He looks me up and down. The corner of his mouth curls up. “Shame. Don’t recognize you. What are we gonna do?” His voice is ice-cold. A chill hits my spine. And I remember. Three years back, we caught him skimming from Family operations to cover his gambling debts. He was one of ours—my parents wanted him buried. I stopped them. Vouched for him. But this is how he pays me back? He’s teaming up with Caleb to bury me. I’m done with this. I run. He kicks my legs out. I hit the floor. “Young Boss” he says to Caleb, “this woman is deranged. She’ll mess up your wedding. Deal with her first?” I look up from the floor, shaking with rage, glaring at him. “Playing dumb? You just wait till my mother gets back—she’ll deal with you.” He smirks, raises an eyebrow, and mouths the words just for me. You won’t last that long. That’s all Tiffany and Caleb needed to hear. Tiffany kicks me down. They both lay into me again. Caleb’s phone cuts through the noise. He checks the time, frowning like it’s ruined his fun. “Baby, it’s almost time for the ceremony.” Tiffany presses her lips together. Gives me one last kick. Cut her open. Let her bleed out slow. I want her watching herself die drop by drop. So in her next life she’ll know better than to come for me.”

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Seven pregnancies. Seven miscarriages. For fifteen years, I thought my body was the problem. Until Megan told me the truth on her deathbed. “It was a bet, Serena. I bet Garrett and Dylan that you’d never have Garrett’s baby. I won. And they actually did it. Every single time.” “Your brother performed all seven. Garrett told you it was your body. It was never your body.” I stare at her. Blood floods the back of my throat. Fifteen years of guilt. Fifteen years of blaming myself. And it all started with a bet she made for fun. Blood sprays from my lips onto the bed. My vision goes black. When I open my eyes again, I’m standing in a wedding venue. Megan is right in front of me in a bridesmaid dress, her eyes slightly red as she glances at my stomach. “Serena, congratulations. A wedding and a baby. Lucky you.” I stare at her for a few seconds. Then I rip off my veil, turn around, and walk out. I don’t know where I’m going. I just need to get away from here. Away from him, away from her, away from all of it. I’m halfway down the block when the cramp hits. It tears through my lower body so hard my knees almost buckle. I grab the nearest wall and look down. Blood. Soaking through my white dress. I flag down a cab with shaking hands. “Hospital,” I choke out. “Please hurry.” By the time the doctors get me into a room, it’s already too late. Garrett finds me in the recovery room. He rushes in, eyes wide, scanning the IV in my arm. “Serena, what happened?” He cups my face in his hands, his voice breaking. “Why didn’t you call me?” This man. In this life, same as the last one. Gentle, attentive, devoted. The kind of husband who hands over his paycheck without being asked, does all the housework, and promises never to lie to me. I never could have dreamed that he would destroy seven of our children for my best friend’s entertainment. Before I can answer, my brother’s voice cuts in from the doorway, sharp with irritation. “Serena, every important friend Mom and Dad ever had is sitting in that hall right now. This is not the time for your drama.” “Mom and Dad would be ashamed of you right now.” I look at Dylan. He’s my older brother. My only family in this world. And he took a scalpel to my children seven times because Megan told him to. I almost ask him how he could do what he did. But I swallow it down. I turn to Garrett instead and keep my voice steady. “Garrett, I’m only going to ask you once. About the baby I was carrying. Is there anything you’re keeping from me?” His eyes flick to Megan standing behind Dylan in the doorway. Panic flashes across his face for just a second. “Of course not. Serena, are your hormones making you overthink things?” The moment he finishes that sentence, Megan’s eyes turn even redder. Dylan sees her tears and his jaw tightens with worry. “Serena, being pregnant doesn’t give you the right to act like this. How are you going to be a good mother with this attitude? Maybe you shouldn’t be having a baby at all.” I look at both of them. These two men with their very different expressions, playing their very different roles. I almost want to laugh. Then Dylan checks his phone and his face shifts. “The guests are asking where the bride is. I need to get back.” He pulls Megan toward the door. “Let’s go.” I look down. I slide the ring off my finger and press it into Garrett’s palm. “Garrett, we’re done.” His face goes white. He opens his mouth, but Dylan calls from the hallway, voice impatient. “Garrett, come on. We’ll deal with her later. She’s not going anywhere.” Garrett backs out of the room slowly while looking at me, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. But he still leaves. The ward goes quiet. I lie there staring at the ceiling, and the tears finally come. My hand drifts to my stomach. Flat. Empty. “I’m sorry, baby,” I whisper. “Mommy is so sorry.” Hours later, when my breathing finally steadies, I pull out my phone. 99+ missed calls. The last message is from Garrett. [Serena, we’re home waiting for you. Whatever happened, just talk to me, okay? Please.] Something makes me open the home camera app. The moment the feed loads, I hear Garrett’s voice. He’s screaming. “Megan, did you say something to Serena behind my back?”

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On our wedding night, my Alpha mate, Damon, made one thing clear: he would never mark me. “You might be my legal wife, but Sera is my true mate.” “Don’t ever try to take her place. You’re just a human. You could never be the pack’s Luna.” I stood there, frozen. It took me a long time to whisper, “Okay.” Later, I realized this marriage was nothing more than a transaction anyway. He helped my family survive a financial crisis, and my family helped his pack secure restricted resources through our connections. Once the deal was done, it would be time to part ways. After that night, I never brought it up again. For the next three years, he took Sera to every single event. He took her to pack meetings, hunting festivals, and even my father’s birthday party. She was always the one standing by his side. The entire pack whispered behind my back, gossiping about who the real Luna was. But now, it’s over. Everything has been resolved. It’s time for me to leave. I sat in the study, reading through the divorce papers one last time. Black and white, perfectly clear. Under the division of assets, I had checked the box for nothing. He kept the house we lived in, which he owned before the marriage. He kept the cars. I wanted absolutely nothing to do with his stocks or investments. I only needed to take my own savings. Fortunately, over the past three years, we had barely communicated outside of our legal marriage status. When he had needs, he preferred to go to his mistress rather than me. That was normal. Werewolves barely recognized civil marriages anyway. I signed my name at the bottom of the papers. *Elara Vance.* I slipped the agreement into a manila folder and placed it on the coffee table. Then, I pulled out my phone and opened Snapchat to message him. “Come home early today. I have something to discuss with you.” About two minutes later, a single-word reply popped up next to his avatar. “Okay.” I turned off my phone, tossed it onto the sofa, and went into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. Three years ago, I actually thought that even though this marriage started as a transaction, maybe we could make it work. But during the very first pack meeting, nobody informed me. I only found out the next day from Gamma Clara. She told me the meeting had run late and the Alpha had returned in the early morning. I asked Damon why he hadn’t told me. He glanced at me coldly. “You’re just a human. There’s no point in you going.” He did tell me about the second pack meeting in advance. But when I arrived, I stood at the edge of the crowd. No one spoke to me. People passed by, brushing past me as if I were a piece of furniture. I stood there for half an hour. When I tried to politely greet a werewolf I recognized, she froze, gave a curt nod, and walked away. Damon was in the center of the crowd, talking with the elders, never casting a single glance in my direction. By the third pack meeting, I arrived earlier than usual and sat in the seat right next to Damon. That was the Luna’s seat. I knew that. But I thought, *I am his wife, at least legally.* Five minutes before the meeting started, Sera walked in. She walked straight up to me, looked down at me, and then turned to Damon. “Alpha, is this seat taken today?” Damon looked at me, remaining silent for two agonizing seconds. “No.” Sera smiled, gesturing toward me with her chin. “Excuse me, could you move?” I stood up and gave her the seat. That feeling of having even my nominal position stripped away in public still makes my stomach turn today. After that, I never attended another pack meeting. At 7:00 PM, he wasn’t back. At 8:00 PM, still nothing. At 9:00 PM, my phone finally buzzed. It was a text from him. “Something came up with Sera. I’ll be home late. Go to sleep, don’t wait up.” I stared at the message for a long time. “Go to sleep, don’t wait up.” I had heard this exact phrase for three years. It was always like this. It was always Sera. She always had an emergency, and he always had to handle it. He had to be there when she got hurt, when her missions went poorly, when she did border patrols, and when she took her ranking exams. Once, Sera said she wanted to practice night combat in the Moonlight Woods. He drove forty minutes to take her there, waited for two hours by the forest edge, and drove her back when she was done. It was 1:00 AM by the time he got back. I asked him, “Have you eaten dinner?” He said, “Yeah, had some at Sera’s.” Then he took a shower and went straight to the study. I should have figured it out that day. But I didn’t. I always thought that since we were married, we should give each other some time. Maybe over time, he would realize I wasn’t so bad. Maybe if I did well enough, he would be willing to turn around and look at this home. Looking back, if someone doesn’t have a place for you in their heart, nothing you do matters. He won’t fall in love with you just because you’re good; he’ll just think your goodness has nothing to do with him. I didn’t reply to his message. In the past, I would always reply with “Okay” to show I understood. Sometimes I would even add, “Stay safe,” trying to look generous and sensible. But today, I didn’t want to reply. Anyway, in a few days, I wouldn’t be receiving his messages anymore. An unmarked human leaving the pack would lose all connection to the werewolf world.

I put my phone on the coffee table, picked up the remote, and changed the channel. A reality show was playing on TV. The hosts on screen were laughing hysterically. I leaned back on the sofa, suddenly finding the scene absurd. Here I was, sitting in this 2,150-square-foot house, keeping watch over a marriage that existed only on paper, waiting for a man who would never care about me to come home. While he was out with his first love. Openly, rightfully. Because when we first married, he made it clear: “If it weren’t for you, Sera and I wouldn’t have ended up like this.” He meant that I was the one who tore him and Sera apart. A werewolf and an Alpha were supposed to be natural mates. I was the interloper who forced them apart. I was the one who used my family’s influence and that arranged marriage to bind him. But what was the truth? The truth was that my father’s company was facing a severe financial crisis and desperately needed cash flow. And his pack was facing threats from rival packs, needing my family’s business network to secure weapons, supplies, and intel. Our elders sat down for one dinner, and the marriage was decided. Nobody asked me if I wanted to marry him. Nobody asked him if he wanted to marry me. But in everyone’s eyes, it was a fair trade. His family provided the money, mine provided the resources. Everyone got what they wanted. Only Sera became the victim of this transaction. And I, a human, didn’t even qualify as a victim. He probably felt I had stolen her place, turning her from a rightful girlfriend into an outcast mistress. So he gave all his guilt to Sera, and kept all his coldness for me. On our wedding night, the pack held a massive banquet. Everyone was waiting to see if the Alpha would mark his bride on the spot. Damon stood up, raised his glass, and announced to the entire room, “Tonight is just a formality. Human laws govern marriage, but pack rules are different. The two don’t interfere with each other.” The room fell dead silent for a second, then whispered gossip erupted. Sera sat in the corner, holding her glass, wearing a smug smile. I stood beside Damon, looking like a total joke. The humiliation of being publicly declared unworthy of his mark still makes my face burn when I think about it today. Since then, we had slept in separate rooms. He slept in the guest room; I slept in the master bedroom. I suddenly realized that in three years, he had only stepped into this master bedroom twice. Once was on our wedding night, when he made that speech. The other time was last year when I had a fever. It spiked to 103 degrees, and I was completely delirious. Gamma Clara called the pack doctor, asking him to make a house call. The healer asked, “Is she marked?” Clara said no. The healer replied, “Then I won’t go. I only serve pack members. Call an ambulance.” Clara ended up calling an ambulance herself to take me to the hospital. That feeling of being denied basic medical care just because I lacked a mark on my neck still makes my spine go cold. After that, I never asked anyone in the pack for help again. He didn’t come home at all that night. When I woke up at 7:00 AM, I checked my phone. No messages. After washing up, I went downstairs. Clara was already preparing breakfast. Seeing me come down alone, she opened her mouth as if to say something, but ultimately just asked, “Luna Vance, what would you like for breakfast?” She was the only one in this pack who still called me that. “Just some oatmeal is fine, Clara.” I sat at the dining table. My phone screen lit up. It was a text from him. “Sera got hurt during training last night. I stayed over to look after her. There’s a pack tactical meeting this morning, so I won’t be back.” I put down my phone and took a spoonful of oatmeal. “Clara, could you help me buy a few moving boxes over the next few days?” She froze. “Are you moving, Luna Vance?” “Yes. I’m moving out in a few days.” Her mouth opened, seemingly wanting to ask why, but seeing my expression, she swallowed her words. She had lived in this house for three years. She had seen everything. She understood. “Of course, Luna Vance.”

She nodded and turned back to the kitchen. I finished my breakfast, went upstairs, and changed my clothes. I had an appointment with a real estate agent today. I needed to find a new place to stay before moving out of this house. I didn’t ask for any assets in the divorce, but that didn’t mean I was broke. I had savings from before the marriage. And though I hadn’t worked over the past three years, the Blackwood family deposited a twenty-thousand-dollar allowance into my account every month. I barely spent any of it, so I had saved a fortune. It was more than enough to rent a nice apartment and support myself for a year or two. As for the future, I’d figure it out when I got there. The real estate agent was a young guy with glasses who spoke very fast. He took me to see a two-bedroom apartment in the East District. It was close to downtown, and the neighborhood was lovely. “This place has amazing natural light, and the landlord just renovated it. All the furniture and appliances are brand new. The rent is $6,500 a month. What do you think?” I stood on the balcony. The view was wide open, overlooking a distant park. It wasn’t huge, but it was perfect for one person. Most importantly, it held absolutely no memories of Damon. “I’ll take it. Let’s sign the lease.” The agent clearly didn’t expect me to make a decision so quickly. He blinked, then smiled warmly. “Awesome! I’ll contact the landlord right away to get the paperwork ready!” I signed a one-year lease, paying the deposit and the first month’s rent. When I walked out with the keys, the sun was warm and bright. Standing on the sidewalk, looking at the keys in my hand, I suddenly felt incredibly light. By the afternoon, when I returned home, Clara had already bought several cardboard boxes and left them in the living room. Just as I was about to head upstairs to pack my walk-in closet, I heard the front door open. I didn’t turn around, but I had a sudden premonition. Sure enough, a familiar voice rang out behind me. “Oh, you’re home.” I turned around. Sera was standing in the entryway, holding a folder. She saw the boxes in my hands, her eyes lingering on them for a second. “Are you packing?” I didn’t answer her. I just asked calmly, “What are you doing here?” “Damon brought me.” She set the folder on the coffee table, pushing it toward me. “Pack financial regulations. The Alpha’s household expenses account should be managed by the Luna. Since you aren’t marked, this account needs to be transferred to me.” I opened the folder. It was indeed an official notice from the pack’s financial department. “Starting next month, I’ll be paying Clara’s salary, and I’ll be in charge of the household shopping. Oh, and by the way, I’m moving in.” Sera watched my face, a small smirk playing on her lips. “You don’t mind, do you?” She tilted her head. “Honestly, I thought it might be a bit awkward, but Damon insisted I move in. He said…” “If he wants you to move in, then move in,” I interrupted. “There are plenty of rooms here anyway.” She pursed her lips, walking over to sit on the sofa. “You really are incredibly generous.” “First you married him out of ‘generosity,’ and now you’re letting me move in just as easily.” I looked at her, suddenly finding it amusing. I didn’t reply, turning to head upstairs. Sera must have felt ignored because her voice rose. “Elara, I’m talking to you.” I paused and looked back at her. “I hear you.” “But you didn’t come here to chat, so why waste each other’s time?” “I have packing to do.” Sera stood up, the smile completely vanishing from her face. “You’re leaving?” she blurted out, her voice filled with disbelief. “Obviously.” “Why else would I stay? To be a third wheel in your domestic bliss?”

Sera was utterly speechless. I turned and went upstairs, leaving her standing alone in the living room. I opened the closet and began taking down my clothes one by one. Over three years, I hadn’t accumulated that many clothes. Damon had never taken me on a trip, nor had he ever bought me a gift. No anniversary gifts, no birthday presents, and definitely nothing for Valentine’s Day. Looking back, it was laughable. I folded my last coat, packed it into a box, and was about to tape it shut when my phone vibrated. It was a text from Damon. “I’m taking Sera on border patrol tonight, so I won’t be home for dinner. Since Sera just moved in, help her get settled in the guest room.” I put the phone down and continued packing. By dusk, I had finished packing the closet and the study. As I walked downstairs, Sera was sitting on the living room sofa, sipping coffee. Hearing my footsteps, she looked up, her gaze landing on the manila envelope in my hand. “What’s that?” I didn’t answer. I placed the envelope on the coffee table and sat on the single armchair opposite her. Sera stared at the folder for a few seconds, then pulled out her phone, took a photo of it, and sent a message. Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang. It was one of the pack elders. He walked into the living room, flipped through the divorce papers, and then looked at me. “We don’t interfere with human legal procedures. But we need to confirm one thing: after you leave, will you disclose any pack information to the outside world?” “No.” “Do you have any written records or media files related to the pack that need to be destroyed?” “No.” He nodded, pulling a sheet of paper from his pocket and placing it on the coffee table. “This is a pack secrecy agreement. Sign it, and you can proceed with your human legal divorce.” I picked up a pen and signed my name. After the elder left, Sera looked at me, her voice dropping. “Elara, do you really not care about him anymore, or are you just pretending?” Her question caught me off guard. Did I care? Three years ago, when we first married, I had hope. Back then, I couldn’t comprehend what his Alpha status meant in the werewolf world. I only knew that the man was breathtakingly handsome, standing out in any crowd. I believed that if I was good enough, considerate enough, and understanding enough, he would eventually see me. But very quickly, that hope died. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” I told Sera. “Whether I cared or not, it’s in the past.” At 9:00 PM, Damon returned. He first looked at Sera sitting on the sofa, his gaze softening. “Sera, are you settling in okay?” Sera smiled at him, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Everything is great.” Only then did Damon turn his gaze to me. His eyes swept over me, landing on the folder on the coffee table, then shifting to the cardboard boxes behind me. His brow furrowed slightly. “What are all those boxes for?” I stood up from the armchair, picked up the folder, and held it out to him. “Damon, we need to talk.” He didn’t take the folder. He just stared at me, a hint of confusion in his eyes. “What is this?” “Divorce papers.”

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I left the pack after my Alpha and my best friend betrayed me. My best friend, Sophia, had been set up by her horrible ex-mate. Stripped of everything and exiled from her Pack, I didn’t hesitate to bring her into my home. I took her out to clear her head, drank with her until we were wasted, and even handed her my credit card so she could buy whatever she wanted. My boyfriend—who also happened to be my Alpha, Alexander—constantly frowned at this. “Emily, you’re my Beta, not Sophia’s personal bodyguard. She’s weak and useless. She deserved to be kicked out.” For the first time, I snapped at my Alpha: “She is my best friend. Back at the Werewolf Academy, when everyone laughed at me for being a wolf-less freak, she was the only one who stood by me. Without her, I wouldn’t be who I am today. So please, show her some respect.” Later, I went away on a long-term mission. I FaceTimed Sophia every day, watching her slowly step out of the shadows and start a new job and life. Until three months later, when I walked through the front door carrying my luggage, only to see Sophia lying on my sofa, while Alexander was smoothly feeding her strawberries.

For a moment, there was a deathly silence in the room. My inner wolf howled, wanting to lung forward and tear the scene in front of me to shreds. But I just gripped the strap of my travel bag tightly, standing frozen in place. The only sound was the laughter from a reality show playing on the TV. Sophia was the first to react. She scrambled off the sofa and walked toward me, her face pale. “Emily… when did you get back? Why didn’t you tell us? We… I could have picked you up.” Alexander stood quietly behind her, saying nothing. Sophia forced a tense smile. “You must be tired. Let me get you some water.” With that, she turned in a panic and grabbed a glass from the coffee table. In her clumsiness, she knocked over the pitcher, spilling water all over the floor. Alexander frowned and pulled out some paper towels to clean it up. “Stop messing around. You don’t know how to do this kind of work.” Though his voice was scolding, the tenderness in his tone was undeniable. The last shred of hope in my heart vanished. My grip on my bag tightened, leaving deep red marks on my palm. “When did this start?” Sophia gasped, reflexively turning her head to look at Alexander. But he remained perfectly calm, stepping in front of her to shield her with his broad shoulders. “It has nothing to do with her. It’s my fault.” His tone was flat, as if he were simply talking about the weather. With every word he spoke, the pain in my chest deepened. My fated mate—the one who was supposed to have the deepest bond with me—was now standing in front of me, protecting another woman. And that woman was my best friend. I stood there, stiff as a board, listening to his humiliating excuses. Alexander had always been cold and detached. He made decisions for the Pack with ruthless efficiency. Outsiders always said he was hard to approach, and that I was the only one who could ever bring out his emotions. I used to think I was his only exception. Until this moment, when he stood on the opposite side of me, using the coldest words to completely shut me out. Sophia panicked. “No… Emily, let me explain, it’s not what you think…” I stood there in silence. She stammered for a long time but couldn’t come up with a single logical explanation. I couldn’t help but let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Can’t you at least make up a decent lie?” Sophia’s face grew even paler. Alexander took her shaking hands in his and said in a deep voice, “It’s fine. I’ll handle this, okay?” He stepped forward and took my luggage. “Emily, let’s talk outside.” I looked at his face. In just three months, he had become so foreign to me. Suppressing the burning tears in my eyes, my voice trembled slightly. “Alexander, this is my house. And you’re asking me to leave?” He fell silent for a brief second, then spoke with a hint of pleading in his voice. “Emily, I’m begging you. She caught a cold yesterday. Let her get some rest, okay?” I clutched my chest. There was no physical wound, yet the pain was so intense I felt like I was dying. Alexander grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and whispered gently to Sophia, “Go to sleep. I’ll handle the rest. I’ll bring you back some seafood chowder from downtown later.” I slammed the door and ran out, refusing to let them see my face covered in tears. In the hotel suite, Alexander sat on a distant sofa, keeping a polite, cold distance. After a quiet moment, he spoke in a low voice. “It’s my fault. You can have whatever compensation you want.” “I fell for her first. Don’t blame her.” I dug my fingernails into my palms and took a deep breath. “Why?” Alexander pinched the bridge of his nose. “Emily, you’re smart, calm, and strong. But Sophia is different. Without me, she won’t survive.” Looking at his face through the dim light, I found it utterly hilarious. Before, when Sophia was just my best friend, Alexander looked down on her completely. He used to say she was weak, useless, a spoiled Beta’s daughter who had no connection to the real world—a parasite who could only live off others. Three months ago, when I had to leave as a Beta to handle a major negotiation at the Werewolf Summit, I had begged him to occasionally help her if she needed anything. Back then, he had playfully kissed my cheek. “Emily, you haven’t even let me mark you yet, and you’re already making me do your family chores. You’re leaving me with such a mess, you’ll have to make it up to me.” I had stood on my tiptoes to kiss him back, promising him that as soon as the territory negotiations were over, we would hold our formal mate ceremony. Now, just three months later, everything had changed.

Alexander stood up, pursing his lips with a complicated expression. “I’m sorry. I can compensate you. You can still remain the Beta of the pack. I’ll give you full authority over the guard units and the pack’s funds.” “I only have one request. You’re very important to Sophia. She doesn’t want to lose you as a friend.” I looked up at him, as if I had just heard the biggest joke in the world. Laughter bubbled up through my tears. Three months ago, I was the one asking him to take care of my best friend. Three months later, I was the one being asked to play nice. My voice shook slightly. “Alexander, do you two really not realize how disgusting you are?” “What makes you think Emily Carter is just going to let you walk all over her? I will expose what you did to the entire Pack. If you’re bold enough to do it, you should be bold enough to face the consequences.” Alexander stepped back, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Emily, don’t throw a tantrum. You started as the daughter of an ordinary werewolf and worked your way up to where you are today. It wasn’t easy. Don’t ruin your life over a moment of impulse.” Hearing his warning tone, I couldn’t help but shiver. Alexander looked down at me, completely adopting the posture of a superior Alpha. People always said Alexander was cold and ruthless. I used to disagree. But now, I finally realized the rumors were true. He had only given his warmth to me in the past. Now, he was giving it to someone else. “I’m going back. She won’t sleep well if I’m not there.” “I’ll move her out tomorrow. I’m sorry you have to stay here tonight.” The door clicked shut. I finally collapsed onto the pillows and sobbed. Outside the window was the bustling city skyline. I had rushed home after a long journey, only to be tossed into a cold hotel room. A few hundred yards away, the two most important people in my life were sleeping together in my house, in my bed. How pathetic. The next day, I hid my swollen eyes behind sunglasses and parked my car outside a local bakery. Sophia, wearing her uniform, looked up. Her eyes lit up for a second before she cast them down in shame. She brought me a cup of coffee and sat down across from me. With a strained smile, she spoke cautiously. “Emily, I know you’re mad at me. I’m so sorry. I know how good you’ve been to me. I owe you so much over the years…” “Look, I have a job now. I will pay you back everything I owe you…” I couldn’t help but sneer, looking at her. She was just a pastry chef, yet she was wearing designer jewelry worth tens of thousands of dollars. “Pay me back? With this job?” Sophia froze. After graduation, she had married early and became a housewife. Her ex-husband had treated her well and tolerated all her tantrums. Combined with my unconditional indulgence, Sophia’s life had been smooth sailing. Until six months ago, when her husband cheated on her with another Alpha’s daughter. She was quickly rejected and thrown out of the house. If I hadn’t gotten there in time, she would have ended up on the streets. She wanted to start a new life, but having spent years as a spoiled Luna, she had never handled a single pack affair. She was completely out of touch with society. She couldn’t serve as a pack warrior, and she couldn’t even handle a normal job. Luckily, she liked baking, so she applied to be a pastry chef here. I didn’t say anything. I just waved my hand. The store manager walked over respectfully and stood before me. “Beta Carter, welcome.” Sophia’s face turned pale, her eyes widening. I took off my sunglasses and said flatly, “After your rejection, you had a breakdown until you said you wanted a job to start over.” “Sophia, you’re not an idiot. Did you seriously never wonder why, after failing so many interviews, you suddenly landed a job at this exact bakery? Why would they hire a pastry chef with zero experience?” “I gave you my whole heart, and this is how you repay me?” Sophia’s eyelashes fluttered as tears began to stream down her face. Her voice shook violently. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know…” She suddenly grabbed my hand. “But he is good to me. He loves me. Emily, you’re so strong. You can survive without anyone, but I can’t.” “You said it yourself—everything you have can be shared with me. I don’t want anything else. I just want him. Please?” I stared at her quietly. We had known each other since we were three. Twenty-five years of friendship, completely distorted in an instant. “Since we were kids, I would give you whatever you asked for.” “But Sophia, taking things without asking is called stealing.”

By the time Alexander arrived, Sophia was practically on her knees at my feet, crying hysterically. His face darkened instantly. He stormed over, pulled her up, and shielded her behind him. He glared at me, his jaw clenched. “Emily, I told you to come at me if you have a problem. Don’t take it out on her.” “Just name a price for how much she spent of yours over the years. I’ll write you a check right now.” I let out a cold laugh. “Alpha Blake is indeed generous. Too bad what you two owe me can never be paid back in this lifetime.” Alexander’s expression soured, and he was about to retort when Sophia suddenly screamed, “Enough!” Her body shook, but she forced herself to look at me. “Emily, I don’t care if you hate me. I’m not giving him up. From now on, we are even.” She ripped off her apron, grabbed Alexander’s hand, and the two of them walked out without looking back. I sat by the window. Outside, two high school girls in uniforms were sharing an ice cream, laughing and chatting. Suddenly, I felt a cold wetness on my cheek. I reached up and realized I was crying. Sophia and I had met at the Werewolf Academy. We were young werewolves, sharing a dorm room. I was the latest bloomer in the entire academy. While others completed their first shift in their early teens, I couldn’t summon my wolf. If my father hadn’t died saving the Elder Alpha, I wouldn’t have even had the chance to study there. I was a joke to everyone. “The late bloomer,” “the wolf-less freak,” “the dead weight”—they said it to my face and behind my back. They tripped me during training, knocked my tray over at lunch, and threw my belongings out the window at night. I learned not to cry, because crying never brought help. Only Sophia was different. She was a Beta’s daughter, from a high-ranking family, and one of the earliest to shift. She always had plenty of followers, but she chose me. The first time she stood up for me was when a senior Alpha’s son threw my backpack into a mud pit. Sophia walked right up, picked up the bag, wiped it clean, shoved it into my arms, and glared at the boy. “She’s my friend. Touch her again and see what happens.” From then on, she dragged me to train with her, eat with her, and complete missions together. She always said, “You’re just a little slower than the others, but you’ll end up stronger than all of them. I know it.” She would lick her ice cream and pat my shoulder carelessly. “Don’t cry, Emily. I can tell you have the potential to be a warrior. When you become the strongest warrior in the Pack, just remember to buy me the best BBQ.” In my teenage years, Sophia was my first hero. She was the most important person in my life. When I got home, all traces of them were gone. I stared at the empty house, feeling dazed. When I first bought this place, I had set aside a bedroom specifically for Sophia. Alexander had been annoyed back then. I had just smiled and said it was my promise to her. At her wedding, I was her maid of honor. After catching her bouquet, I promised her that as long as I was alive, she would always have a home to return to. But now, the one without a home was me. There were still things Alexander hadn’t packed yet. The medals we won at the academy tournament, Our vacation photos, Our matching toothbrushes in the bathroom, The blanket left on the couch, and the book on the coffee table. Every time I closed my eyes, I could picture them fooling around on this very sofa. I covered my mouth and ran to the bathroom, dry-heaving until my stomach burned. I looked up at my reflection in the mirror—pale, exhausted, and barely recognizable. Alexander was the previous Alpha’s son, and I had once sworn to serve him forever. I had also successfully been chosen by the Elder Alpha to be the next Beta. The day Alexander became Alpha, he confessed his love to me. The usually stoic guy had actually blushed. “Emily, you’re the smartest, toughest girl I’ve ever met. Give me a chance to take care of you.” So, Alexander became both my Alpha and my boyfriend. We carried the Pack’s responsibilities together, learning how to be leaders. He was my partner in battle, my fated mate. Because of him, I had once thought about giving up my dream of becoming the strongest warrior just to be his Luna, helping him manage the pack. I had truly planned to spend the rest of my life with him. I stared at my reflection and clenched my fists. They were once my reason for living, the motivation behind my hard work. Yet, they had dealt me the most fatal blow. Why should I let them get away with it? I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in a long time.

Three days after I made that call, Alexander stormed into my office, furious. He slammed the door so hard the walls shook. “Emily, did you go to Sophia’s parents?” “Her mother called her last night and yelled at her for an hour, calling her ungrateful and saying she betrayed you. Sophia cried until she almost fainted. Are you happy now?” I let out a soft chuckle. “If you two were brave enough to do it, why are you scared of people finding out?” Yet, my heart twinged with a bitter ache. I had always remembered how kind Mrs. Evans and her family were to me. Over the years, as I started earning money, I had repaid them tenfold. Mrs. Evans had apologized to me on the phone, sounding incredibly guilty. But the person who actually needed to apologize hadn’t said a word. Alexander took a deep breath, suddenly calming down. “Emily, I’ll give you one last chance. Go apologize to Sophia right now, and I can pretend none of this happened.” I looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “Apologize? I’m not the one who needs to apologize here.” His face darkened. “As of today, you are stripped of your title as Pack Beta.” “I’ll give you three days to think about it. Emily, you’ve always been smart. Don’t make a stupid mistake now.” I watched him walk away, the last ounce of affection in my heart evaporating. When Alexander was good to you, he would give you the entire Pack’s resources. But once he turned on you, he was utterly heartless. He kept his word. My territory duties were reassigned, my security clearance was frozen, and even my house was reclaimed by the pack. But I didn’t beg for mercy. Ten years ago, I was just a wolf-less girl whom everyone called useless, but I fought my way up with my own grit. Ten years later, I could easily do it again. A month later, I received a text from Sophia. [Emily, Alexander and I are holding our formal mate ceremony next month. You are the most important person in my life. I hope to have your blessings. I know I wronged you, but please, just this last time, okay?] I glanced at the screen, put my phone down, and continued packing my bags. I didn’t reply. On the day of the ceremony, I showed up on time. Sophia stood beside Alexander, looking radiant and happy. But when they saw me, both of their faces went pale. The crowded hall fell dead silent. My relationship with Alexander had never been a secret. In just half a year, the future Luna had been replaced. Alexander instinctively stepped in front of Sophia, his eyes guarded. Sophia looked at me, tears welling in her eyes. “Emily… I…” I looked at them and smiled softly. “Don’t be nervous. I promised I wouldn’t miss the most important moment of your lives.” “So today, I brought a gift.” Behind them, the giant screen displaying their sweet pre-wedding video suddenly went black.

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At my daughter’s seventh birthday party, I called her father over to cut the cake. Instead, my husband shoved me away in front of everyone — hard. “Don’t call me that. I’m not her father!” He slammed a paternity test down on the table. The results said Wren wasn’t his. I froze where I stood. A second later, my parents slapped me across the face in front of the whole room. Vivian — the one they’d just welcomed back into the family — curled into my husband’s arms, eyes rimmed red, wearing that carefully rehearsed look of innocence. “I’m so sorry, Claire. I just made an offhand comment that Wren didn’t really look like Marcus. I had no idea he’d actually go get her tested…” From that day on, I became the whore of the Upper East Side, and my daughter became the little bastard everyone whispered about. Until, one day, I overheard him talking to a friend in that same careless tone: “The paternity test was faked. Her parents know too.” “She stole so many years of Vivian’s life. Once Vivian feels better about it, I’ll just remarry Claire. Easy.” “Claire can’t live without me. She won’t dare leave.” My fists clenched so tight my nails cut into my palms. The next morning, I calmly signed the divorce papers with him. But the moment I stepped out of the law firm’s doors — I turned around and picked up another marriage certificate. … Outside the study door, listening to Marcus’s casual, throwaway words, I could barely stay on my feet. His friend started to say something else, but Marcus cut him off with a soft laugh. “Relax. When it happens, I’ll just pretend I had no idea.” “I’ll say the hospital mixed things up. She’ll come crawling back on her own.” I braced myself against the wall, a sharp ache stabbing through my chest. Only hours earlier, Wren had come home from school in tears, her beloved uniform caked in mud, her knees scraped raw. When I called Ashcroft Academy, the teacher’s voice on the other end was ice-cold. She wanted us to transfer schools. “Mrs. Whitmore, do you really need me to spell it out for you?” “When a parent behaves indecently and drags her name through the mud all over town, of course every child in the class knows Wren is a bastard of unknown parentage.” “The other parents have made their feelings very clear. It’s put the school in an impossible position.” I hung up and held my trembling daughter tight, my heart shredded. Then she lifted her tear-streaked little face and asked me: “Mommy, if I really were Daddy’s kid… would he like me again?” For that one question from my daughter, I swallowed every last shred of my pride and went back to Marcus. To beg him for one more paternity test. I never imagined I’d end up here, listening to this poison instead. To him, staging a fake paternity test in front of a room full of people, dragging my name through the dirt — none of it mattered. It was nothing. Every insult, every cruel word Wren and I had endured, was just theater — a performance he’d staged to keep another woman happy. Even my adoptive parents, who never stopped telling me how much they loved me, were part of the act. I shut my eyes against the pain. Inside the room, the laughter and easy conversation went on. The friend seemed to hesitate. “But that kid, Wren… I just saw her running home from school in tears, a bunch of classmates calling her a bastard. You’re really okay letting her go through that?” “What if she finds out the truth? What if she doesn’t want anything to do with you?” Marcus’s voice was thick with the arrogance of a man who thought he had it all under control. “Kids forget. She’ll get over a little pain. It’s nothing.” “Besides, she’s my flesh and blood. Blood is blood. You think she can really walk away from her own father?” I clenched my hand so hard my nails bit into my palm, but I felt no pain. Once, I would have thrown the door open and demanded answers at the top of my lungs. But not this time. This time, I simply turned and walked away. This divorce — I was going through with it.

I packed a few changes of clothes, took Wren by the hand, and went back to the Sterling estate. Every other time I’d come home, Mom and Dad would rush to the door with smiles before I’d even stepped through it. This time, my mother didn’t even try to hide the disgust in her voice. “What are you doing here?” “Mom… I don’t have anywhere else to go. I just want to stay one night with Wren.” She let out a cold laugh. “The Sterling estate is not a homeless shelter. Don’t bring your bad luck into this house.” Something heavy sat in my chest. Wren peeked out from behind me, small and timid. “Grandpa! Grandma!” Her voice was soft, hopeful — waiting, like she always had, for her grandparents to sweep her up in a hug. Their faces stayed cold, hard as stone. “Don’t call us that. We don’t have relatives like the two of you.” It felt like someone had hit me across the head. I just stood there, dumb. A few days apart, and we’d gone from mother and daughter to something less than distant relatives? I could still remember my father hoisting me onto his shoulders as a child, laughing, calling me the jewel in the Sterling family’s crown. My mother, so proud, telling anyone who’d listen how brilliant her daughter was. But the moment Vivian came back, all that love vanished overnight. One by one, my projects had been stripped from me. The network I’d spent years building — piece by piece, quietly transferred to Vivian’s name. Back then, I told myself Vivian was their long-lost daughter. It was only natural for them to want to make it up to her. Now, though, I saw it clearly. They hated me. They hated me for taking Vivian’s place — for stealing more than twenty years of her life. Marcus’s cruel words still echoed in my ears. To give Vivian her revenge, they’d stood by and let that whole charade unfold. They’d ground Wren and me under their heels without a second thought. The thought settled in my stomach. I pushed my emotions back down and tested the waters. “What if… that paternity test was wrong? What if the results were falsified?” My mother paused for just a beat. “The evidence is right in front of you. You’re still trying to talk your way out of it?” My father stared me down, his eyes flat and cold. “There were dozens of people watching that day. You’ve dragged the Sterling name through the gutter.” “A paternity test isn’t proof enough for you? What do you want — someone to catch you in bed with him before you’ll admit it?” A chill crept through me, bone-deep. They knew. They knew all of it was a lie. And still, in this moment, they spat these words at me — pinning me to that pillar of shame as though it were nothing. My father knit his brow, his voice dropping into a tone of grim generosity. “Fine. If you really want to stay here, then tomorrow morning you’ll release a public statement.” “You’ll admit publicly that you were unfaithful in your marriage. You’ll admit Wren isn’t Marcus’s child.” “And you’ll step down from your position at Sterling Group and transfer your shares to Vivian, unconditionally.” I could barely believe what I was hearing. My voice trembled. “You want me to admit what? Wren is not a bastard!” My mother didn’t even bother to look up. “A fake can only breed a fake. What else would she be?” Something roared in my head, and something inside me broke, completely. Just then, footsteps came down the stairs. Vivian appeared, red around the eyes, playing the shaken little dove. “Dad, Mom, don’t be like this…” She turned to me, her voice honeyed. “Claire, I know you’re hurting. But Mom and Dad are getting older, and the Sterling family has its reputation to think about.” “You can’t let your personal life drag the rest of us down with you.” “Just admit fault. Once this dies down, we’ll be family again.” Then she looked down at Wren, all careful, staged sympathy. “As for whether she’s really Marcus’s daughter…” “Marcus is such a good man. He wouldn’t hold it against you.” I opened my mouth to speak, but my parents had already run out of patience. My father ordered the housekeeper to throw my things out. “We raised you for twenty years. We were even willing to leave you some dignity.” “But since you won’t admit fault, don’t ever set foot in this house again.”

By the time I left the Sterling estate, it was deep into the night. Wren curled against me, her eyes swollen, silent. I stroked her hair, thinking she’d just cried herself out, and hurried to find a place to stay. By the time I was standing in the hotel lobby, I was a wreck. “Hi. I’d like a suite, please.” I slid the supplementary card across the counter. The receptionist ran it, then looked up at me. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Whitmore. This card has been frozen.” My stomach dropped. I dug out my own bank card. Only to find that even the savings in my personal account had been transferred out. A cold weight settled in my fingertips. A wave of nausea washed through me. Marcus was really willing to go this far. He didn’t just want me to bend. He wanted every path behind me sealed off. The receptionist’s voice was flat. “Ma’am, would you still like to check in?” My throat tightened. I quickly called my best friend for help. “Can you lend me some money? Or book me a room? I just need somewhere to sleep with Wren tonight.” Two seconds of silence on the line. Then her voice, lowered. “Claire, it’s not that I don’t want to help.” “It’s just — my family is in the middle of negotiations with Whitmore Capital. With everything blowing up right now, if I get involved, it could hurt the company.” She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to. I hung up and stared at my reflection in the polished marble floor. Suddenly, it was almost funny. Twenty-something years of living, and I had nothing. Nothing but the daughter in my arms, who would stand by me without a moment’s hesitation. The next second, she swayed against me and went limp. I reached for her forehead and felt my blood run cold. She was burning up. I scrolled through my contacts, my finger stopping on the last name in the world I wanted to bother. A few minutes later. Money finally borrowed, I gathered Wren in my arms and went back to the front desk. “I need a room. My daughter has a fever.” The receptionist rolled her eyes. “No wonder the card was frozen. It’s the fake Sterling princess who cheated on her husband.” I stiffened. She looked me up and down, her voice curdling with contempt. “Cheap to the bone, and still had the nerve to pop out some bastard for the world to see.” “This is a respectable establishment. Kindly take yourself elsewhere. Don’t dirty our floors.” Guests around the lobby turned to stare. I tried to explain, but there was nothing left to explain. I could do nothing but carry Wren out of the hotel in disgrace. The Manhattan streets at that hour were freezing, the wind cutting like a blade. Wren, feverish and delirious, buried her face in my shoulder, murmuring: “Daddy… don’t leave me…” That one sentence tore my heart to pieces. I clenched my jaw, and in the end, I took out my phone and dialed Marcus. Ten calls in a row. No answer. My fingers shaking, I typed out a text. 【Wren has a fever. Can you come?】 A long while later, he replied. “The kid isn’t mine. I don’t have time to watch you play the tragic mother.” I stared at those cold words on the screen. Around me the street noise roared on, but I couldn’t even find the voice to cry. In the end, I took Wren to the hospital alone. The ER hallway was crowded. I’d just finished registration when I heard a familiar voice. Marcus, supporting Vivian, walked into the emergency room. A nurse handed him her chart, her tone edged with reproach. “Early pregnancy bleeding. Signs of threatened miscarriage.” “The first few months are critical. As her husband, you need to be more careful. Don’t put a pregnant woman through this kind of stress.” Marcus took the chart, and instinctively drew Vivian closer. “Still hurting?” Vivian gave a small shake of her head, eyes red-rimmed. Marcus frowned. “Don’t go home tonight. Stay at my place. I’ll take care of you.” Vivian bit her lip, murmured something, and leaned into his chest. I stood frozen where I was, feeling the blood freeze inch by inch in my veins. Years ago, when I was pregnant with Wren, he had held me the same way. The morning sickness had been so bad I couldn’t keep water down. He’d dropped every meeting on his calendar and spent the entire ten months by my side. He said, “Claire, you and our daughter — you’re my whole life.” And now, the man crushing his “whole life” into a bastard was him. The one who pushed Wren and me into this pit — was him. I almost wanted to laugh. The truer a man’s love, the more terrifying his cruelty when he stops loving you. Wren was still burning up in my arms. My phone buzzed. I looked down. A message from Marcus. 【Claire, stop wasting time. Three days from now. Harrison & Klein. Sign the papers.】

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James Callahan spent five years at sea as a Navy lieutenant, and I spent five years on shore, waiting. He said warships were dangerous, conditions were rough, family couldn’t come aboard. So I kept our little home quiet, waiting for him to come back to port each time. Even when I slipped and lost the baby, I bit my tongue and didn’t disturb him. Until the day I was cleaning and pulled a metal box out from under his pillow. The moment I opened it, photographs scattered across the floor. On top was a Family Cruise application form. Applicant: Lily Sullivan—the younger sister of James’s fallen brother-in-arms. In the photo, Lily stood beside James, seagulls and the gray bow of a destroyer behind them, her smile brighter than a California sea breeze. On the back, in James’s handwriting: “You are the lighthouse of my every voyage. —J.” I laughed. I looked around our little home. Not a single picture of the two of us. From that day on, I stopped going to Coronado. Stopped sending texts that vanished into the void. Stopped reheating soup that nobody came home to drink. The ship that had sailed in my heart for five years finally sank without a sound. … “Why didn’t you come pick me up today?” James pushed open the door just as I was sitting at the table peeling an orange, watching the weather forecast on TV. Every time he came home before, come rain or shine, I’d have driven to the base two hours early. “Been busy.” I popped a segment of orange into my mouth, answering offhand, then got up and walked into the kitchen. He followed, trying to wrap his arms around my waist from behind. Before, every time he did this, I’d turn around laughing, rise up on my toes, and put my arms around his neck. But this time my body moved faster than my head— I took a step to the left and slipped out of reach. He didn’t seem to notice. He went straight to his duffel bag. “Long deployment this time. Didn’t have time to grab anything nice.” “Picked up a silk scarf. Lily said women love that kind of thing.” The scarf was ocean blue. The tag was printed in Italian—Naples. He’d brought it back from the Mediterranean. Something bitter rose in my chest. He was always like this. Made up for everything with a little gift, as if that made me part of every leg of his voyage. And then simply assumed I’d be waiting in the same place, next time. “You don’t like it?” Seeing no delight on my face, he frowned. “It’s nice.” I smiled thinly. His frown deepened. He tugged at the top button of his uniform collar. “Emma, are you still upset I didn’t bring you aboard?” “I told you, wives aren’t permitted on the ship.” His voice dropped, edged with irritation. “Why do you never listen? Not only did you not come pick me up today, you didn’t even have a bowl of soup ready. And I brought you a present.” Listening to the accusation in his tone, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. The words came out before I could stop them: “Family can’t come aboard, but Lily—an outsider—can go anywhere with you?” He seemed to catch on then to my coldness. He sighed, adopting a put-upon expression. “Come on. Lily’s different from you. Her brother is dead. I promised I’d look after her.” “You’re being childish. Nickel-and-diming about Lily all the time—we’re married, don’t be so petty.” So in his eyes, I was petty. The strength went out of me. I didn’t want to say another word. Seeing my silence, he tried what he thought was kindness. “We’ll drop it this time. I won’t hold it against you. But don’t sulk. Try to be a little bigger about this from now on.” He leaned in, casually, meaning to kiss me and put the argument to rest. I raised a hand and pressed it lightly against his shoulder. He froze. “I’m tired, James.” He was silent for a few seconds, then patted my shoulder. “All right. Get some rest.” “Mm.” I stayed cold. His phone rang. The instant he answered, I heard a familiar female voice on the other end. “James! Something terrible—the souvenirs I bought on this cruise are gone!” Lily. Her voice sounded on the verge of tears. “Don’t panic! I’ll be right there!” James responded instantly, already turning away. “Lily’s got an emergency. I’ll head over. Back tonight!” He didn’t wait for my answer. He ran out the door. I don’t know how long I stood there before I dragged my numb body toward the study. That was where James kept his charts. He’d once pointed to the sea lanes on them and said he’d take me down every one. I walked in. The shelves held wind chimes of shells from Yokosuka, a wooden fishing boat model from Diego Garcia, blue and white pottery from Crete… Five years. His ship had put in at ports in twelve countries. I hadn’t set foot even once in the base right down the road in San Diego. I pulled the blue leather-bound logbook off the bottom shelf. I’d given it to him two years ago for his birthday. I flipped through it idly. Strait of Hormuz, Gibraltar, Naples… Nearly every place he’d been, nearly every page—Lily’s name was there. So she’d been sailing with him for a long time. I was the only one kept in the dark. I sat in the study until deep into the night. Only then did footsteps sound outside the door. James pushed it open and saw the logbook in my hands. His expression shifted, just slightly, then smoothed back into place. “Why aren’t you asleep?” I didn’t answer. He came over and put his arms around my waist, offering an easy explanation. “Lily’s sensitive, you know how she is. She’s got nobody left in her family. After that first time on the ship, she kept asking to come again. I couldn’t very well say no.” “Mm.” I looked down and put the logbook back where I’d found it. My phone buzzed in my pocket. An iMessage from Zoe: The lawyer you had me ask about—military divorce specialist. He wants to know when you can meet. I set the phone face-up on the desk. The screen was still lit. James glanced down instinctively. His breath stopped.

He stood there for a long moment, then let out a short, impatient laugh. “What’s gotten into you today? Since when are you so damn petty?” “I took Lily out to sea a few times and now you want a divorce?” “Fine. Next deployment I’ll bring you. Happy?” He gave the collar of his uniform another tug, as if coaxing an unreasonable child. Without waiting for my reply, he turned and headed for the bedroom. A few steps in, he looked back. “Lily’s several years younger than you and she’s twice as mature. Take a page out of her book, would you?” Something tight rose in my chest and then, just as quickly, sank away. Once, words like these would have panicked me. They would have sent me scrambling to explain myself. They would have made me wonder if I just wasn’t good enough. But now, all that was left inside me was a flat, level calm. Five years. All I’d done was wait. Waited for every return to port. Sick with no one to lean on, sending texts into a black hole. And him, using the pretext of looking after Lily, leaving me over and over at the exact moments I needed him most. I looked him in the eye and nodded. “All right. I won’t make a scene anymore.” I turned without another word and walked into the guest bedroom. Over the following days, I packed up my things without saying a word. James spent every day at Lily’s place. So he never noticed the things quietly disappearing from the house. The little fishbowl on the coffee table went to Zoe. The old armchair from the living room—the one I always sat in—I dragged out to the curb. Every trace of me was fading from this house, one piece at a time. “This afternoon I’m teaching Lily to read charts. Come along.” James sat at the breakfast table, taking a long pull of black coffee. “You’re always complaining you can’t read a chart—that you never know where I am.” I used to beg him to teach me. He said, “Stuff at sea, you wouldn’t get it. No point learning.” Now he was volunteering—but only as a tag-along to Lily’s lesson. The doorbell rang. Lily stood on the doorstep in a white cotton dress, a beige canvas bag over one shoulder. She flashed a bright smile. “Hi, Emma.” I said nothing. The air went stiff for a moment. Her eyes reddened instantly. Her fingers twisted in her skirt. “Emma, do you—do you not want me here?” “If it bothers you, I won’t come again.” She turned to leave, all wounded. James’s brow snapped together and he stepped past me in one stride, catching her by the wrist. “Where are you going?” He turned to me, exasperated. “Emma, I told you. Lily is Ryan’s sister. That makes her my sister too.” “If you can’t stand her being around me, then forget it—I won’t bring you along next deployment either.” Disappointment crept up like cold seawater, chilling me from head to foot. Ryan. That name was the shield he lifted every single time. As if all he had to do was say Ryan died saving my life and every grievance of mine had to be pressed back down, silent, without so much as a whimper. James didn’t look at me again. He led Lily to the door of the study, pushed it open, and went in. Under the lamp above the chart table. He spread out the massive Pacific chart, bent over it, ran his finger from one port to the next. “This is the Strait of Hormuz. This is Gibraltar.” “Last year going through Hormuz, the swells were monstrous. The destroyer rolled like she was going to capsize.” He tilted his head toward Lily, voice gentle. “You were hiding in your rack, terrified. Remember how many texts you sent me?” Lily laughed behind her hand, tears still glittering at the corner of her eye. “Thirty-seven. You said it was fine, and just like that, I wasn’t scared anymore.” They stood shoulder to shoulder at the chart table. The floor lamp threw their shadows against the wall, pressed close together. I stood in the doorway of the study like a spectator. I remembered that day. CNN had been running Persian Gulf coverage all day long, gray warships and heaving swells filling every frame. I paced the house, sick with worry. I sent text after text until the screen was full of them. The next day he finally replied: OK. Everything they’d been through together—I’d known nothing about any of it. My chest ached, faintly. I turned and went back to my room to keep packing. If I’d known nothing, then James’s future was something else I no longer wished to be part of.

A knock at the door. I opened it. My neighbor, Mrs. Martha, stood there holding a still-steaming casserole dish, a checkered cloth draped across the top. “Emma, I saw James was home. I made a chicken bake, thought the two of you—oh?” She glanced past me and saw the two figures standing side by side in the study. Her face changed on the spot. She shoved the casserole into my hands. Her voice was low, but every word had a barb in it. “Lieutenant Callahan. Emma sits at home waiting for you. Drives out to the Coronado piers before sunup. Rain, wind—doesn’t miss a day.” “You come home and spend it with somebody else, and leave her standing to the side?” The rustling in the study stopped. Lily came out, eyes red. “Mrs. Martha, you’re misunderstanding—” “Misunderstanding, my foot. I’ve got eyes.” Mrs. Martha’s face was pure disdain. “These girls now, all day long, only thing on their minds is stealing somebody else’s husband—” She didn’t finish. Lily covered her face and bolted out the door. James snatched up his service jacket and went tearing after her. Passing me, he flung a cold sentence over his shoulder. “So this is how you talk about Lily to the neighbors when I’m not home.” “If anything happens to her, I will never forgive you.” I stood in the empty doorway. The casserole was still hot. The steam blew up into my face. Mrs. Martha looked stricken. “I’m sorry, honey. Did I make it worse?” My voice came out rough. “You’re not what’s wrong with us.” I suddenly remembered that winter. The wind at Coronado had been strong enough to knock you off your feet. I’d stood on the pier in a down parka for three hours, waiting. He’d stepped off the ship. Lily had called—said she’d twisted her ankle and couldn’t get down the stairs. He’d left me alone in the parking lot. The sea wind slid down my collar, cold as knives. Halfway home something warm ran down my leg and stained half my pants leg red. I called James. He didn’t pick up. Not until the next day did he send back a few brief words: Underway on short notice. Back at sea. I didn’t want him blaming himself, so I never told him about the pregnancy—or the miscarriage. Now I knew. There was no emergency underway. He’d just taken Lily out on the ship, on the spot, to smooth her feelings. … When James came home that night, his face was darker than a Pacific storm. He stood in the entryway, still in his service jacket, and led with: “Are you happy now?” “Lily cried for hours. You’re going to Mrs. Martha’s tomorrow to set the record straight.” “Lily and I are clean. You’re the one who imagines things all day long.” “If you can’t handle her being around…” He paused. “Then there’s no point continuing this marriage either.” “Done?” I stopped what I was doing. James frowned. “I can’t handle it.” He blinked. “What did you say?” “I said—” I touched a hand to my belly. There had once been a small life there. “Go find Lily. We’re getting divorced.” James straightened up sharply. His face went ugly. “Emma Whitaker. Remember what you said today. Don’t come crawling back begging.” He expected a fight. Because in the past, with our precious little time together, I never had the heart to spend it in silence. So I always bowed my head, gave ground, let him go to Lily. But now I simply turned, walked to the nightstand, and pulled open the bottom drawer. Inside was a thin manila envelope. I took it out and laid it on top of the nightstand. The iMessage Zoe had sent an hour earlier still lit up the phone screen: Divorce papers drafted. Look them over. Sign if the terms work.

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At the peak of the whole “if she wants it, she gets it” trend online, I saw an Instagram post from my fiancé’s little assistant—the assistant to Luca, New York’s newly risen Don. “Just said yesterday I wanted a Chevy. Today Don bought me one.” Attached was a photo of the fully loaded, top-of-the-line model. And Luca, who never touched social media, had—against all precedent—left a comment underneath: “Bianca wants, Bianca gets.” I froze. Yesterday, Luca had asked me what I wanted. I’d said a Chevy Spark. I thought he was going to buy one for me. Turns out it was for his little assistant. So it wasn’t that he couldn’t indulge people. He just didn’t want to indulge me. Fine. From now on, whatever I want, I’ll get for myself. …… Luca walked in just as I finished reading that post. His eyes flicked to my phone screen. “Angry?” His voice was flat, indifferent. I said nothing, just looked at him quietly. “She needs a car more than you do.” “She runs my documents, my errands, picks up my clients. She can’t be taking Ubers forever.” “You don’t work, you don’t have a career. What do you need a car for? To let it collect dust in the garage?” He explained it calmly, driving each word straight into my chest. For him, I’d walked away from my job at Goldman Sachs. I’d helped him claw his way up from that old Brooklyn walk-up where the heat only worked half the time to where he stood today. I’d studied every possible variation on what he could eat, trying to be gentle on his stomach. Because he worried strangers coming and going through the house was a security risk, I went out personally to buy every last supply—even in a downpour. Now he was the Don whose name rang through all of New York, and I was asking him for a thirteen-thousand-dollar Chevy Spark. And he was telling me I didn’t deserve it. “Are you so poor you can only afford one car? You could easily buy one for each of us. You went out of your way to do it like this, just to belittle me. Luca—do you even realize what you’ve become?” “Every day, rain or shine, blazing sun, I either walk a dozen blocks for groceries or I take an Uber. All I wanted was a Spark that cost a little over ten grand. Is that so much to ask?” “From now on, I won’t come to you about anything. I won’t need you to give me a damn thing.” I got it all out in one breath. My voice was already trembling. Luca just looked at me and said, impatiently, “Could you keep your voice down?” I stood there, stunned. He thought I was loud. Once upon a time, he was the one who never stopped talking to me. In that cramped old apartment in Brooklyn. He’d lean against the headboard, hold my hand, and murmur on into the small hours, painting the future for me again and again. Back then he said: “The day the name Moretti earns a seat at the Five Families’ table, I swear I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted.” “When that day comes, I’ll propose to you at the most glorious spot in the whole of New York, in front of everyone. I’ll give you a wedding worthy of you.” I used to smile foolishly along with him, picturing our future a thousand times over. And now, he’d done it. The name Moretti rang loud through Manhattan. But there was a new little shadow at his side. Bianca Russo, turning up in every corner of our lives. Dinners. Operas. Weekends in the Hamptons. Everywhere. Under the noble excuse: an assistant has to manage his work and his life, she can’t leave his sight. The door swung open. Bianca strolled in from the foyer, twirling car keys around her finger. “Don, this car handles beautifully. Anywhere you want to go from now on, I can drive you.” She was beaming. Luca couldn’t help himself. He reached up and ruffled her hair. His voice was tender: “Happiness belongs to those who know when they’ve got enough. I’ll get you a better one next time.” I stood there behind him, frozen. I understood. He was telling me I didn’t know when I had enough. But there was something I wanted to tell him. Just yesterday, Goldman Sachs had sent me an email. My old boss, Julian Ashford, was inviting me back to the bank. Back to my industry. He’d forgotten long ago—before he ever met me, I had been one of the youngest team leads at Goldman. Not this thing standing behind him, holding out her hand for a runabout. I gave up all of it for him, willingly. Yesterday, I’d planned to decline. Now, I wanted to accept.

Bianca smiled, smug all through her expression. “A little car like this is more than enough for me!” She turned toward me. “Ava, I’ll bet you’ve got a whole garage of cars to rotate through, don’t you?” I answered mildly: “Not right now. But I will.” Luca’s brow snapped into a frown. “When did I agree to buy you a car?” “You don’t need a car. Just keep the house in order.” I let out a soft, scornful laugh. In his eyes, if I said I wanted a car, it could only mean I was waiting for him to buy it. But what I meant was—I’d buy it myself, from now on. “Ava doesn’t work, so honestly, she has no real need for a car. Cooking a little, cleaning a little at home—must be so easy.” Bianca chimed in at just the right moment. Luca glanced at me. Two words: “True.” Suddenly the whole thing struck me as absurd. His stomach was bad. He couldn’t eat takeout. Every day I invented new ways to simmer him chicken broth, to make low-oil, low-salt home cooking. A single stew meant three hours standing over the stove. The three-story townhouse—he refused to hire a housekeeper. “I can’t sleep easy on things strangers have touched,” he’d say. Just cleaning it took an entire afternoon. All he ever did was come home to a steaming dinner and a spotless house. He’d simply never seen the rest. My throat went tight. “Luca, anyone in the world can call me idle. Anyone but you.” He caught the emotion I couldn’t quite hold down in my eyes, and something like guilt flickered in his. He opened his mouth to say something, but Bianca cut him off. “Ava, you have no idea how hard Don works every day. I’m the only one who sees it—out at dawn, home at midnight, and how many things he has to handle. You really should be more understanding. Even I feel sorry for him, and I’m just his assistant.” Luca looked down at her and smiled. “You little thing, so you actually know how to feel sorry for me?” “Didn’t spoil you for nothing.” Bianca lifted her chin. “Too bad your fiancée doesn’t know how to look after you. Guess I’ll just have to be even better to you from now on!” Luca laughed and tapped her lightly on the head. When he turned back to me, all the warmth was gone from his eyes. “Ava, do you see?” “Bianca runs herself ragged for me every day, all the little errands that never end—has she once complained she’s tired?” I lowered my head. I didn’t want to say anything more. “Right. I’m the most idle person in the world.” I turned and went into the bedroom. The door hadn’t even shut. Bianca followed me right in. She made herself at home, opening the closet, pulling out several of Luca’s custom suits. She came by every week to take his clothes to the dry cleaner. But this time, her eyes settled on the corner of the closet. Where, folded and stacked, from the years before he made it— were the cheap couples’ hoodies Luca and I had picked out together at a Brooklyn thrift shop. Neither of us had had the heart to throw them out. Bianca gave them a glance, then called loudly toward the door: “Don, there’s some old junk in here. Mind if I toss it?” I opened my mouth to speak. From outside came Luca’s careless voice: “Do what you want with it.” The sound died in my throat. I looked at those childish, almost ridiculous matching hoodies in her hand. Maybe back then had been the happiest we’d ever been. I didn’t stop her. Fine. Throw them out. Bianca gathered the clothes up, then her gaze slid back to me. “Ava, what are you keeping all this junk for, anyway?” “Luca stopped loving you a long time ago. You haven’t noticed?” Her smile was open, brazen. Nothing at all like the face she wore in front of Luca. “I know. You really wanted that Spark, didn’t you? But he just refused to buy it for you. I only mentioned it once, and he got it for me right away.” “Are you mad?” I looked at her, and suddenly I laughed. She got a little flustered, staring at me, baffled. “What are you laughing at?” “Bianca, sometimes I honestly find you quite entertaining.” “All your little schemes are so obvious, and so clumsy. Don’t you think?”

Bianca’s little tricks were painfully obvious. It was just that they no longer bothered me. She took a few sharp steps toward me, fire simmering behind her eyes. Then in the next instant, she suddenly toppled backward and hit the floor hard. Loud enough to bring people running. She burst into tears, eyes red: “I quit!” “Just because Don bought me a car, Ava called me shameless, said I’ve got a filthy mind, said I’m trying to sleep my way up through him!” “How could I ever do that?” She was sobbing loudly. Luca came striding in. “What’s going on?” Bianca sat on the floor, biting her lip, as if she’d suffered the greatest injustice in the world. “I know she can’t stand the sight of me, but I’m just doing my job for you.” “If I’d known she’d get this upset, I wouldn’t have come today.” Luca pulled her to her feet, expression pained, brow knitted tight. “If someone hurts you, you say so. No one’s asking you to bear it in silence.” He was speaking like reason itself. But in this moment, no matter how you heard it, it sounded like a love letter. Just not one addressed to me. Bianca lowered her head, voice hoarse: “It’s just because she’s the future Donna. Otherwise I’d have already talked back to her.” Luca sighed helplessly: “So what if she’s the future Donna? You can talk back to her all the same.” He looked at me. His eyes were cold. “Apologize to Bianca.” I raised an eyebrow. My meaning was clear. Bianca, playing the good sport, spoke up: “I don’t need her apology. How about she washes my car instead?” Luca agreed without a moment’s hesitation. “Of course.” I stood up. “Luca, that’s enough.” His voice dropped: “Enough with the scene, all right? Do it for me. Let this one go.” “I’ll wash it with you.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door, unyielding. There it sat—that black Spark I’d wanted so badly. He picked up the hose and shoved it into my hand. Bianca stood off to the side, giving orders. “Here. And there. Everything needs to be spotless.” I didn’t move. Then Bianca suddenly snatched the hose out of my hand. As if she’d lost her grip on it—she aimed it straight at me. The pressurized water hit my face dead on. She burst out laughing, as though it were all a great game. “Ava, forget the car—let’s have a water fight!” The jet kept slamming into my face. My skin burned, raw. It felt like the blood was going to push right up through it. My eyes stung fiercely from the water. I blinked helplessly, again and again. But Luca just stood there smiling at Bianca. He didn’t see anything wrong with it. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I strode forward and wrenched the hose out of her hand. I was about to turn it on her. Luca stepped in front of her instantly. In the space of a breath, he was soaked. He and I stood there, locked eye to eye. After a long moment, he said: “Are you satisfied now?” “I always knew you were this vindictive.” The hose slipped from my hand. I don’t know what a wreck I must have looked. Hair, clothes—all drenched. My eyes were so blurred I couldn’t see. But none of that, hurt as much as him calling me vindictive. Once, he’d told me I was the softest-hearted person in the world. He never wanted me to suffer any slight from anyone else. So he was always teaching me: don’t swallow things, don’t let them eat you up inside. And now. The one hurting me, over and over, was him. I just stood there, silent, watching him. Only then did he seem to notice the state I was in. But all he did was frown. “Why didn’t you get out of the way?” My face was blotched with welts from the water. I wiped a hand across my cheek, taking the tears with the water. I didn’t want him to see them. “The pressure was that strong—I thought it was going to blind me. How was I supposed to dodge?” He looked at my eyes. They were bloodshot. Something tender flickered in his expression. He started to come toward me. But Bianca caught his arm. “I didn’t mean it. I just wanted to try and smooth things over with Ava. I had no idea the pressure was that high.” Luca paused a moment. “All right. Let’s just let it go. It’s over.” “You’re more mature than Bianca. You should be the bigger person.” One breezy sentence. Leaving me nothing to do but slink away like this.

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The moment my mother called, I had just signed a seven-figure licensing agreement for one of my proprietary rituals. Her voice was as distant as ever. “Serena is holding her Bonding Ceremony this weekend.You have to come home.” She hung up. I opened the family group chat I’d kept muted for months. As a wolfless, I’d never been included in my family’s Mind-link. This group chat was the only channel they were willing to use with me. My brother Elliot chimed in, which was rare for him. 【Wear something decent. Don’t embarrass Serena. Everyone coming from Ashford Pack is a high-ranking Alpha.】 Ethan Cole, who had grown up alongside me, jumped in right after. 【Your First Shift was ten years ago. If you’d just gotten your act together back then, made it into Whitemoon Academy like Serena, you wouldn’t be living off scraps in New York.】 I scrolled through the messages, one after another. I stopped on the one Melanie Reed had sent. Melanie, who used to be my closest friend. 【Hazel, Serena is marrying into Ashford Pack. If things aren’t working out for you in New York, just come home. Let Serena find you something to do around here. Anything’s got to beat working two jobs.】 Elliot added, 【Even that would be doing her a favor. She spent three months studying and still couldn’t tell one basic herb from another. She can’t even smell like a wolf.】 Ethan followed. 【She’s defective. First Shift failed. Hazel, you’re just a defective piece of work.】 I lowered my eyes. Ashford Pack? Their Wolf King, Sterling Ashford, had sent three formal invitations through the Dean of Silvermoon Academy, hoping to get thirty minutes of my time. He had been asking for three months. The messages kept scrolling. I couldn’t be bothered to read any more. I sent a single line: 【OK. I’ll be there on time.】 Serena immediately hit me with a Venmo transfer. $0.01. The note read: 【For your flight home ❤️ Can’t wait to see you, Hazel!!】 Elliot’s voice message hit within seconds. 【Serena’s Bonding Ceremony is costing a fortune. How could you actually accept? Send it back. Now.】 Ethan followed. 【Even if Serena is about to become Luna of Ashford Pack, that doesn’t give you a free pass to guilt-trip her.】 I was about to type back. Melanie sent a sighing sticker. 【Enough. Can you two lay off Hazel for once?】 【She’s the only one in our group whose First Shift failed. She’s been avoiding us for a decade. She’s finally willing to come back. Don’t scare her off.】 I lowered my eyes. Eighteen years old. Yes. I had been avoiding them. Senior year of high school, Serena came back from studying at some remote Pack, and slipped into my little circle with Ethan and Melanie like she’d always belonged. Just like at home, I became the invisible one again. We’d be walking down the hallway together, and suddenly the three of them would stop mid-step at the same moment. Ethan would tilt his chin up slightly. Melanie’s eyes would follow his gaze. Serena would lower her head with a small smile. I stood there beside them. At first, I’d ask them, confused, what they were laughing about. Every time I asked, they said it was nothing. Later I figured it out. They were talking through the Mind-link. As a “wolfless,” I was locked out of that conversation by nature. But after my First Shift at eighteen, every hour of my life went into the labs at Silvermoon Academy. I didn’t have the time to hide anymore. A private message from Serena pulled me back. 【Hazel, don’t take the Venmo the wrong way.】 Her voice was soft. 【I know New York is stressful, and rent keeps climbing. I just wanted to help out, cover your flight. There’s really no other meaning behind it.】 She tacked on a teary-eyed emoji. Predictably, the group chat filled up again with praise for how “thoughtful” she was. I took a screenshot of the payment and sent back $0.01. The chat went quiet for a few seconds. Elliot was the first to jump in. 【Hazel, what’s your problem? Not enough? You’re a wolfless. Being allowed to attend Serena’s Bonding Ceremony should have you thanking God. She isn’t even embarrassed to have you there, and you have the nerve to complain about her Venmo?】 Ethan added, 【A penny is still a gesture.】 Melanie chimed in. 【Serena actually cares about you. You screenshot her transfer to humiliate her. Did you even think about how she feels?】 I leaned back in my chair and took a sip of coffee. At eighteen, this would’ve kept me awake all night. At twenty-eight, I felt nothing. Serena sent a voice message. Her tone was cautious. 【Hazel, I was just so excited when I heard you were coming home. I accidentally sent the wrong amount. Don’t be upset, okay?】 【I really do worry about you, out there in New York on your own. I already told Julian to keep an eye out for a job for you.】 【But the standards at Ashford Pack are pretty high. Your situation… honestly doesn’t even meet the minimum. Maybe I can get you a spot at the pack house as a receptionist. Or kitchen help. Don’t take it personally.】 Elliot sneered. 【What right does she have to take it personally? She has no one to blame but herself. When my coworkers ask about her failed First Shift, I can barely bring myself to say it out loud.】 Ten years ago, the day the academy acceptance letters landed at home. Serena got into Whitemoon Academy’s elite Alpha program. I got one rejection, and a waitlist notice from a satellite school at a fringe Pack. My parents booked a two-week Europe trip for Serena and Elliot. They gave me $50. Said it was for two weeks of groceries. They said it without a hint of shame. “Kids who failed shouldn’t get to travel too. That would be unfair to the ones who worked hard for success.” I wanted to tell them that family shouldn’t be ranked by a single First Shift. But then I remembered. The mug that had smashed against my forehead. I said nothing. And I never told them what I actually became, that night in the forest during my First Shift. I am a White wolf. I never told them the truth. There was a knock at the door. Emma, my assistant, stood in the doorway, her voice respectful. “Dr. Whitmore, Ashford Pack sent another email. This time through Dr. Langley. He called personally. He’s asking if you could spare thirty minutes.” The “Rogue Purification” joint research initiative Ashford Pack was leading, backed by East Coast Packs, had already burned through five hundred million dollars. They’d been stuck for two years on the core ritual for reversing corrupted wolf souls. And one of the rituals I’d mastered happened to be the key that opened that lock. Emma paused. “Should I turn them down again?” I let out a soft laugh. “No. Tell the Wolf King. This weekend, I’ll be in Newport.”

Friday. I landed in Newport. No one came to pick me up. I called an Uber Black and rode straight to my parents’ front door. Melanie was the one who opened it. She froze for a moment. Something subtle flickered across her eyes. “Hazel… I almost didn’t recognize you. New York has been kind to you, hasn’t it? Who would’ve thought a wolfless could survive that well outside a Pack.” I didn’t answer. I walked past her. Serena’s eyes swept over the watch on my wrist, then the trench coat I was wearing. She pressed her lips together. “Hazel, we’re all family here. There’s no need to overdo it for appearances. How many credit cards did you max out for this?” Ethan laughed. “Impressive, Hazel. Been out there long enough to pick up on knockoffs.” I looked at the faces in front of me. Ten years, and they hadn’t changed much. Elliot had put on weight. Melanie had picked up fine lines at the corners of her eyes. Ethan’s hairline had noticeably receded. Serena, on the other hand, was carefully polished. Like a porcelain doll someone had spent a lot of time packaging. What they all had in common was the same faint condescension in their eyes when they looked at me. I raised an eyebrow. “From the day I left home until now, I’ve never once mentioned my income to any of you. I’ve never sent any of you a private message complaining. Where exactly are you getting your assessment of me?” No one had an answer. My mother came out of the kitchen and set a dish on the table. She glanced at me. “You don’t have a wolf, and you don’t have any real skills. What kind of decent job could she land? Three thousand a month at most.” My father clapped me on the shoulder. “That’s enough. We’re all family here, no strangers. No one’s going to laugh at you for struggling. Let’s just eat.” Eight dishes on the table. Ethan and Melanie both let out an admiring “wow.” “Mrs. Whitmore still remembers I love roasted ribs.” “That lemon cream salmon I raved about last time. Mrs. Whitmore made it again.” I glanced across the table. Everyone had their favorite dish in front of them. Even the golden retriever curled up by the couch had a small bowl of beef, portioned out just for him. Only I had a plate of green salad. At the table, my mother personally sliced off the most tender piece of rib and slid it onto Serena’s plate. “These past few years, we’ve invested in a few properties along the Newport coast. One for Elliot. One for Serena. We’re living in one, and there’s a smaller one out for rent.” She looked up at me. “Hazel, Elliot is the Alpha heir of this family. Serena is an Alpha female, marrying into Ashford Pack. It’s only right they get properties. You don’t even have your own wolf. Why should they have to share what’s rightfully theirs with you?” I set down my fork and let out a laugh. “So property distribution in this family is based on shifting rank now? Not on the number of biological children?” The table went silent. My mother’s face flushed dark red. Her hand came down hard on the table. “Hazel! Ten years you don’t come home, and the second you do, you’re giving me attitude?!” “If I’d known your First Shift would fail, I should’ve sent you off to the Omega servant quarters the day you were born! Would’ve saved us the humiliation!” Exactly the same as ten years ago. The night after my First Shift. The mug came flying at my forehead. Warm blood dripped onto the hardwood floor, drop after drop. She had that same expression then. Ten years. I had long since given up on that thin sliver of maternal love. At this moment, I felt nothing. My father stepped in to smooth things over. “Your mom talks tough, but she’s soft underneath. Don’t take it to heart.” He laughed and changed the subject. “Serena, a friend of mine got hold of a bottle of Soulmoon Wine. Wine that used to only touch noble lips. I’ll give it to Mr. Ashford tomorrow. He’ll love it.” Serena pressed her lips into a smile. But her eyes flickered away. “Dad… Mr. Ashford. He might not be able to make it.”

My father froze. “What? Mr. Ashford isn’t coming? This is Julian’s Bonding Ceremony. Two Packs joining. How could he not be there?” Serena sighed. “Julian said there’s a very important guest coming from New York these next few days. Mr. Ashford has to receive them personally. He genuinely can’t get away.” Elliot frowned. “Who is it? More important than his own grandson’s Bonding Ceremony?” “I don’t know either,” Serena said, shaking her head. “Julian just said the person’s from New York. Mr. Ashford went through several intermediaries. Waited nearly three months just to secure this meeting.” Melanie looked baffled. “What kind of big shot has that kind of nerve? Ashford Pack’s stature is what it is. Mr. Ashford waited three months?” Ethan scoffed. “Right? So what if they’re from New York. Bigger deal than Serena’s Bonding Ceremony?” Serena waved her hands quickly. “Don’t say it like that. Julian said this person holds a ritual that could resolve a critical problem for Ashford Pack. Mr. Ashford said if they can lock in this collaboration, Ashford Pack will be sitting on top of every other East Coast Pack for the next decade.” She paused. Her eyes drifted casually toward me. “Hazel, you’ve been in New York for a long time. Ever heard of anyone like that?” I shook my head. “Not sure.” Elliot scoffed. “She’s a wolfless who couldn’t even keep her own wolf. What would she have heard? Serena, don’t try to include her in every topic. She can’t keep up.” I kept eating and didn’t say anything. What was I going to say? That the person Mr. Ashford had been trying to meet for three months was me? They’d only burst out laughing, then decide I’d lost my mind. After dinner, I sat for a while and was about to get up when my father suddenly called after me. “Hazel, your mother cleared out your old room a few days ago. You haven’t been home in ten years. She doesn’t say it out loud, but she’s never stopped thinking about you.” He added with a smile, “Fresh sheets and pillowcases. Your mother picked them out herself.” The words had barely landed when my mother came out of the kitchen wiping her hands. Her tone was flat. “That room’s for Melanie tonight. Hazel, you can make do on the couch.” The smile on my father’s face froze. Melanie looked up from the couch, glanced at me, and the corner of her mouth twitched up. “Mrs. Whitmore, I feel terrible about this. I can just book an Airbnb.” My mother’s voice left no room for debate. “You come by so rarely. How could I let you stay somewhere else? Hazel is family. It’s only one night on the couch.” I stood by the table, silent. “Hazel?” My mother’s voice pulled me back. She was frowning. Probably annoyed that I hadn’t immediately agreed. I stood up. “No need. I’ve already booked a hotel.” Her face darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean? You have a home and you’d rather stay at a hotel? The couch isn’t good enough for you?” I picked up my coat and started toward the door. “I’m used to sleeping in my own bed.” Behind me, my mother’s voice dropped into a mutter. “This child… ten years away and her temper’s grown. Every word gets thrown back at me.” The door closed behind me. Ten years ago, the girl who woke up sweating on that couch would have gone off and cried in secret, unable to understand why her mother treated someone else’s daughter better than her own. The Hazel of ten years later doesn’t do that anymore. Deposits kept rolling into her accounts. Licensing fees for her rituals. Dividends from cross-Pack collaborations. Consulting fees from the Council. Every number came with more zeros than she could bother to count. She had long since stopped needing anyone else to be good to her. She was good to herself. Without any restraint.

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When the earth began to tear itself apart, my only instinct was to grab my sister’s wrist and drag her through the back door of our rental cabin. By the time we stumbled onto the main street, our faces caked in gray plaster and ash, we could hear the screaming. From a distance, I saw my parents. They were on their knees in front of a half-collapsed motel, weeping hysterically into the debris. I took a step toward them, my throat burning with dust, but a firefighter suddenly spun around and shouted into the crowd: “We’ve located two girls trapped underneath! But the structure is failing—we can only pull one out first!” Without a second of hesitation, my mother’s voice pierced the chaos, sharp and desperate: “Save the older one! Please, save my oldest daughter first!” My father clamped his hands onto her shoulders, his voice trembling but terrifyingly resolute. “Yes, save Chelsea first. She’s always been fragile. She won’t last down there.” My hand, which I had half-raised to call out to them, froze in midair. Chelsea bypassed me entirely, running past the barricade toward our parents. “Mom! Dad! I’m here! I’m okay!” My mother looked up, her tear-streaked face lighting up in an instant. She threw her arms around Chelsea, pulling her into a fierce, suffocating embrace. “My sweet girl! Oh thank God, I thought I’d lost you!” My father’s eyes were bloodshot as he checked Chelsea from head to toe, his hands shaking with relief. “Are you hurt? Where does it hurt? Let me carry you to the medical tent.” Not once did either of them turn around. I stood a dozen yards behind them, barefoot, covered in grime and blood, looking like a ghost they had already forgotten to mourn. It was the firefighter who finally noticed me. He walked over, his eyes filled with professional concern. “Hey, sweetie. Where’s your family?” I watched the three of them hold each other, their tears blending into a single, cohesive unit of grief and relief. I let out a quiet, dry laugh. “I don’t have family here,” I said softly. “I came alone.” 1 “Doctor, please, you have to look at my oldest daughter first! She scratched her arm on some falling gravel!” Inside the crowded triage tent, my mother’s frantic voice drowned out the low groans of the actually injured. She gripped Chelsea’s wrist, gently but firmly pushing her ahead of the line to the front desk. Chelsea was wearing a clean windbreaker. Aside from a light dusting of ash on her hem, the only mark on her entire body was a faint pink scratch, barely an inch long, on her left forearm. It wasn’t even bleeding. The exhausted ER physician looked up, his eyes dark with fatigue. “Ma’am, grab a sterile wipe from the side station and clean it. We need to keep this space clear for critical patients.” “How can you say that?” My father stepped in, his jaw set in disapproval. “With all the bacteria in these ruins? What if she contracts tetanus? Chelsea has a delicate immune system. You can’t just dismiss her like this.” Chelsea shrank slightly behind my father’s shoulder, tugging at his sleeve. “Dad, really, I’m fine. I just nicked the doorframe when we ran out.” “You’re in shock, sweetheart,” my mother insisted, her hand stroking Chelsea’s hair. She dug into her purse, pulled out an unopened bottle of spring water, and pressed it into her hands. “Drink some water. Calm your nerves. When I saw that building go down, my heart nearly stopped.” I was sitting on a cheap plastic stool less than six feet away. Blood was slowly dripping from my right foot, pooling on the linoleum floor. In our frantic escape, I had lost one of my slides. I had run over shattered glass, jagged asphalt, and sharp gravel, leaving a deep, ragged gash stretching across the entire arch of my foot. The pale flesh was torn wide open, caked with black dirt and grit. A young nurse walked over with a sterile prep kit and let out a sharp intake of breath when she saw my foot. “Oh, honey. That’s going to need stitches. Is your family here? Someone needs to hold your leg still. We’re short on local anesthetic, so this is going to hurt.” I kept my eyes on the kidney dish filled with iodine-stained water. “No,” I said, my voice flat. “I can hold myself still.” The nurse hesitated, glancing over at the trio standing just a few feet away, still fussing over Chelsea’s microscopic scratch. “Aren’t those your parents? You look just like them.” “No,” I repeated, lifting my bloody leg onto the metal rest. “Please, just stitch it. I’d like to get this over with.” She didn’t press further. She tore open the gauze and began cleaning the wound. A sharp, white-hot agony shot straight up my leg and settled in my skull. I bit down on my lower lip, keeping my eyes fixed on a random spot on the canvas ceiling, refusing to make a sound. This wasn’t the first time. When I was eight, a blizzard hit Seattle overnight. Chelsea and I both woke up with raging, triple-digit fevers. The heater in our old station wagon was broken, and the roads were thick with black ice. My father stood in the driveway for a long time, trying to clear the windshield, while my mother wrapped Chelsea in three layers of heavy blankets. She turned to me, her voice hurried but sweet. “Zoe, be a good girl and stay tucked in bed. Sweat it out. Your sister’s chest is weak; if her fever stays this high, she’ll get pneumonia. We have to take her to the clinic first.” That night, I lay alone in a freezing bedroom, shivering until the sun came up. By the time they returned with a medicated, sleeping Chelsea, I had slipped into delirium. I spent the next week in the pediatric ward on an IV drip. They didn’t apologize; they only complained that I must have kicked my blankets off during the night and made myself sicker. They were still the same. The nurse’s needle pierced my flesh, pulling the thick black thread through. Five stitches in total. Cold sweat broke out across my forehead, and I used a rough paper towel to wipe it away. By the time I hopped out of the tent on one foot, clutching my prescription for antibiotics, the three of them were already walking out. My father had his arm gently wrapped around Chelsea’s shoulders, while my mother was still dabbling an alcohol swab over a scratch that had already faded to nothing. I followed them, keeping a distance of fifteen yards, limping heavily on my left heel. “The evacuation buses are lined up down the street,” my father said, pointing toward the flashing lights at the intersection. “We’ll take one back to the city and check into a hotel.” Chelsea nodded, then paused as if remembering something. She turned around. “Where’s Zoe? It was so chaotic earlier, I didn’t see where she went.” My mother followed her gaze, her eyes finally landing on me. I was standing under the yellow hum of a streetlamp, one foot bare and wrapped in bulky white gauze, my jeans stained with dried blood. Her brow immediately furrowed. “Zoe, where on earth have you been?” she snapped. “Everyone is trying to evacuate, and you’re wandering off making trouble. You even managed to lose a shoe.” My father’s face hardened as he walked over, looking down at me. “Your sister is traumatized enough as it is. The last thing she needs is to worry about you. Get a move on. What are you lingering for?” 2 A massive crowd had gathered in front of the evacuation buses. People were fleeing the quake zone in droves, and the vehicles were filling up fast. When we finally reached the boarding steps, the driver held up a hand. “Only three seats left on this one. Whoever takes the last spot will have to stand in the aisle.” My father glanced at Chelsea’s pale face. “Chelsea is still shaken up. She absolutely has to sit.” My mother chimed in immediately, her tone dripping with natural self-interest. “And my motion sickness is acting up. I’ll need a seat too. Robert, your lower back has been terrible lately—you can’t stand for a three-hour drive down these mountain roads.” Three pairs of eyes turned slowly toward me. I looked down at my right foot, the gauze already showing a faint, damp spot of fresh blood. “Zoe,” my mother said, her voice dropping into that familiar, soothing tone she used when she wanted me to yield. “You’re young and healthy. Standing for a bit won’t hurt you. Your sister had a terrible scare today. Let her have the seat.” My father nudged me toward the steps. “Get on. There’s a line behind us, don’t hold everyone up.” Chelsea reached out, lightly tugging my sleeve, her eyes shining with performative guilt. “Zoe, you can have my seat. Really, I think I can manage.” My mother immediately pulled her back. “Manage what? Your constitution is so delicate, you’ll be sick for a week if you stand in a moving bus for hours. Zoe is tough. She’ll be fine.” I looked at them, my throat dry, and said nothing. Clinging to the metal handrail, I dragged my stitched-up foot up the high steps and worked my way to the very back of the crowded aisle. I reached up and gripped the overhead strap. The bus lurched forward, roaring to life. The mountain roads were winding and riddled with potholes from the tremor. Every bounce of the heavy vehicle sent a violent shudder through my frame. I had to shift all my weight onto my left leg, keeping my right foot hovering just above the rubber floorboards. But every sudden brake forced my injured foot to slam down, sending a white-hot spike of agony straight to my chest. Through the dirty glass of the bus window, I could see the reflection of the front seats. My mother was unwrapping a snack and feeding it to Chelsea. My father had taken off his jacket, gently draping it over Chelsea’s legs to keep her warm. They were talking in low, soothing murmurs, completely wrapped up in their own little world. Not once did either of them look back. No one asked why there was blood on my jeans. During my junior year of high school, I won first place in a prestigious national physics competition. The award ceremony was held in Chicago, and the school required at least one parent to attend. I had placed the invitation on the kitchen island two weeks in advance. My mother had smiled and promised, “Of course we’ll go. We can make a weekend of it, buy you a nice dress as a reward.” But on the morning of our flight, Chelsea woke up claiming she felt dizzy. It was a mild cold, nothing more. Yet my mother instantly panicked, dropping everything to fetch the thermometer and calling my father home from work. I stood by the front door, my backpack on, watching them run around. “Mom, the flight is in two hours. We need to leave for the airport,” I whispered. My mother, pouring hot water into a mug, didn’t even look at me. “Zoe, your sister is sick. I can’t leave her like this. You’ll have to go alone.” “But the school said I need a parent’s signature on the registry.” “Just explain it to your advisor. Tell them there was a family emergency. You’ve always been independent, Zoe. You can handle a little thing like this.” That afternoon, I was the only student on that massive Chicago stage without a family member in the audience. When they handed me the heavy glass trophy, the flashing lights of the cameras felt blinding, almost mocking. When I finally took the train back home, carrying my trophy in a paper bag, I walked into the house to hear laughter spilling out from the living room. The three of them were curled up on the sofa, eating popcorn and watching a newly released comedy. The bus took a sharp, violent turn. My grip slipped, and my right foot crashed flat against the floorboards. The sudden pressure tore the fresh stitches. The pain was so intense that my vision went black for a second, a cold sweat drenching my collar. I leaned heavily against the back of a seat, panting quietly, until the world stopped spinning. In my pocket, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out with one hand. It was an email from the international admissions office at Stanford. “Dear Zoe Larson,” “We are pleased to inform you that your application for the International Exchange Program has passed the final review. Please log into the portal within three days to confirm your intent.” “Once confirmed, we will dispatch your visa documents and official enrollment packet.” I stared at the glowing text. I had applied in secret three months ago. A fully funded, two-year exchange program with a stipend that covered housing and living expenses. It was a clean break. A way out. In the front of the bus, Chelsea seemed to sense something. She turned her head back. “Zoe? Are you okay? That turn was really sharp.” My mother’s voice cut in before I could answer. “She’s fine, Chelsea. She’s holding the rail. Stop turning around, you’ll give yourself motion sickness. Close your eyes and rest.” I locked my phone and slipped it back into my pocket. “I’m fine,” I called back, offering Chelsea a small, vacant smile. “Go to sleep. Don’t worry about me.” 3 The bus dropped us off in downtown Portland, right outside an upscale restaurant. My father had booked a private dining room hours in advance, claiming we needed to celebrate Chelsea’s “safe return” and shake off the bad luck of the earthquake. I trailed behind them, dragging my bleeding foot, moving as slowly as a shadow. Inside the private room, several of our relatives were already waiting. They had heard about our close call and had rushed over to see us. “Oh, Chelsea, look at you! You poor thing, you’re white as a sheet,” Aunt Diane cried, immediately grabbing Chelsea’s hands. “I know,” my mother sighed, pulling out a chair for Chelsea. “She’s always been so sensitive. When that building started crumbling, I thought my heart would stop. It’s a miracle she’s safe.” The relatives chimed in, praising my parents for their devotion. When I finally pushed the door open and limped into the room, the chatter died down for a brief second. “Oh, Zoe’s back too,” Uncle Greg said, his eyes falling on my tattered jeans. “What happened to your leg? That’s a lot of blood.” My father, who was busy scanning the wine list, didn’t look up. “She tripped. You know how she is, never looks where she’s going. Don’t worry about it, let’s order some food.” I quietly took the empty seat at the end of the table. The waiters began bringing out dishes, every single one of them Chelsea’s favorites: honey-glazed salmon, sweet teriyaki ribs, and candied pecans over salad. My mother used the serving chopsticks to place the prime cut of the salmon onto Chelsea’s plate. “Eat up, sweetie. You need the protein to recover.” My father spent five minutes peeling a plate of spot prawns and placing them right by Chelsea’s hand. “Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad,” Chelsea said sweet-temperedly. Then she turned to look at me. “Zoe, you should eat some of these ribs. They’re really good.” She used her clean chopsticks to drop a heavily glazed rib onto my plate. “She has hands, Chelsea. She can feed herself,” my mother said, casting a dry look in my direction. “Your wrist is sore, and you’re still trying to serve her. Have some sense, Zoe.” I stared at the rib sitting on my plate. I couldn’t eat sweet meats. When I was twelve, I had eaten a plate of sweet-glazed pork at a family gathering and ended up in the emergency room with severe gastroenteritis. Since then, the mere smell of sugar-heavy meats made my stomach turn. But in this family, my medical history didn’t matter. Chelsea liked sweet things, so every family dinner was tailored to her palate. “I’m not hungry,” I said. I picked up my chopsticks, lifted the rib, and placed it onto the discard plate in the center of the table. My father slammed his water glass down, his face instantly darkening. “Zoe, what is your problem?” “Today is a celebration of your sister’s safety. Everyone is happy, and you’re sitting there pulling a face. For whose benefit?” “We let your attitude slide at home, but in front of your family? Have some respect.” The room temperature seemed to drop to freezing. The relatives glanced at each other, clearing their throats. “Oh, Robert, leave the girl be,” Aunt Diane offered half-heartedly. “She just went through an earthquake. She’s probably just tired.” “Zoe’s always been quiet,” Uncle Greg muttered. I sat there, listening to them define me. “Sullen. Difficult. Strange.” These were the labels they had pasted onto me years ago, labels I would never be allowed to tear off. In my pocket, my phone buzzed again. It was a system notification from the Stanford portal, reminding me that I had forty-eight hours left to accept the offer. I opened the browser under the table and typed in my credentials. “Do you accept the terms of the International Exchange Program? Once confirmed, this action cannot be undone.” The confirmation box hovered on my screen. My thumb hovered over the green button. “Zoe.” My mother’s voice interrupted my thoughts. She reached into her designer bag and tossed a silver credit card onto the table. “The earthquake was a wake-up call. Your father and I decided we’re going to enroll Chelsea in a private trauma therapy program once we get back.” “It’s quite expensive, so we’re going to suspend your college prep classes for next semester. Your grades are stable anyway; you can just study on your own.” She said it so casually, as if she were telling me she had changed the brand of milk in the fridge. “Take the card tomorrow. Withdraw some cash and go to the mall to buy your sister a few new outfits. The clothes she had packed got ruined in the dust.” I stared at the silver card. This was my place in their world. Whenever they needed to balance the scales, I was the one who was trimmed, sacrificed, and used as a tool to cushion Chelsea’s life. I exhaled slowly. Under the table, my thumb pressed down firmly on the screen. “Confirm.” “Selection saved. Thank you.” The text flashed green and vanished. I locked the phone and slid it into my pocket, then reached out and took the credit card. “Okay,” I said quietly. “I’ll do it tomorrow.” My mother’s face softened slightly at my compliance. “Good. And make sure you pack up the leftovers tonight. Don’t let them go to waste.” 4 By our third day back in Seattle, our living room was littered with high-end shopping bags. They were filled with the designer pieces and premium supplements I had bought for Chelsea the day before, just as my mother had instructed. Chelsea sat on the sofa, happily unboxing a pair of cream-colored leather boots. “These are gorgeous. I’ve wanted them for months.” She held them against her calves, beaming. “As long as you like them, sweetheart,” my mother said, setting down a plate of sliced fruit with an affectionate smile. “You can wear them when you return to classes next week.” I stood in the hallway leading to the balcony, a broom in my hand. My right foot still throbbed with a dull, heavy ache, but I could finally walk without a severe limp. In this house, the rule was simple: as long as I was breathing and upright, the chores were my responsibility. “Zoe, make sure you water the ferns on the balcony. Don’t forget,” my mother called out, not bothering to turn around. I didn’t answer. I simply swept the dust into the pan and went about my work. Tomorrow was Monday. Chelsea had been granted a week-long medical leave from her college courses on her therapist’s recommendation. And I had a one-way ticket to San Francisco booked for tomorrow afternoon. The express envelope containing my exchange student visa and enrollment documents had arrived yesterday morning. While they were watching television in the living room, I had slipped the papers into the deepest compartment of my backpack. My belongings were meager. A few basic changes of clothes, three of my favorite academic textbooks, and a three-year-old laptop. Everything I owned fit into a single carry-on suitcase. After dinner, my father walked out of his study, holding three premium tickets. “There’s a symphony performance at the Benaroya Hall tomorrow night. The guest conductor is Chelsea’s favorite.” “I managed to get three front-row seats. Let’s go as a family and help Chelsea unwind.” Chelsea squealed with delight, jumping up to hug him. “Are you serious? Thank you, Dad!” She clung to his arm, laughing, while my mother beamed beside them. “Perfect. You can wear that new cream trench coat Zoe bought you. You’ll look beautiful.” Not once did they mention why there were only three tickets. Perhaps, in their minds, it was simply understood that I didn’t belong in their warm, expensive family portraits. “Zoe.” My father finally turned his head toward the kitchen, where I was standing by the sink. “We’ll be eating out tomorrow night. Just boil some noodles for yourself.” “And remember to hang the laundry. Your sister’s cashmere sweater is in the hamper—do not put it in the machine. Hand-wash it.” I looked at the mountain of dirty dishes in the sink. “Okay,” I said, my voice incredibly calm. “I will.” The next day, the autumn sun was exceptionally bright. My parents and Chelsea left the house early in the afternoon, planning to get Chelsea’s hair styled downtown before heading to a high-end French bistro before the concert. The heavy front door clicked shut, and a profound, heavy silence settled over the house. I washed the last plate, dried my hands, and walked back to my small bedroom. I pulled my old black suitcase from under the bed. There was very little of me left in this room. I didn’t take a single thing they had ever bought me. I even left my phone—the lagging, hand-me-down device my father had passed down to me years ago. I spent ten minutes performing a factory reset, wiping every photo, text, and contact from its memory, and placed it precisely in the center of my desk. Next to it, I laid my house key. I took one last look at the room I had occupied for nearly a decade. There was no lingering attachment. No grief. Only a deep, physical sense of relief, like a heavy weight finally being lifted from my chest. I dragged my suitcase to the foyer, slipped into a pair of brand-new sneakers I had bought with my own savings, and walked out into the sunlight. By 3:00 PM, I was sitting at the gate of Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. The intercom was broadcasting boarding calls for my flight. I handed my boarding pass to the gate agent and walked down the jet bridge, feeling the cool draft of the tarmac. Through the cabin window, I watched the Seattle skyline shrink into a series of gray points before being swallowed by the clouds. I pulled out my new phone, slipped in the prepaid SIM card I had purchased the day before, and powered it on. My old number was already deactivated. Every contact associated with the Larson family was gone, wiped clean along with the old phone sitting on my empty desk. I leaned back against the headrest and closed my eyes. “Miss, please fasten your seatbelt. We’re preparing for takeoff,” the flight attendant said, her voice warm and pleasant. I opened my eyes and smiled at her. “Of course. Thank you.”

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